“What about respect? Do you want I-Techs to respect your decision to be, to remain R-Tech?”
“Interesting question,” I said, thinking. “No. Respect me, for who I am. Don’t be close-minded. Get to know me.”
“But you don’t respect that lady for getting her tattoo.”
“No, but I tolerate it. Later, if I get to know her, I may respect her, and her decision.” I looked around. “How many others would afford me the same courtesy?” I scanned the room. “Strike that. Tainted by socio-economic condition. But even wealthy R-Techs are looked down upon. I don’t see that older couple with the bulldogs. Virtually every other first class passenger is present.”
“Was,” she said. The waiter approached and began to clear our table. “I get your point, Kra. I don’t agree one-hundred percent. And I’m glad you tolerate my violet eyes.” She winked.
We stood and moved to the side while the waiters and maintenance-bots took down the tables and erected seating for the play.
“I still haven’t heard about the combat shuttle simulations.”
“Not much to say, really.” I took her arm and guided us out of the middle of the growing crowd. I couldn’t observe from in there. “Anyway, Howler, the weapons and ordinance operator, invited me to try the onboard simulations. How could I pass that up?”
“What’s it like?” she asked.
“Different than the standard programmed simulations found on most systems. Maybe for security reasons. I was allowed to man the pulse lasers and some of the other weapon systems. Like the missiles and explosive caltrops.”
“How’d you do?”
She seemed interested, so I continued. “I wasn’t very fast or efficient interfacing with the combat assistance computer. But on manual, which still provides some targeting assistance, I almost scored average rating.” No one was listening to us. Still, I maneuvered to a better vantage. “Against the Crax, where computer lock-on is iffy, I fended off the bandits only two of eleven runs. One launch, our missile got a near miss on a frigate. The other time all four were destroyed after launch.” I shrugged.
“So if we go up against the Crax, we don’t stand a chance?”
“Howler says when he began new recruit training, they didn’t even use combat shuttles. Their first simulations were in old tech air combat craft. He flew things like World War II fighters. Propeller driven Spitfires or Mustangs with machineguns, against jet fighters with rapid-fire cannons and missiles.”
“Why?” she asked, showing the same puzzled look I had when I phrased the same question.
“He said they were being screened for aptitude and the ability to engage despite being at a severe disadvantage. The fighter and attack shuttles on the Kalavar are obsolete, but Earth’s top of the line equipment is equivalent to a Spitfire against, I think he called it, an F-16 Falcon.” I wondered if that was why the combat pilots retained the clock face designations in combat.
I could tell Janice wasn’t clear. I said, “Remember the computer clips your parents used in their primary schooling?” She nodded. “It’d be like using one of those against a state of the art one, in a Code Wars competition.”
She paled. “We haven’t a chance?”
“Not exactly.” I held her arm tightly. “Two things. It isn’t all hardware and software. The pilots, or as you I-Techs might call it, organic factor, plays a role.” She didn’t look convinced. “Hey, I did okay against two I-Techs.” I patted my revolver. “And, we’re allied with the Umbelgarri.”
She was silent before asking, “Howler. Why do they call him Howler?”
“He plays old and classical music, when in combat. You know, Wagner, Mozart. The pilot claims his weapons officer hums along, until things get intense. Then sounds more like a baying wolf.” I shrugged. “His favorite is O Fortuna by Orff. Maybe it confuses intercepted communication between pilot and weapons officer, or between shuttles?”
Janice smiled and ran her fingers through her dark hair.
“Actually, the attack shuttle kind of looks like an ancient torpedo-bomber from World War Two.”
Janice politely took a drink to hide her smile.
“Really,” I said. “Superficially. No propeller, more aerodynamic and comparatively oversized. It’s weapon systems, with dual fusion reactors for power.”
Janice nodded and added, “And packed with metallic hydrogen. But I only know that because my roommate was hot on the trail of the attack-shuttle pilot. All I heard about for a month.”
“So you already knew about this?”
Janice took my hand and cut me off. “No. I never really listened to Genni. But I’ll listen to you.”
I spotted the Chiagerall Institute recruiter. He was moving our way. Janice turned and smiled.
“Good evening, Specialist Keesay and Specialist Tahgs, if I correctly recall.”
“Good evening,” I responded before turning to Janice. “This is Mr. Chokks Habbuk, Senior Vice President of Recruiting for the Chiagerall Institute.” I wasn’t sure Janice knew about the Institute, but she nodded.
“It seems you are always finding trouble,” said Mr. Habbuk.
“Life has never been so exciting,” I agreed.
“Have you considered my offer, Specialist?”
“Yes, I received your electronic message. I do not believe I would function as an efficient personal bodyguard.” Janice’s eyes widened. Her eyes would have widened further had she witnessed the vision that haunted me. Special Agent Brown, lying dead on a shuttle ramp.
“You might be surprised,” said Mr. Habbuk. “And I am confident it would result in an increased rate of compensation.”
I thought of Agent Brown, trained in weapons and tactics, not as a bodyguard. It got her killed. It jeopardized Representative Vorishnov, whom she was assigned to protect. “I’m not trained for the position.”
“Training can be taken care of. You have the instincts.”
I didn’t want to be rude. “Thank you for the compliment. I will reconsider your offer, but I don’t believe I will change my mind.”
He held out his hand. “That is all that I can ask. The offer will hold until we reach the Zeta Aquarius Space Dock.” He nodded to Janice. “Madam.”
Janice watched Mr. Habbuk blend back into the waiting crowd, only to appear next to an elegant businesswoman sporting an orange dress scarf, with few, very narrow black pinstripes. “Did you see his tie? He’s pretty far up, Kra.” Janice measured his companion. “Do you think you should turn him down?”
“I’m under contract to Negral.” Janice looked uncomfortable. I relieved her by stating what she was thinking. “I know that I may not be retained on the Kalavar. McAllister and I will never mix. But Negral is up and coming. There are other opportunities.”
“The best you could expect would be a lateral move within Negral. Mr. Habbuk indicated an increase in pay.”
“But I’d stagnate in the position. I wouldn’t, couldn’t move up. My current position with Negral offers vertical mobility, hopefully ascending.” I took her hand. “Besides, I like the current company.”
She blushed. Staring me in the eye she said, “Flattering, but do consider it.”
“I will,” I said, snapping my attention. “Mr. B’down.”
“Am I interrupting?”
“No. Of course not,” said Janice. “Where is your companion?”
“Ms. Jazarine,” he said, grinning. “Momentarily indisposed. She will be back shortly.”
Janice said, “Sounds like a good idea. Please, excuse me.”
Mr. B’down watched Janice flow through the crowd. “Fine looking young lady.”
“Yes, she is. I’m proud to be her escort.”
“You should be, although I don’t think she likes Ms. Jazarine.”
“Oh?” I lied, but he saw through it. I shrugged. “Ms. Jazarine has my respect. Correct me if I’m wrong, but was it she who got me out of tonight’s situation?”
“You are quite correct. She apparently respe
cts you as well.” He stepped closer. “I’m not clear on the specifics, but she warned Mr. Kolber’s associates. Said you had been banned from the Mavinrom Dock after crippling a marine. Crushed the skull of a lunatic assassin, and killed two renegade security in a shootout. All in the week prior to departure.” He chuckled. “They scoffed until she pointed out you were the one who bayonet-charged the terrorist during boarding.” He scratched behind his ear. “Is all that true?”
“More or less. Mainly less. I’ll have to thank her.”
“Actually, you’ll get the chance,” he said hesitantly. “That’s why I slipped over. Our seats are adjacent.” He looked around. “Your companion may not enjoy the play as much sitting next to mine. We’ve been assigned seats 6G and 6H.”
“We’re 6I and 6J,” I said.
“Make sure you sit in 6I?”
“Thank you for the heads-up.” I caught him eyeing my equipment. “I left my brass knuckles at home.”
“Always a good decision for formal dinners.”
“It almost wasn’t.” We laughed. I reached into a breast pocket. “Gum wrap, Mr. B’down?”
“Thank you, Specialist Keesay.” He eyed the wrapper as he began to chew. “Authentic sugar. Very kind of you.”
“No problem,” I said, before engaging in small talk. To our surprise, approaching together were Ms. Jazarine striding and Janice bounding.
“How fortunate, Kra,” said Janice. “We have adjacent seating. Jamayka has seen holo-plays by this troupe before. They’re excellent!”
Ms. Jazarine nodded. “I’ve attended one of their live presentations. A different Shakespearean tragedy, Hamlet.”
Janice and the exotic dancer continued to chat until the crowd began moving toward the seating. “I see,” I whispered to B’down, “that you’re an expert on women. At least in this area I’m your equal.” Our muffled laughs went unnoticed. I wondered if Janice recognized Jamayka’s accent was fake.
I was familiar with Othello, as was Ms. Jazarine, who whispered brief commentary on plot points to Janice during the play. I was more impressed with the holographic presentation than the acting. The number of feeds and angles of projection created the illusion of a live performance. The fact that I heard no complaints by the other spectators cemented my opinion that the Kalavar’s technicians were top notch. Momentary churning of bile ensued as I did my best to ignore the certainty of Senior Engineer McAllister and Tech Gudkov’s contribution. Overall, I was able to enjoy the production. The treachery and machinations of the villain, Iago, and his compatriot, Roderigo, hit close to home. It almost left me in a sour mood when the final curtain fell.
Everyone applauded. I followed suit. Clapping for holo-casts didn’t make sense, but some actions to blend in never hurt. Janice sat erect, clapping with mixed emotions. The sad ending, and the fact that the performance was over, blended with the experience of the event. Ms. Jazarine was the first to rise and Mr. B’down rose quickly, in response to her agitated stare. I took Janice’s hand and cleared the aisle for them.
Mr. B’down motioned for us to follow. “They will be serving carbonated waters and sardines. Care to join us?”
I looked to Janice. “It’s late, but I can catch up on the sleep some other time. You?”
Janice grinned. “Without a doubt.” She leaned close my ear. “What are sardines?”
“Just a moment,” I said. “Need to check in.” Janice waited next to me while Mr. B’down and Ms. Jazarine joined arms and moved on. I pulled the hand radio, adjusted it, and inserted the ear receiver. “Sec-bot Lefty, this is Specialist Keesay. Report.” There was no answer. I repeated to no avail. “Security, this is Keesay.”
“Yes, Keesay, this is Muller.”
“I was unable to make contact with my sec-bot in the colonist area.”
“We’re experiencing some minor communication difficulties. You’re pal McAllister is on it. Let me check the monitors.”
“Acknowledged.”
“The sec-bot doesn’t respond to my communication either. But all looks clear. No one up and about. The sec-bot is moving through the dining area.
“Acknowledged.”
“Hey, Keesay, what are you doing checking in? Aren’t you in the middle of viewing a performance?”
“Just ended. I need to make rounds before I turn in tonight, but thought I’d stay for a few of the after-performance festivities.”
“I would,” said Muller. “Will keep you advised.”
“Thank you, out.” I turned back to Janice. “Sardines,” I whispered, before leading her toward the crowd, “are salty preserved fish. If you don’t like them, that’s what the carbonated water’s for. You wouldn’t be any different from the upper crust.”
“Upper crust?” She shook her head. “Maybe later.”
As we approached the standing tables, Mr. B’down waved us over. I directed our path so that Janice would stand next to Ms. Jazarine and I would be next to Mr. Habbuk who, along with his executive companion, stood at the table.
“Decrease table elevation, ten centimeters,” the Chiagerall Institute recruiter whispered before he directed his attention to us. “Greetings again, Specialist Keesay. I hope you and Specialist Tahgs enjoyed the performance.”
Lowering the table was a courteous gesture by Mr. Habbuk. With her heels, Janice was several inches taller than me. He could have done it on her behalf, as everyone around the table was taller than she was, but I doubted it. I looked to Janice. “I believe we both enjoyed it.”
“Let me introduce Ms. Zelenda Kneft. She represents Tri-Star Horizon Investment Group.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” I replied. Janice held my hand under the table. It was cold and sweaty. “Have you ordered?”
“No, we have not,” said Mr. Habbuk. “We were awaiting your arrival.”
“Extremely kind.” I placed my gum on the edge of my small white ceramic plate. I flipped the shallow matching cup in an away-motion before returning it to the center of the plate with both hands. Janice mimicked my move. It was kind of like holding out your little finger when drinking tea in society years ago, or so my mother had said. “What would you recommend?”
“The black raspberry?” suggested Ms. Kneft. All nodded, and I followed suit. “Mustard, tomato, or oil?” She looked across to Mr. B’down’s companion.
“Mustard sauce?” offered Ms. Jazarine. All nodded. “Salted or spiced crackers?”
I tapped Janice’s foot, and she took her cue. “Salted, lightly?” All nodded.
Mr. Habbuk, who was senior in rank, tapped the table screen, sending the order. “An excellent combination.”
Ms. Jazarine seemed to be in an uncharacteristic dark mood, and Janice was very quiet, possibly feeling out of her element, but the other three continued to chat. I utilized my skill at keeping abreast of the current conversation while monitoring those around us. The food and drink was an additional distraction but manageable.
A table behind was discussing war with the Crax, the potential implications to commerce, and which corporations were best situated to take advantage. Some felt Negral would survive, but all agreed that Capital Galactic was well positioned, considering its diversified assets in multiple planetary resource bases, and connections as a favored military contractor.
The table to the left was discussing the racial aspect of Othello and if it still had relevance today. One businessman was arguing that individuals, when they work or are in social situations, prefer those who look and act like they do. He was arguing basic human nature, and pointing out examples of company boards and their composition. His associates were scoring points indicating the weakness of allowing this in a company, holding up highly successful corporations known to bring aboard the best person for the job, regardless of economic origin, race, or gender.
“What about you, Keesay?” asked Mr. Habbuk.
I shifted back to our table’s line of conversation. “Me, if I were Othello and discovered the treachery? Translated to a similar offense
today? I’d run him through with my bayonet. Wouldn’t even waste a shell.”
“Wouldn’t apprehend him for trial and conviction, eh?” said Mr. B’down.
“No,” said Ms. Jazarine, monotone. “He wouldn’t.”
Mr. Habbuk opened his mouth to speak, but instead looked at me then reached for his drink. He almost toppled it.
“Keesay,” crackled my ear receiver.
Mr. Habbuk’s hand shook slightly as he sipped his water.
“Keesay here, Muller.”
“Report to the colonist area immediately. Will advise en route.”
“Acknowledged.” I replaced the radio. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Specialist Keesay,” Mr. Habbuk interrupted. He looked pale. “Could I trouble you for an escort back to my cabin?”
“Are you ill?” asked Ms. Kneft.
“My apologies, Mr. Habbuk. I have been ordered elsewhere.” I turned. “Specialist Tahgs could contact, or escort you to Medical.” Looking at the man, I knew it was fear. Recent experience suggested the recruiter’s instincts were not to be ignored. “Muller,” I called into the radio. “Dispatch Dorian Ross to the ballroom.”
“She’s assisting engineering. What’s the problem?”
I refrained from clutching the radio. “How urgent is my presence required in the colonist area?”
“There’s been an assault and possible homicide.”
Mr. Habbuk gripped the table. “It is not a problem, Specialist.”
I stared at him. “If no one else is available, Muller, assign a marine. Have him report to Mr. Habbuk, Senior Vice President of Recruiting for the Chiagerall Institute.” A few of the nearby diners had noted my extended conversation into the hand radio.
“Is it necessary?” asked Muller.
“Affirmative.” I surveyed my party. Janice and Ms. Kneft looked as confused as Mr. Habbuk did worried. Ms. Jazarine and B’down stared into their drinks. “Duty requires my immediate departure. Mr. B’down, could you see that Specialist Tahgs is escorted to her quarters?” A sharp look silenced Janice. He nodded. “Mr. Habbuk, there will be an escort momentarily. Again, I apologize for being unable to fulfill your request.”
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