Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “Relax, Keesay,” said Chief Brold. “You’re not on trial.”

  “I wouldn’t rule the possibility out,” warned Mr. Boyden.

  “Right,” laughed the chief. “Three passengers threatened to retain Falshire Hawks. Nobody boarding has that stature, money, or connections to CGIG.” He looked back at me. “You performed well, Keesay. And Club identified it as Crax by the way the sec-bot’s stun-net outlined the shield when it discharged.” The chief stared directly at Mr. Boyden. “And lopping that cybernetic finger was fast thinking.”

  “I agree with the assessment,” the captain stated. “Do you recall how the safety door came to be elevated?”

  “The one leading to the colonists?” I asked, trying to recall. She nodded, so I continued. “It appeared the locking mechanism failed and the passengers somehow pried it up.” The trio’s faces indicated my assumption was incorrect. “As I stated in the incident report, I saw the passengers seeking a means of escape.”

  “That will suffice,” said the captain. “In retrospect, is there any action you would have omitted or performed differently?”

  “Only one,” I said, watching Mr. Boyden’s eager reaction. “I would have carried teargas rounds for my shotgun instead of counting on a sec-bot for deployment.”

  “Hell, Keesay,” said the chief. “I’m damn glad you were lugging flare rounds.”

  After a long moment of silence, Captain Tilayvaux said, “Your com-set will be returned within the hour. Your sec-bot is being checked out and should be ready in two days.” She leaned back in her chair, revealing an unusually snug uniform fit. That brought my attention to the Fire-wings patch, designating her as a fighter pilot for the Red Phoenix Wing. After that I noticed the large number of combat ribbons below the patch.

  Chief Brold added, “Maintenance and engineering techs are busy repairing or replacing passenger equipment damaged during the incident.”

  “Understood,” I said.

  “Right now resources are tight,” he continued. “Captain Tilayvaux intends to depart on schedule. Will it be a problem to load the colonists without assistance?”

  I stood, giving the only answer. “Not a problem, Chief.”

  He stood and offered a hand radio. “Borrowed this from Mer. Circumstances have allowed us to requisition some military equipment hardened against electronic warfare. It’ll be installed in your com-equipment, and some in your sec-bot.”

  That would give Gudkov another round programming my sec-bot. “Does that upset you, Keesay?” asked the chief.

  I must have frowned. “No, Chief. Just prioritizing all the duties yet to carry out before departure.”

  “Well, get on them. Maybe I can scrounge you up some help. Dismissed.”

  I grabbed a nutrition bar on the way to my quarters. Everyone onboard the Kalavar was running full speed. Although I didn’t expect real trouble from the colonists, I was out of shells. I cleaned up reloaded, and hurried to the main docking hatch. There, Corporal Smith leaned against a bulkhead.

  “I hear you need help herding some colonists.” His casual grin slowed my tempo.

  “I wouldn’t turn down assistance,” I said. “Know anybody competent for such an arduous task?”

  “Using big words won’t impress me. I know your assigned duties.” He shifted his slung MP carbine and slapped me on the back. “Heard you had a rough morning.” He looked me over. “No new black eyes or split lips?”

  I led him through the hatch to the dock. “Not yet.” Repairs to the damaged walls and floors were underway. “Is the Mavinrom Dock always such a dangerous place?”

  He shrugged. “Heard you bayonet charged that fellow with the shield.”

  News travels fast. “Not exactly, but if that’s what people want to believe.”

  “You’re a nut, Keesay.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” We angled through the busy repairmen to the colonist holding area. “I’ll request its inclusion in my personnel file.”

  He laughed. “Hey, got a recording of Pillar with your archaic firearms on the shooting range. Care to view it some time?”

  “I assume you’d rate its entertainment value high?”

  “That depends,” said Smith, “on who you’re rooting for.”

  I entered the room and pulled out a printed list. The colonists sat, agitated and bored. Before they could voice complaint, I ordered, “Everyone line up as I call your name. If you are unable to follow that simple directive, Corporal Smith will be forced to assist you.”

  I ran down the alphabetical listing and most fell in line without delay. Fortunately, I’d committed most of the names and faces to memory. “I will lead the way to your quartering. Corporal Smith will bring up the rear. Follow single file. Move quickly and avoid interfering with dock or transport personnel.” I eyed the line. “Any questions?” I expected Carver Potts or his associates to speak up. They didn’t. “Excellent.”

  When we finally reached the relatively open recreation area inside their quartering area, the colonists stood or took seats on the benches that lined several tables. I glanced at the temporary walling and the heavy curtains that covered the entry to each divided sleeping area. I waited for silence. “I have assigned quartering arrangements. You will find your name and the names of any roommates posted next to the entry. Inside, you will find a cot, storage trunk, and three changes of clothing, including boots, socks and undergarments. Your personal possessions will be distributed later.”

  “Spared no expense,” muttered a man nearby.

  I agreed it was substandard but couldn’t verbalize it. “You will spend the majority of your day in training during transport to Tallavaster.”

  Carver Potts edged his way to the front. “Why can’t we pick our own bunkmates?”

  “To keep families together and for organizational purposes.”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “And if we decide to switch?”

  “You will take your rest in the assigned quartering, Agricultural Laborer Potts.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  “I will install floor rings and handcuff you there each and every night.” I looked at the other colonists. “Does any colonist besides Laborer Potts have a question?”

  There was silence until Potts whispered something into the man’s ear next to him. The man raised his hand.

  I eased my right hand into my pocket and into my brass knuckles. “Yes, Laborer Custer Simon.” I maneuvered my right hand behind my back while pointing with my left. “You have a question?”

  “Will you be wiping us after we crap?” He grinned proudly.

  I walked up to him and locked eyes and waited. When Potts’s eyes shifted from me to his friend, I brought my right fist up into his jaw. Potts staggered back into the crowd. The grin disappeared from Simon’s face. Potts didn’t get up.

  “That was Laborer Potts’s question. What was yours?”

  “What did you do that for?”

  “Is that your question? Or would you care to stand by Labor Potts’s query?”

  “You don’t know—it was his question,” Simon said. “You can’t prove it.”

  “Under the terms of Laborer Potts’s contract, proof is not a requirement for action I deem appropriate.” I spoke to the group. “Most of you probably have never been aboard an interstellar ship. The rules of evidence and actions taken by authorities are quite different than planetside. I will post a copy for you.” I lowered my voice as some of the colonists began muttering among themselves. “According to your file, Laborer Simon, your record is fairly clean. I would recommend you disassociate yourself from Laborer Potts.”

  I stepped back. “I suggest you all find your quartering. Your instructors will arrive shortly to get things started.” The colonists dispersed. “Remain in this area until directed otherwise.”

  I signaled to Corporal Smith and we examined the unconscious Potts. I wiped up some of the blood from the gash my brass knuckles had made and tied my blue bandana unde
r his jaw. “Can you get him to Medical while I finish up here?”

  “Made another friend I see.” He hoisted Carver Potts over his shoulder.

  “You might be surprised,” I said. “How many friends did I make by taking on the local bully?”

  “Need training in non-lethal takedowns?”

  “No. I’m competent in several. When the situation calls for them.” I smiled. “I didn’t think marines specialized in non-lethal combat.”

  “We don’t,” Smith answered, shifting the unconscious colonist to a better position. “See, my dad worked security. Taught me a few, so I could win fights without being brought up on charges. But if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll show you a few.”

  “Point out Private Nicely, and I might.” He laughed while I spoke into the hand radio. “Medical, this is Specialist Keesay. I’m sending a colonist with a possible fractured jaw.”

  Chapter 24

  As humanity traveled to the stars a single time standard for all docks, space vessels, and colonies was established. Although planetary rotation and orbits differ, the standard 24-hour day and 365 1/4 day year remained in place. It is one of the threads that tied mankind together as it spread across the galaxy.

  I stood outside the cafeteria, checking my watch and comparing it to the chronometer above the entrance. My watch remained accurate, but the mundane components kept it from tying into the ship’s system. After my trip to the Mavinrom 1 Colony, I had to reset it. A second here and there generally doesn’t matter, but no reason to be off.

  I checked the corridor once more. Ten minutes late; Tahgs wasn’t coming. I considered contacting her with my rebuilt com-set, but if she wasn’t here, she was engaged in required duties. That was fine. With less than three hours before departure, I had plenty to do.

  Movement through the cafeteria line was brisk and most company personnel wasted little time socializing. A few passengers, mainly standard class, were dining. I received more than my fair share of stares with whispers, “That’s him,” and nods in agreement.

  I steered my chicken patty and carrot slices to an open table. Several bites into my meal a couple came up and thanked me for stopping the terrorist. I smiled and pointed out it was my superior, Specialist Club, who should be credited with ending the violence. This sequence transpired a half dozen times before a young man wearing black and a priest’s collar sat down. His long hooked nose overshadowed his bushy mustache.

  I stood. “Reverend.”

  “Father Cufter,” he said, sitting down. His voice was deeper than expected. “Marcus Cufter.”

  “Specialist Krakista Keesay,” I said, following his lead. He didn’t have a tray. “Have you dined?”

  “Not yet, Mr. Keesay. But I can tell that you’re in a hurry.”

  “It’s been a while since being addressed as Mister. You are welcome to call me that or simply Krakista.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your dining,” said the priest with his hands folded on the table. “I witnessed your efforts in the loading area. And I’ve been told that you have recently found yourself thrust into other violent confrontations.”

  I wondered as to his source. Maybe Benny. “Performing my duty as trained.” I took a drink and another bite.

  “I understand. I just wanted to invite you to services.”

  “Thank you, Father. Have you spoken with Benjamin Cox?”

  “I can’t say that I have. Is he a crewmember or passenger?”

  “A friend of mine. He was very excited to learn that a missionary was on the passenger list. You might look him up.”

  “You could bring him with you to services.”

  I finished my last bite. “More likely it’ll be the other way around.” It’s always difficult to turn down a preacher. “I’ll make the effort.”

  He stood. “If not, maybe we could just dine together on occasion? From what I hear, you’re a very interesting person.”

  Was it okay to ask a priest his source? I was getting up when I noticed the Chicher diplomat approaching. His high pitched chattering translated, “Greetings, Security Man, I see I am delayed to nibble with you.”

  “You are correct, Diplomat. I must get back to my duties.”

  “Agreeable.” The Chicher’s brown eyes darted to Father Cufter. “Spirit Man,” he bowed, shifting his tail to the right. “Delight in the orb passing.” His translator had just finished when he scampered away toward the line.

  “Your source, as to my being an interesting person, has just been verified.”

  “I have only one source,” he said, smiling broadly. “But many brothers. Talk with you later, Krakista.”

  I stopped by Security. “Specialist Club, any orders before I proceed to the colonist area and await departure?”

  “Yes, Keesay,” she said, watching the monitors. “Stop by Medical.”

  “Dr. Sevanto has a question about the patient I sent?”

  “Affirmative.” She pointed at a screen. “Seems the missionary is working on a new convert. Dining with the Chicher ambassador.”

  “There’s worse company he could keep.” I observed the two monitors dedicated to the colonist area. Most were clearing their trays and returning them to the delivery carts. “Did they like their meal?”

  “You suggested the chicken patty?”

  “A personal favorite. What’s good for one R-Tech should satisfy another.”

  “To tell the truth, most were pleased,” she said. “Better than what the dock served them.”

  I tapped one monitor screen. “The maintenance tech by the two catering dolly-bots looks ill at ease.”

  “Right. He contacted me twice, wondering where you were.” She switched views on several monitors. “He’ll get over it.”

  “Maybe, you could add catering to his duty skills?” After Club snorted, stifling laughter, I asked, “Any incidents I should know about?”

  “Breaking that colonist’s jaw made an impression.” She wheeled over to her main console. “Would you like to see it?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “The chief thinks you went a little hard on the fellow.”

  “He publicly challenged my authority. I determined it was better to provide a public lesson.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. Better they learn the rules before crossing a line with permanent consequences.” She was even more serious than usual. “There are some bad characters among them.”

  “I know. Carver Potts is the loudest, but not the worst. Vyctor Putin, Stosh Meadows.”

  “I don’t know why, Keesay, but the company really turned over some rocks to fill out the complement of agricultural laborers.”

  “According to the reports, Negral screeners and recruiters felt they’d benefit the company. Sometimes people simply need a break.” I caught my pun with respect to Potts, but it went right by Club.

  “Never pegged you for an optimist,” she said. “Thanks for your assistance earlier.”

  “Just performing my assigned duty.”

  “Well, I’m glad I brought you along.” She cocked her head. “Do you always carry flare rounds?”

  “What better way to break up unruly crowds. Other than chemicals?”

  “Unconventional,” she said, reaching into a drawer. “Here. The chief wanted this returned to the dancer.” She handed me a knife. “It was coated with a potent narcotic.”

  “Really?” I examined the slender steel blade.

  “She has a carry permit,” Club explained. “Short duration. It should’ve knocked the offender out fifteen seconds after entering his blood stream.” She shrugged and reviewed the monitors. “Dancer’s still in Medical. Stop by on your way.”

  “It is clean now?” I clarified, before securing it to my belt.

  “That’s right.” She tapped a screen and the door opened.

  I waved to Benny on the way to medical. He was part of a team inspecting the wall-mounted pallets. Specialist Tahgs sat at the reception desk, dictating and tapping away when I enter
ed. “Dr. Sevanto wanted to see me.”

  She tapped a few screens. “He has been notified.” She nodded. “He will be with you in a moment.”

  “Missed you at supper.”

  She didn’t look up. “Couldn’t get away.”

  “Understood.” I stepped back to let her concentrate. I updated my electronic notebook, and then adjusted my com-set. Using the ocular, I brought into focus a current security view in the colonist area. All was quiet with most milling about. I made a note to acquire entertainment other than holo-casts.

  It took my eyes a second to refocus after Dr. Sevanto approached. He looked fatigued. “Sorry, Doctor. I need more experience with this ocular.”

  “This way, Specialist.” He led me to a wall computer and offered a stool. “Agricultural Laborer Potts. How was the injury inflicted?”

  “A set of brass knuckles.” He looked puzzled so I pulled them out.

  “You believe in the direct approach.”

  “When it’s called for, Doctor.”

  “Recent track record indicates your methodology’s success.” He tapped up a screen showing the fracture. “Hairline here,” he said, pointing. “I’ve immobilized the jaw and administered a growth stimulant to the damaged area.” He tapped to a diagnostic screen. “Should be fully healed within a week.”

  “Will it affect his ability to attend assigned agricultural training?”

  “No, he’ll be ready tomorrow morning. He will have difficulty participating verbally.” Dr. Sevanto switched screens for a rotating view. “I’ve scheduled a liquid diet.”