“I understand.” Simmons said. “From your efforts we have twenty two senators who will be willing to support us and twelve against us, does that agree with your figures?”
“Not quite.” Leyland said. “I have twenty one senators supporting us, we may have lost one. We have eighteen against us and sixty one sitting on the sidelines waiting.”
“I cannot release my position publicly without something to back it up.” Simmons said. “I had hoped the success with the Hailsten Shipyard would be supportive. Do you think I should release my position?”
“As you say, we have nothing to offer.” Leyland said. “If we do not release our position, it keeps Sammy and any other senator who is actively opposing us off-balance. We can’t delay too much longer however.”
“Why is that?” Ire asked. She was standing next to Simmons looking over his shoulder at the sheet detailing the connections to the Hailsten Shipyard. “Why can’t we delay?”
“One of the senators, though I don’t think it is Sammy, has put it on the register for a vote in their senate.” Leyland said. “We have only a few days to prepare.”
“Someone is trying to force our hand.” Simmons said. “Why don’t you think it is Charles Sammy?”
“Sammy wants to build a larger navy to attack our planet.” Leyland said. “I’ve looked over past bills that he’s put forward, they have always included some element of supporting the navy in his bills. These bills have been created by someone else. It means that we may have a third party competing against us, it also means I do not know their agenda.”
“That makes sense.” Simmons said.
“I still have some things to do, lines of enquiry to pursue.” Leyland said. “I’ll get back to you.”
“I have stopped the crew and the Peace Officers from leaving the spaceship up until now.” Simmons said. “I had hoped that by restricting access to the concourse that would allow you more freedom of movement. That does not seem to have worked. I will need to let them out. The Captain is badgering me as it is causing chaos up here.”
“Understood.” Leyland said. “I would advise keeping them close to the ship as it is not safe.”
*
“Mr Simmons has confirmed that we will be allowing both crew and Peace Officers to visit the space station for rest and recuperation.” The speakers squeaked in protest as a cheer resounded through the space freighter. “People must return at least one hour before their duty shift starts, and no one is allowed to visit the station alone. That is all.”
Stan drummed his hands on the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s our turn to party,” he said.
A second cheer went up. Lieutenant Hammond entered the room, a bemused smile on his face. He lifted his hands.
“Settle down everyone, settle down.” Hammond waited for quiet. “I’ll add to Captain Stone’s announcement. No more than seven Peace Officers, that’s one third of our complement, to leave the space freighter at any one time. No weapons are to be worn or carried, and no one is to wear a uniform on the space station. Any questions?”
“What if you don’t have civilian wear?” Lea asked.
“Then you can’t go.” Hammond said.
“Or you could go naked.” Stan said. He leered at Lea though he stepped back out of range of her fists.
“Enough of that.” Hammond said. “The first group can leave at shift change, the Sergeant will organise who can go. They have a maximum of five hours to enjoy the joy and comforts the station has to offer before returning. At least one of the crew will be joining them as they will want the opportunity to stretch their legs.”
Hammond turned to the sergeant.
“I will send a list of the crew members who will be joining each group to you.” Hammond said. “I’ll be staying on the ship, if you want to join the first group.”
It took several minutes for the sergeant to draw a list of each of the three groups of seven Peace Officers. He passed the list around.
“Good news.” Stan said. “I’m in the first group.”
“Very good news, perhaps I’ll get some peace and quiet.” Lea said. She rolled her eyes.
“Then I know that you will be even more excited to know which crew member has been selected to join your group.” The sergeant announced. “Tyler Hart will be joining the first group; James Rivan the second group; and both Seána Mercer and the cook, the third group. I trust that you will look after Hart and bring him back safely Stan without punching him again?”
“Yes Sergeant.” Stan said.
“What could go wrong?” Lea asked.
*
David Rawlins sat back with a satisfied sigh.
Tyler Hart had left the ship and the air within the engine room already felt fresher. His constant snide comments made for a negative atmosphere and Rawlins felt he could relax again.
He watched James Rivan for a few moments. In comparison, Rivan had shown a willingness to work hard and an unexpected resourcefulness which delighted Rawlins. He loved working with people who could challenge his way of thinking. At this moment, Rivan was drilling holes in the ducts in preparation for the installation of the rail system for the condensers. He wanted to finish his creation before visiting the station.
Rawlins could respect that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It started so innocently.
Tyler Hart was actually behaving better than Stan expected. He had joined the seven Peace Officers as they entered the concourse of the space station. They mingled with a crowd of sightseers, mostly tourists waiting to join a shuttle to the cruise ship parked in a nearby orbit. They found a quiet coffee shop. The coffee there tasted terrible. It is almost impossible to boil the water hot enough in a low pressure space station for the coffee to be properly saturated. Instead they moved on to a bar. That’s where the trouble started.
Most space station bars are filled with a mixed blend of different communities. If there is an Imperial ship visiting the system, as there was today, there would be several imperial marines occupying the bar stools. Asteroid miners can always be found huddling in a corner discussing their latest claims. Tourists would mingle, some dancing to popular songs, others talking loud and obnoxiously, yet others taking photographs. In another corner, local workers would occupy their favourite seats, quietly sipping their well earned beers, and discussing the latest news and gossip.
This bar was different.
The asteroid miners were here. That was a given. Regardless of the planetary system, asteroid miners always followed the flow of alcohol. There was also a group of young men seated near the entrance. Stan glanced at them as he entered. They were not wearing a uniform, but wore matching dark blue clothes without any insignia.
The asteroid miners went quiet and looked at each other.
As Stan stepped to the counter to order his drink, he noticed the asteroid miners slowly file from the bar. The group of young men stood up.
“The bar is closed.” The man at the front of the group said. “We don’t serve your kind here.”
Stan ignored the man and ordered his beer. The android serving behind the bar served the beer and accepted payment.
“I said we don’t serve your kind here. Are you deaf?”
Stan turned around with an innocent smile.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Stan asked.
The seven Peace Officers separated. There were nine men facing them, a tenth had slipped away. Tyler Hart pushed to the counter.
“Three bubbles with a twist of lime.” Hart said to the attentive android. “Can you make it with triple distilled whiskey please.”
Stan winced.
“Your last chance.” The man said. He stepped forward and placed his hand on Stan’s arm. “Leave or we will throw you out.”
Stan tipped his head back and finished his beer in a few swallows. He belched loudly in the man’s face then grabbed the hand holding his arm. He squeezed the hand tightly and smiled as the man’s face turned pale.
“I guess you will have to throw me out.” Stan said.
Hart received the three drinks from the waiter. He poured the drinks into a silver hip flask and screwed the top tight.
“I’m ready to leave,” he announced.
The man standing next to Stan threw a punch with his left hand. Stan tucked his chin into his chest and headbutted the incoming punch. They connected with a heavy thump. Stan stepped back cursing. He released the right hand that he was squeezing. The man howled in pain, he held his left hand, the wrist obviously broken.
“Hard hand.” Stan said.
Tyler Hart was trying to scurry to the entrance of the bar when someone shouted ‘Get them’. He ducked back to the bar area as one of the Peace Officers swept up a chair throwing it at the feet of two attackers opposite him. They stumbled off-balance and were knocked to the floor.
Another Peace Officer caught Hart by the collar of his jacket and dragged him further back from the fight.
“Stay out of the way.” The Peace Officer said.
Hart firmly promised that this was what he was trying to do. He ducked a glass missile and walked cautiously around the perimeter of the bar. Nine against seven did not seem like good odds until you consider how highly trained the Peace Officers were.
In the past the Peace Officers had been taught a variety of different martial arts to help them against the criminal element. This had led to a cadre of highly skilled, highly confident officers who knew martial arts but nothing of how to actually fight. In a melee situation, they were useless. With the advent of the war with Jewel, the Peace Officers were faced with the need to maintain peace in situations against highly trained soldiers who knew how to kill. The senior officers realised that to have effective Peace Officers they needed officers who, as well as having the martial arts skill, also knew how to brawl.
Hart watched the brawl, stepping sideways to avoid both missiles and people thrown across the room. Stan, who had somehow acquired a bloody cut above his eyebrow, was smiling as he dropped a man onto his back and then pounded him in the face. Another Peace Officer spun sideways as a martial arts kick caught him across the chin. He climbed drunkenly to his feet and threw himself bodily at the attacker. A third Peace Officer was using a chair to hold off one attacker, then used the momentum of the attacker against himself. He spun the chair across the room until it landed next to Hart.
“Make yourself useful,” he shouted to Hart.
Hart shook his head and continued to back away. There was a man sitting on the ground with a dazed expression on his face blocking the exit. Hart stepped over him and backed quickly towards the exit. He ran into the arms of the station security.
*
“Mr Leyland, please join me in my car.”
Mike Leyland looked around cautiously. He had left his hotel by the backdoor and walked aimlessly through streets pitted by acid until he reached the coffee shop. He was now standing at the edge of the street in front of the coffee shop waiting for his contact to direct him further. The aircar had pulled up silently at the curb and the window buzzed down.
“Please Mr Leyland, we need to talk.”
Leyland bent to look into the dark interior of the car. It was luxurious inside. Three separate leather armchairs, each with a small table attached, sat empty. The fourth armchair held an old man dressed in a suit. A long acid scarred coat draped over the arm of one of the chairs. Leyland recognised him. It was Charles Sammy.
“Thank you Senator Sammy.” Leyland said. “But I am expecting someone.”
“You are expecting me.” Sammy said. He pressed a button on his armchair and the door silently opened. “Please climb in. I would prefer that no one saw that we were meeting like this.”
Leyland shrugged and climbed in. The armchair was as comfortable as it looked. The acid scarred coat was in his way so he moved it. It was a fake like the fashionable coat he was wearing.
“What can I do for you sir?” Leyland asked.
“One thing that life in the senate has taught me is the willingness to put my differences aside.” Sammy said. “I find that we have a mutual problem that we both wish to solve. There is a naval contract which is currently stuck in the appropriations committee that I wish the Hailsten shipyard to have. My navy has a need for those ships. I do not however have the resources to move that contract but you do. It tears me up inside, the thought that I need to reach out to a citizen of Soros for help.”
“If I do offer you assistance, what can you offer me in return?”
“You are currently contacting various senators requesting their votes and making promises to help them. If you help me, then you will get my vote.”
Leyland paused for a few moments in thought. Outside it had started raining again, it must have been ordinary rain this time as people seemed to be enjoying the rain instead of running for cover. In fact he could see a couple waltzing in the street. This was a strange world where ordinary rain was celebrated as an extraordinary occasion.
“What are you going to do with those ships if you get them?” Leyland asked.
“Does it matter?” Sammy asked. “My people do not have an appetite for a restarting the war with you. However we do have the right to defend ourselves from pirates and privateers.”
“I want more than just your vote.” Leyland said. “I want your guarantee that you will stand up in the senate building and speak in support of the asteroid agreement. If the asteroids do get handed back to Soros, I can guarantee that the appropriations committee will approve your naval contract.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then we don’t have an agreement.” Leyland said. “I know that your base will be angry if they see you supporting Soros. Your rhetoric over the years against us has been too strong for you to back down now. Perhaps ...” Leyland thought for a moment. “… perhaps you can frame it as giving back the asteroid belt in order to put the responsibility of chasing pirates who are hiding in the belt firmly in the hands of Soros. We will be to blame if we cannot suppress the pirates there, instead of you doing the work for us.”
Sammy nodded. He pressed a button on his armchair to open the aircar door.
“A word of advice Mr Leyland.” Sammy said. “Leave the Jewel sector as soon as you can, You are not liked and you are not wanted.”
*
Paul Simmons was glad for the opportunity to stretch his legs. The concourse stretched for over a mile in a circle. Twelve outer spokes stretched outwards from the space station, almost all the outer spokes had several berthed space ship tethered to it. Twelve inner spokes connected inwards to a hub. The hub contained the commercial centre, the various restaurants and bars. The port authority also had an office there, and Simmons had watched Stone storm off in that direction with a pair of Peace Officers as escort.
“Why do some of the space ships docked here look so ugly but others look so beautiful?” Rosie Ire asked. The rules of leaving the ship unaccompanied applied to Simmons as well so he had asked her to join him for a stroll.
“Very few space ships need to enter an atmosphere so there is no point in making them look sleek and beautiful.” Simmons said. He pointed to an asteroid mining ship. “That is perhaps one of the dirtiest and ugliest ship ever built, but it is fully functional. Not a single inch of her is unused. She is crammed full of equipment and stores.”
Simmons pointed to another ship, this one was a supply shuttle.
“That ship is streamlined because, as well as flying through space, it also needs to enter an atmosphere.” Simmons said. He pointed at the Imperial frigate which was hovering in space above the space station. “The frigate is beautiful in its own way. The ship was built to be imposing, to allow all the weapons the ability to turn and point in different directions to protect the ship. That means a smooth hull. But it also looks dangerous, much like a shark. Compare that with the beauty of a luxury cruise liner.”
There was a cruise liner a couple of miles distant from the space station, but still
visible as it glittered in the sun. Simmons nodded towards it.
“The cruise liner will never enter a planet’s gravity well. Nor does it need a smooth hull to allow for weapons. It looks smooth and streamlined because that’s how people expect it to look. It looks beautiful because, let’s face it, who would choose to cruise to another planet in something that looked ugly on the outside, regardless if they cannot see the ugliness of it once they are aboard.”
“What about that ship?” Ire asked. She pointed towards a small ship that was docked at the furtherest spoke from their ship. There were several uniformed marines guarding the umbilical tubes.
Simmons studied the ship for a few moments. It was not a conventional warship, but instead had two separate holds almost like a freighter. One of the marines spotted Ire pointing and spoke into his radio for a moment. There was something about the red and yellow insignia he wore on his uniform which provoked a memory. Someone had mentioned red and yellow insignia recently.
Piece of Nicias: A Sci-Fi Novel Page 15