“Remain alert, Specialist Tahgs,” I said. “She and the man who advanced along the other line are questionable.” She responded by switching her line to green.
The lean executive stepped into the green circle. “Interesting morning already.”
“Preferable to monotony, sir,” I said. His orange tie had only a few black splotches. “The left line is open to advance.”
“Contraband?” he asked.
“I have not been informed as to the results of the scanning.”
“Good security work.” He winked. “What did you use to spot him?”
“As I said, sir, I am not privy to the results.”
He looked me up and down. “Any special equipment?”
I pointed to my head. “Only what God has provided. Sir, the line is green.”
“Chokks Habbuk, Senior Vice President of Recruiting for the Chiagerall Institute.” He looked at my ID tag and pulled out a small clip. “Keesay?”
“Correct, sir. I am satisfied with my current contract.” I looked past him. “Mr. Habbuk, I must insist you advance. I wouldn’t want to offer credence to the lady’s suggestion that my actions are impeding passenger boarding.”
“Are you aware of the Chiagerall Institute?”
“Yes, I am, Mr. Habbuk. Military think tank, research on extraordinary mental abilities, pioneering work on the Cranaltar Project.”
“Impressive, Specialist Keesay. Observant, and knowledgeable for an R-Tech.” Without warning, a surprised, panicked look washed over his face. Concern filled his eyes as he looked past me, toward the right line. “Specialist, prepare for trouble.”
His tone jabbed at my instincts. “Clarify, from where?” A cry from behind drowned his response. Spinning, I unslung my shotgun and chambered a slug round. Ca-Chunk.
“Take him out!” Club shouted aloud and over her com-set. “Emergency Code Red 5.”
I leveled my shotgun and fired on the vacationer. Lefty wheeled toward the back-pedaling target who was holding a pointed finger toward the downed engineering tech. My round was on target but failed to impact. Lefty deployed its stun net which discharged against an invisible barrier. I pumped and sent another slug as Club’s laser blast fizzled before impact. The man backed toward the wall, while attempting to manipulate a palm clip.
“Crax shield!” yelled Club over the rising cries of the passengers. “Only defends from the front!”
Lefty moved to flank as the vacationer pointed his finger and returned fire on Club. I shot again while Club kicked over the table and dove for cover. Lucky for Club his palm clip seemed more important, causing him to be off target. Still, nickel-sized holes erupted in the table, before expanding tenfold as the metal dissolved.
A med tech screamed. Club popped up and sent two blasts into the shield. Then everything went black. That, and the emergency hatches slamming down, stunned the passengers into silence. The backup lighting failed to kick in and only the fading glow of the holding circle and lines remained. “Energy disruptor,” Club yelled.
A-Tech! I waited for the gravity to fade before remembering the Mavinrom Dock, at its core, was military construct. I took a chance and sent a slug where I thought the bad guy should be. Blam! My dampener was dead. The area’s tiling absorbed most of the shot’s echo. Knowing the muzzle flash revealed my position, I dove left and came up kneeling. Clicking impacts, followed by fizzing, emanated from my previous position. “He lacks night vision gear,” I shouted over the again rising clamor.
I unbuttoned a breast pocket where I kept my special shells. Three flares. Too late to consider packing teargas or chemical shells. I loaded the multiple colored flare shells, swung to the left, and fired the first high above the main dock entrance. On the move, the remaining two were sent high across the hall. Each flare round slammed into a wall and cast eerie green, red, and yellow surges that intertwined with layered shadows.
I spotted the silhouetted bad guy hunched over and backing along the far wall. I pulled the pin on my grenade and yelled, “Fire in the hole,” hoping at least Club would react. The flash-stun grenade arced behind what had to be a terrorist. I fired a round from my shotgun just to cover the noise of the landing grenade, then rolled, covered my ears and closed my eyes while praying the disruptor had no effect on old-style grenades.
After the concussive blast I ran toward the terrorist. He was on the ground but getting to his knees. I fired my last loaded round at him. His shield was still up.
Above the ringing in my ears, I thought I heard Club yelling, “Shoot from the hip!”
Interpreting what she said, I moved closer, sliding several more shells from my vest pocket into my gun. The terrorist began to scramble forward. Less than ten paces away from him I spied the clip’s glowing keypad. Blam! It skidded across the floor. I put another round of #8 shot into it, and the third at the terrorist who was glaring at me in anger. He didn’t even flinch.
A brave civilian charged the terrorist and paid the price, falling away, clutching his dissolving abdomen. The passengers sheltering on that side of the room, blinded or not, fled. I backed away, drawing my revolver. Maybe I could deflect a round off the floor and circumvent the shield. We exchanged fire. His went wide and high, mine struck the shield.
The emergency lights flickered to life. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Club toting part of a table while advancing along the wall. Her laser was holstered with its power cord dragging behind. I sprinted to the left to draw attention, and if not, flank him.
The terrorist backed against the wall and opened fire on Club. The floor and wall each took a round before he hit the table. Club backed away, then broke and slid behind the downed passenger. Before the terrorist-vacationer turned to me, the silver-clad exotic dancer emerged from the chairs behind the terrorist and threw a thin knife. It wasn’t balanced for throwing but still managed to pierce his thigh.
She hurdled into the seats and disappeared as he pointed his lethal hand and sent several rounds. The dancer screamed. I emptied my revolver into his facing shield, failing to distract him. How many rounds could his shield stop? Satisfied, the terrorist hobbled to the far corner.
I took position behind the front row of cushioned seats, holstered my revolver, and reloaded my shotgun. Movement on the other side of the chairs caught my attention. I peered underneath and spotted the silver-clad dancer awkwardly crawling along the floor.
“Move as quickly as you can,” I urged. “I’ll wait until you pass before I fire on him.”
She rolled onto her side to see under the chairs. She clutched a maimed left hand below where the terrorist’s weapon had burned away part of her little and most of her ring finger. She breathed steadily despite the pain. “Do me a favor,” she said without accent. “Don’t wait. Just kill that bastard!”
Above the ringing in my ears, I heard distant sizzling of metal followed by renewed screaming. “That’s the plan,” I said. “Keep moving.” I peered over a row of the chairs. The terrorist had hunkered down in a corner. With obvious deliberation, he was pointing above the main docking hatch. I spied a large area of corroded metal near the ceiling. His goal was to burn through the outer hull.
I stood and fired at the terrorist. He ignored me, his shield absorbing everything. His long-range fire proved accurate. I slid in my last load of shells, wondering if he was almost out. I pulled my bayonet. “If he burns through, we’re all dead anyway,” I mumbled, fixing the blade to the end of my shotgun.
I hopped over the first row of chairs. The dancer turned and looked at me from a distance. I shrugged and hopped over the second row before moving toward the end of the row. Some of the passengers had managed to pry up the hatch leading to the colonists an inch or two. I couldn’t hear the hull sizzling over the pounding and screams, but my eyes confirmed continued progress. I steeled myself. “Be seeing you soon,” I whispered to God.
Flashes sped by. I glanced over the row to see Club standing about twenty yards away, laying into him with her heavy laser. If h
er recovered firepower couldn’t burn through the Crax shield, my shotgun never would. But my bayonet might penetrate. Club’s fire would cover my final move. Oblivious to me and ignoring her, he continued his assault on the hull.
Just after I spun around and charged with bayonet raised, Club’s blast burned through, taking the man in the chest. With a grunt of surprise, he collapsed.
I looked over my shoulder at Club who simply shook her head and laughed. The engineering tech next to her stood, puzzled.
The terrorist’s body began frothing from within. I maneuvered my bayonet and stabbed at the right hand of the terrorist, detaching the little finger before it was consumed. My eyes began watering as I flicked the severed digit across the floor before backing away from the gruesome sight.
I coughed and blinked, attempting to clear my eyes. Club barked orders to the engineering tech, who ran toward the hatch. The dancer was standing, holding her injured hand. Tahgs ran toward me, while the fearful clamor subsided.
“Kra!” cried Tahgs. “Are you okay?” She pulled up short.
“I am.” My throat stung but my vision was better. “You are, too?”
She nodded. I surveyed the scene. “Tahgs, I have to secure the area and see to the passengers.” I spotted the approaching dancer.
“Right,” Tahgs agreed, still trying to catch up with events.
“Escort Ms. Jazarine to Medical,” I said. “Report the incident. Remain with her until relieved or directed otherwise by Security.”
“Who?” Then she turned to see the dancer. At first Tahgs looked upset until she spotted the dancer’s hand. She bit her lower lip. “Please follow me, Ms. Jazarine.”
The dancer was stiff with pain, but still gazed at me, and then along my shotgun to the bayonet. Her eyes sparkled. “Thanks for trying, Specialist,” she said, reviving her accent. “But your superior got him first.”
Chapter 23
Mankind’s knowledge base increased exponentially early into the 21st century, but the learning curve wasn’t able to keep pace. Efforts to overcome this with artificial intelligence, including neural assisting microchip implants, ended in dismal failure. As a result, the knowledge curve leveled to a slow, steady climb, with occasional sporadic increases. This appears to be the model for all intragalactic species.
I finished dictating my incident report and waited while Specialist Club completed her debriefing in the captain’s office. Ensign Selvooh, working at his desk, ensured no one disturbed me. He was the only other crewmember besides the captain, her XO, and the navigator who’d retained their active military rank. In a crisis, would he be fourth in the chain of command after the chief navigator? Or would Chief Brold or the chief engineer? I refocused and re-ran the violent sequence through my head, straining to recall any unrecorded detail.
The door opened and Specialist Club strode past, exiting without acknowledging Ensign Selvooh or myself. I stood. Selvooh advised, “Captain Tilayvaux will signal when she is ready for you, Specialist Keesay.”
I sat back down, knowing that at least I was second. Tahgs, and the rest of the involved crew were waiting in isolation. Ensign Selvooh kept his dark, freckled face straight as he worked. “Routine work, Ensign?”
“Not exactly, Specialist. I’m organizing the crew’s individual incident reports into one summary brief.”
“For the lawyers?” Two passengers killed by the offender and fourteen injured, the majority being sprains or light contusions brought on by panic.
“Among others.” He sighed. “You know the procedure.”
“Correct.” I knew the lawyers wouldn’t want any corporate representative to influence recollections. “How long will this delay departure?”
“The departure schedule hasn’t changed.” He held a hand up to his ear. “They are ready for you.” He went back to work.
I wiped the surprise from my face before the door slid open. I halted next to a hard plastic seat, across the desk from Chief Brold, Captain Tilayvaux, and a yellow-tied lawyer. The polished mahogany desk looked old but well maintained and its inset computer was deactivated. Specialist Liu sat to my right, recording.
The captain’s face was round and soft, almost puffy. But her eyes were hard, framed by blonde bangs cut straight across the brow. “Nice to meet you, Specialist Keesay. Be seated.” Her voice was scratchy. Despite that, she spoke with precise enunciation. On the wall behind her hung an oil painting depicting a pack of wolves bringing down a bull moose.
Captain Tilayvaux glanced at the chief to her right, then the lawyer on her left. “We have reviewed portions of the confrontation provided by security monitors, until they were interrupted by the offender’s device. We have reviewed your report. It matches the security recordings and Specialist Club’s observations.” She leaned forward. “Do you have anything to add?”
“No, Captain,” I said evenly. “I do not.”
She nodded to the chief. “Relax, Keesay,” he said. “We find no fault with your actions. As a matter of fact, we had one gentleman involved who offered to buy out your contract.” He waited for a response.
Was there a question? I looked at the lawyer. The tie’s yellow was largely masked by black designs. Probably the best they could get on short notice.
“Conversing is part of a debriefing, Keesay,” said the chief. “Don’t fret. Anything said here remains with the company. It’ll never see the light of day in a courtroom.” I knew the chief approved of my caution. “Do you know to whom I am referring, Specialist?”
“I believe you would be referring to Mr. Habbuk of the Chiagerall Institute.”
“Yes, and what did he say just prior to the incident?”
“He indicated that there was going to be trouble.”
“And how did he know this?”
“I do not know, Chief.”
“Speculate,” Chief Brold said, leaning back in his lightly padded chair. “Could he have been associated with the offender?”
“He could have been, but I don’t believe so,” I answered, confirming the orientation in my head. “Mr. Habbuk is taller and was facing the scanning stations. I was facing away. He may have detected some suspicious movement or action by the offender. That may have tipped him off.”
“We reviewed the images,” stated the captain. “He warned you prior to any overt action taken by the offender.”
I remained cautious in answering. “That may be true. I cannot attest to that. I was not facing the offender.”
“Is it possible he utilized precognition?” asked the lawyer.
I almost snickered. “I don’t believe in seers or fortune tellers.”
“Then how do you explain his foreknowledge of events?”
I considered a moment before responding. The Chiagerall Institute is well respected in many circles and its personnel, resources, and research are sought after, especially by corporations with substantial assets. But some of the articles published by its research staff are highly speculative with little foundation and outside collaborative support. Most notably, the speculative studies involving foreseeing an event’s occurrence. “He may have seen an expression or subtle movement which tipped him off.”
“Your supervisor did not recognize whatever Mr. Habbuk might have seen.”
He was a true believer. “Mr...?”
“Mr. Elzo Boyden,” the lawyer informed me, “Fourth Class Security Specialist Keesay.” He ended with a tone of dismissal.
“Mr. Boyden, I cannot speak to the observations or actions of Specialist Club. Or any of the medical or tech staff. My back was to the situation.” I reminded myself not to automatically despise a lawyer. This one was on Negral’s side, but what was his angle? Was he looking to be recruited by Mr. Habbuk?
Before the lawyer could respond, the chief cut in. “Why did you order the offender to advance on the right line?”
It was in my report but I restated it anyway. I’d have to thank the chief for redirecting the conversation. It rarely pays to upset a lawyer, espe
cially one on your side. “Because he appeared apprehensive. I believed he was concerned with Specialist Club’s identification of potential unauthorized components. I felt he might have contraband items as well.”
“Did you direct the sec-bot to monitor a woman?” asked Mr. Boyden. “A Ms. Jazarine?”
Again, reported. “Yes, I did.”
“Why did you give this directive?”
“She approached while I was confronting the offender. I was suspicious of the timing.” I considered ending with that, but I knew Mr. Boyden would follow up. “I believed it was an effort to distract me. Also, her actions, striking me with her satchel and bumping the apparent vacationer who was under question, led me to believe that they were working as a team.” I took a breath before finishing. “I believed that he may have transferred something to her.”
The chief asked, “What was it that the offender handed to the woman?”
It was a softball question. “I did not observe an exchange. I suspected, so I assigned the sec-bot to monitor.”
Mr. Boyden followed up. “Did you direct Specialist Tahgs to take this woman, Ms. Jazarine, to Medical on the Kalavar?”
“I did.”
“Why, if you suspected her as an associate of the offender or possibly carrying contraband items?” accused Mr. Boyden. “She was not subject to search.”
Maybe the lawyer was seeking to determine if my actions could stand up in court. “Five reasons,” I said. “One, she had assisted in dispatching the offender. Two, the offender fired on her with lethal force. Three, she was a potential witness. Four, she would be in the company of a Kalavar crewmember.” He could jump on the fact that Tahgs wasn’t trained in security, but I continued before he cut in. “Finally, she was going into shock. Despite the fact that her wounds did not appear life threatening, they might very well have been.”
“How did you come to this conclusion?” asked Mr. Boyden, continuing to see a problem with my action.
“Specialist Club identified the offender’s shield as Crax,” I said. “I am not sure how, but I trusted her assessment. The offender’s ammunition was caustic, much like standard Crax weaponry. The residual components of Crax ammunition can get into the blood and if untreated, it’s known to cause severe and possibly fatal damage to vital organs, such as the liver.” I stared at Mr. Boyden. “My assessment of Ms. Jazarine was one of a proactive individual who wouldn’t hesitate in locating a lawyer to recover damages for failure of Negral personnel to act in a timely manner.” I looked at the chief and the captain. “Considering her positive actions, and the injury she sustained, she might have had a case.”
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