Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  I was confident Gudkov was in my assigned patrol area. Rather than try to determine the reason for the chief’s nonstandard, aberrant directive, I strode toward the assigned patrol area pondering an equally elusive answer—how to defeat the holder of three Kickboxing Intra-Colony Platinum Rings.

  My jaw began to ache. Nothing in my security training would help. I considered the tactics Smith had taught me. Not likely. I’d witnessed Gudkov take down half the marines onboard in the rec area. I clutched my brass knuckles. There was one tactic that might render Gudkov less potent and shorten my stay in Medical.

  My ocular provided no views of the assigned area. I slowed my pace to organize a strategy, but around the next corner stood three tan-clad maintenance techs. “Specialist Gudkov, I’ve been assigned this area. Report.”

  “Systems are coming back on line, no thanks to you.”

  “That is correct. My assignment doesn’t involve maintenance of the currently failing systems.”

  Gudkov took a squared-off stance. “Whose fault is it? That I and McAllister were barred from system monitoring and maintenance?”

  “Excellent question, Specialist Gudkov,” I said, feigning thought. “Just whose arrogance and stupidity landed themselves in confinement?”

  “Listen, Relic,” he growled.

  “I’m all ears, Chip.” I reached into my breast pocket for pen and the paper. I forgot I’d disposed of the leftover paper from the chief. Oh well, I thought, no signaling to Gudkov that I was following the chief’s orders. “Sorry. No paper. Guess I’ll just have to focus real hard and hope to retain those bits of your endless wisdom.”

  Gudkov dropped his equipment belt. “Too bad, Keesay,” he said, looking up. “Surveillance is down. But I’m sure you’ll recall this lesson.”

  Tech Schultz moved to step between us and received Gudkov’s sharp elbow to his chest. Schultz fell back struggling for breath.

  I slid my shotgun to the floor. “Tech Segreti, with surveillance out, you might want to keep track of your supervisor’s teeth.”

  “You sure, Keesay?” Tech Segreti asked.

  I unbuckled my belt and smiled, giving my best performance. After I said, “I am,” the maintenance tech nodded once and stepped back. Segreti was a brawler and knew some karate, but not in Gudkov’s league. It was good to know at least one crew member was willing to stick up for me. Gudkov said he’d taken out Pillar, who cleaned my clock back on the Mavinrom Dock, meaning I wasn’t in his league either. Not even close.

  I slid my brass knuckles onto my right hand. They hadn’t helped then and probably wouldn’t help now. But everyone knew I carried and used them. Segreti made them, so if I didn’t use them now someone might see through the ruse. I just hoped Gudkov really got the chief’s message.

  Gudkov stepped forward in a loose fighting stance. Nevertheless, he was like a compressed spring. I watched, gambled, waited for his leading right-foot kick. Even anticipating it, I wasn’t fast enough to sidestep and catch it fully in the crook of my arm. Somehow Gudkov managed to twist and spin, and was bringing his left leg around. I gripped his right leg, shifted, and landed my brass knuckles against his shin. His strike glanced off my shoulder and we both hit the ground.

  We rolled and came to our feet about three yards apart. He was up before me, favoring his right leg but not enough. I shrugged. Gudkov smiled. I’d hurt his leg but not enough to hinder him. I let him close on it anyway. He snapped a jab at my face. I flicked my head down. His knuckles impacted on the curve of my forehead. A thud resounded through my skull and masked what I hoped to hear—his knuckles splintering.

  Gudkov’s jab staggered me. I shifted and tried a right uppercut. I saw his right too late and paid for it. Did he swipe my feet from under me? Would Tech Segreti keep track of my teeth?

  Chapter 30

  Bacterial genes have long been a part of the human genome with approximately 120 of the 30,000 human genes being bacterial in origin. Additional bacterial genes have been inserted through the use of retroviruses during vaccinations. Colonial Marines reportedly receive the strongest measures, enabling them to better withstand hazards related to chemical and biological warfare.

  Smelling salts. Somehow they got past the clotted blood. The chief pulled the salts away. “Don’t think it’s broken.”

  I squinted and took in my surroundings. I was slouched in a padded chair in the chief’s office with Gudkov to my left. I tried to sit up straight but gave up, for the moment.

  Gudkov grinned. “Got all of my teeth.”

  “Gudkov,” the chief barked across his desk. I was slow to turn his way. “Corral your marbles, Keesay. We’ve got urgent business.”

  I probed with my tongue. Some of my teeth were loose, but no gaps. How many times did Gudkov hammer me before I went down? Or after. Someone else sat to my right. When I realized it was Specialist Haxon, Gudkov’s pal, I suppressed a groan. At least Gudkov’s right hand was wrapped.

  “Not bad, Keesay,” Gudkov said. “Faster than I thought. Must sandbag when you work out with Smith.” He mimicked a kick with his right foot. “Only two people have ever countered that move.”

  I forced myself up from slouching. “I know.”

  “Really.” It wasn’t a question. “Know your enemy.”

  “Opponent, and correct.” I nodded. The motion broke the clotting. Haxon shoved a bloody rag into my hand. “Thanks.” I dabbed my nose and winced. The pain cleared my head, somewhat. “Reviewed every one of your recorded matches,” I said between dabs. “Not much else to do in confinement.” I looked to the chief. He said nothing, so I continued. “Against opponents who were of significant inferior skill, you opened with the right kick forty percent of the time.”

  Gudkov chuckled. “You’ve been thumped one—make that two—too many times.”

  “Keesay, you coherent?” asked the chief.

  “I am,” I said, noting my sore jaw. “Mostly.”

  “Mostly, eh? What’s the first thing Maintenance Tech Gudkov said?”

  “He…pointed out he still had every one of his pearly whites?”

  “What is your current assignment?”

  “Security specialist 4th class aboard the civil transport Kalavar. Operated by Negral Corp. Main duty is the colonist area.”

  The chief slipped a toothpick into his mouth. “Who handed you that rag and why?”

  “Gudkov’s sidekick, to mop up his handiwork?”

  Chief Brold tapped several times on his desktop console. “Guess you’d never have survived to adulthood without a thick skull. Right, Anatol?”

  “For the record, Chief,” said Gudkov. “If Keesay pulls those brass knuckles on me again, you’ll be plucking ribs from his lungs.”

  Despite my sore neck I looked over my shoulder and around at the monitors before responding.

  “This room has been secured,” said the chief. “Go ahead, Keesay. I stirred the pot this time. We’ve got a few minutes, so let’s get it out in the open.” He glared at all three of us. “Anything said here stays.”

  “We’re such good buddies,” I said, looking from Gudkov to Chief Brold. “Even if the fight was staged, I had to try to win or whoever the show was for would’ve been suspicious. You expected a punching bag. Instead you’re pissed you got a little hurt.”

  “Gudkov,” said the chief.

  “Keesay, you’re lucky I held back. Call it my internal thespian.”

  I started to respond, but instead addressed the chief. “Who was the fight for if the monitors were down?”

  “We’re waiting for someone. I’ll get to that soon enough. In the meantime, Gudkov, you know most of this, but Keesay and Haxon need to get up to speed. There was an attack on the ship’s systems. That’s obvious. But there’s a lot more to it.”

  I wanted to ask who else, but figured I’d know by meeting’s end. Hopefully it wasn’t McAllister. She’d get too much pleasure seeing me roughed up by her loyal associate.

  “You with me, Keesay?”

&nb
sp; “Yes, Chief, I am.”

  “Good.” His tongue slid the toothpick across his teeth. “Not all systems were attacked. But security, medical, communications, inventory and weapons were. The primary systems, backup and even archived.”

  Haxon asked, “Including the remote secondary?”

  “Affirmative. Some of the personnel and accounting files have been damaged as well as company files. Navigation, engineering and life support were untouched except for one targeted area.” He was silent while the information sank in. “Engineering is scrambling to salvage what was lost, and using isolated backups as patches.” He shook his head and gnawed his toothpick. “When we tried an immediate reinstallation from memory plates, a dormant program delayed four minutes, then launched a new virus attack, corrupting them.” The chief threw his toothpick down.

  “Lucky as to the infiltrator’s target?” said Haxon, rubbing his cheek. “Although the coding and protections are different, if they could’ve attacked selectively along such routes even into archive, they could’ve targeted engine control, or navigation. Could have radically altered condensed space trajectory.” He didn’t have to explain the catastrophic results. “And I say infiltrator, as we are agreed it was an inside job?”

  Gudkov grunted. “Whoever was behind it knew their business. Engineer McAllister isolated parts of the program before it self-destructed. Crax. Advanced, possibly Primus Crax. We were lucky.” He shook his head. “Especially for the assistance that exploration shuttle crew gave us. Powerful system onboard. I’d wager there’s some Umbelgarri software, maybe hardware.” Gudkov’s hands became animated, emphasizing his explanation. “Coordinated by McAllister, a two-pronged counter-attack was launched against the multiple imbedded virus programs. The attacking program had harnessed eighty-seven percent of the ship-wide CPU before McAllister launched an offline secondary defense program in conjunction with the exploration shuttle’s system. The culprit or culprits definitely knew our system, and had some grasp of McAllister’s primary security programs.

  The chief held up his finger. He spoke into his collar. “Send him in.” He tapped the desktop and admitted the executive officer. He looked angry, embarrassed and frustrated.

  The door slid shut. “Lt. Commander Devans,” said the chief. “I’m sure your ass chewing was none less delicate than mine.” Haxon brought him a chair. “I’ve been catching Keesay and Haxon up on the targeted systems assault. Anything to add?”

  “Only that Mer estimated a twenty percent loss in stock.” He opened the folding chair. “I’ll get to that.”

  I flicked my head a little too quickly to catch the chief’s expression. Instead of dull headache, a throbbing started, but I ignored it. Stock? Negral stock? How could Mer or anyone know? How did events on the Kalavar tie in?

  “Why don’t you take over, Commander?” suggested the chief.

  The XO nodded and shifted his seat to face Gudkov, Haxon and myself. “You three are here for various reasons. Some specific knowledge or skill for the issues at hand. I’ll clarify as much as I can.”

  He licked his teeth. “First and most obvious, we have at least two saboteur-assassins on board. At least one is a crewmember. Placement of the advanced explosive device on Specialist Keesay’s cart, the advanced non-detection device Maintenance Tech Stardz had and presumably handed off to an accomplice. Keesay and Club stopped one of their number before boarding or we’d have even bigger trouble, as evidenced by having similar A-Tech equipment and method of self-immolation. And a security recording you’ll see shortly.”

  “Why the Kalavar?” interrupted Gudkov. “Mer’s important, but it doesn’t appear he’s the target.”

  “Good question,” said the Executive Officer. “I’ll get to that in good time.” While the XO’s voice was conciliatory, his sharp gaze was not. Gudkov took the hint and leaned back in his chair.

  “Prior to departure, the captain received a hand-delivered message. The Crax have attacked a number of Umbelgarri installations and outposts. Initial enemy actions were largely successful. The government, backed by a unanimous vote of all major corporate executive boards, has declared our intention to oppose the Crax in defense of our ally.”

  No one in the room was surprised, least of all myself, having overheard part of it while Mer conferred with the captain. But to actually hear it confirmed. What about the Chicher?

  Looking at me, the XO continued. “Captain Tilayvaux, as you may know, was a highly decorated fighter pilot and is well respected. But despite Mer’s influence, she commands the Kalavar, an aging civil transport. Do you have anything to add from your Marine contacts, Chief Brold?”

  “Other than the fact that deployment transports began less than two months before our departure. They’ve got the jump on us.”

  “Three months earlier wouldn’t have mattered,” said the XO. “Crax ships.”

  “Right,” said the chief. “Better to deploy with full logistical support. I heard the Umbelgarri provided fast transports. Better speed than even Primus Crax.”

  The XO held up two fingers. That was all? Gudkov groaned. Haxon pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “Anything to add, Specialist Haxon?” asked the XO.

  “Just trying to get the big picture, sir.” His gaze moved as if to focus on different regions of space. “The Crax would have to come through what remains of the Umbelgarri to get to us. We can’t maneuver our units fast enough to support. Felgan loyalty to the Umbelgarri defines the term. But they’re poor fighters. And the Crax have established a line of colonies and outposts between Felgan and Umbelgarri space. There’s the Chicher.” His voice trailed off.

  Both the chief and the XO didn’t have to say it. They wanted to be part of the defense forces moving against the Crax. But the Kalavar wasn’t fit for combat by any stretch of the imagination, even with its additional patchwork armor plating.

  “We don’t know who’s supporting the Crax,” said the XO. “Stegmars, of course. The V’Gun would be a good bet. Others? Unknown. But the Crax Confederation,” he spat, “Primus, Selgum and Coregar, is plenty enough.”

  “Back to the current situation,” said the chief, “and what you’re all itching your scalp over.” He eyed the chronometer. “Negral doesn’t believe all of the corporations are onboard for this war. At least to support the Umbelgarri. And it looks as if we’re caught up in the inter-corporate and governmental squabble.”

  “Squabble is one way to put it,” said the XO. “You three have volunteered for special duty. Identified because of your background, company loyalty, and especially because we believe you’re not complicit in the recent sabotage and assassination.” He leaned back a fraction. “I know there’s friction between you, and the initial stages of our plan have played on the common knowledge of it. It has to end right here. Right now. Understood?”

  Gudkov crossed his arms and nodded. Haxon elevated his right hand and nodded once. I followed suit. “Understood.”

  “First, the successful assassination,” continued the XO. “Chief?”

  With a tap the desktop screen angled up and pivoted. “You did two things right, Keesay. Still.” The screen showed, with minimal distortion, a corridor approaching the first class passenger suites. A marine walked one step ahead of a well-dressed passenger, approaching the camera. The scene stopped.

  “Keesay, you’ll recognize the Senior Vice President of Recruiting for the Chiagerall Institute with Private Fleishman.” With the distortion the ID helped, especially with Mr. Habbuk. Most executives his age have similar features based on common pre-selected genetic characteristics. “This is the only angle. Keesay, you ordered this sequence for priority isolation. Fortunately, we got as much as we did. Watch.”

  The scene continued with varying clarity. The strides of Mr. Habbuk and the marine shifted to the right. The marine’s head turned as if to follow someone then faced forward. A fraction of a second later Mr. Habbuk looked over his shoulder and began to duck. Then the marine stepped and spun to interp
ose himself, MP pistol drawn to fire. The marine took an MP round in the neck. Aim disrupted, Private Fleishman fired off two shots before another round struck him in the face. He hadn’t even moved his left hand to his damaged neck before a third round impacted his forehead. He instinctively fired off two unaimed rounds as he fell. Chief Brold stopped the recording.

  “The marine call,” said Commander Devans, “which keyed Keesay to save this sequence, we believe occurred just before the first wound. Now watch the senior VP.”

  Chief Brold started the sequence. Even as the marine fell, Mr. Habbuk dove to the right. A flash zipped past where he had stood. A crossfire. Mr. Habbuk went for the marine’s pistol but never got to use it. He dodged several flashes and, based on movements, several MP rounds from the opposite direction before they finally nailed him with a laser blast in the back, followed by several MP rounds. An additional laser blast struck the downed marine, and two more rounds impacted Mr. Habbuk’s prone body. Smoke emanated from the bloody corpses.

  “What tipped you off, Keesay?” asked the XO. “Why did you relay to Specialist Club that the Senior VP required an escort?”

  My eyes were wide. The meal with Specialist Tahgs felt weeks past. “Actually, sir, Mr. Habbuk requested I escort him back to his quarters just after I was contacted by Specialist Muller to report to the colonist area.”

  “Any additional observations?” Chief Brold asked.

  The screen remained frozen on the assassinated men. “Mr. Habbuk was insistent I escort him, but then said it would be fine and that I had others to watch. I told him to remain and I would send someone.” I searched my memory. “During the boarding, Mr. Habbuk responded similarly. He turned toward the offender before any observable hostile act.” Chief Brold nodded in agreement.

  “You all noted,” said the XO, “that someone, not picked up by the monitor, passed by Private Fleishman without raising an alarm. He didn’t nod or acknowledge, so definitely not a marine. Probably not security. A passenger in the corridor should have raised suspicion. I believe a maintenance or engineering tech, or engineer. This assessment will tie in later.”