by Terry Mixon
Lieutenant Madison had said it was next to the medical center, but that was still a bit of a walk. This station had probably been home to a quarter million Fleet personnel in its heyday.
The implantation center looked very much like the medical center: big and disused. A thin layer of dust covered everything. Unlike Workstation Twelve—the machine the Pale Ones had used to implant the AI’s slaves—the dozens of stations in this facility were all-in-one affairs.
Of course, they hadn’t done the full body implants required for Marine Raiders here. No enhanced muscles, shielded bones, or pharmacology units. Only cranial implants. The individual stations consisted of couches the patient reclined on with equipment around the head. They were very sleek. Workstation Twelve was a kludge in comparison.
The scientists and technicians spread out to examine the various couches. Doctor Guzman went with Doctor Leonard.
Stone stood beside Kelsey. “Nothing for commando implants.”
“I noticed that. I can’t say I’m surprised. They can’t have been common before the fall. The Marine Raiders had to have been a very exclusive organization. They probably handled their own implanting. As much as I would love to have every marine with us set up to be a Raider, I doubt we’ll find the hardware just laying around.”
“The AI at Erorsi was getting them from somewhere.” Stone said. “At least there are enough stations to get the Fleet personnel implanted in a reasonable time frame.”
The princess turned to the doctor. “I thought you were against using the implants.”
“It’s the future, Kelsey. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. Frankly, I’ll be interested in seeing how they work for myself.”
Doctor Leonard waved them over.
“These systems are operational,” he said. “I think. They draw power, anyway. Princess, can you access them?”
This was something she’d done many times before. Kelsey accessed the equipment and found it unlocked. The station in front of her provided her with an overview of the process. It was straightforward, though there were a number of complex monitoring screens. The workstations also had computers at least as sophisticated as Workstation Twelve to oversee the process.
What they didn’t have was voice access. Only someone with implants could operate them.
She turned to the scientists and filled them in.
Carl Owlet frowned. “How do we compare the implant code with the clean version we have?”
“Do we need to?” she asked. “You’ve examined the Rebel Empire Fleet personnel. These machines probably implanted them. They have to have compromised code.”
“Doctor Leonard frowns on qualifiers,” the graduate student said with a grin. “He takes off points if you use them.”
“And rightly so,” the older scientist said primly. “Science isn’t made when you use words like probably, maybe, and hopefully. You test everything and verify. We need to compare the implant code to what we have on our equipment.”
It took her almost an hour to gain access to the code repository. She sent a version of the implant code to Owlet’s machine directly from the workstation.
“This is the same code we pulled off the Rebel Empire officer,” Owlet confirmed a few minutes later. “The hardware is the same as Admiral Mertz’s Fleet implants, so no problem there. All you need to do is upload the clean code to this machine and we can begin using it.”
Kelsey nodded. “I’ve already checked every workstation and they all use the same code. I can send it to all of them, as soon as I unlock their repositories.” She got that process started.
Meanwhile, they found the supplies for the implantation machines. Enough cranial implants to take care of thousands of people. She planned to send half of them back to Pentagar. Even so, there were more than enough to take care of every man and woman in their task force.
There was also a sealed supply of nanites locked away in a vault adjacent to the implantation center. The AIs didn’t like using them for some reason. This supply was large enough to help tens of thousands of people.
Kelsey checked the time. Talbot would arrive in less than an hour. She’d better get set up for the first group because she knew he’d insist on being at the front of the line.
Chapter Five
A rap at the door made Coordinator Olivia West look up from her display. She put a false smile on her face as soon as she saw who it was. “Abigail. Come in.”
Deputy Coordinator Abigail King was a senior member of Harrison’s World’s ruling council and a huge pain in the ass to work with. The conservative alliance had forced her on Olivia to avoid a council showdown during her election. She often wondered if she’d have been better off fighting them then.
The younger woman took a seat without invitation. “You asked to see me?”
“I understand you’re going to see Admiral Mertz in a few hours and I wanted to get an update on how the negotiations are proceeding.”
Abigail scowled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression on her. “The jumped up prole is still refusing to budge.”
Olivia leaned back in her chair. “I see. And how do you intend to move the talks along?”
“We have 2,354 prisoners. Executing a hundred or so should make him aware how seriously we’re taking his intransigence.”
It took a moment, but Olivia managed to suppress the first words that wanted to come out of her mouth. They wouldn’t be helpful. “Leaving aside the morality of killing people under our control to make a political point, need I remind you that he controls the orbital bombardment platforms? The exchange of such pleasantries would be very one sided.”
Abigail made a dismissive gesture. “He wouldn’t dare attack us.”
“Allow me to remind you of a few unpleasant facts. Rebels from our world plotted against our Lord. Those actions led to the Lord reducing the capital and several other cities containing many citizens of the highest orders to smoking craters. What makes you so certain that Admiral Mertz won’t do that very thing?”
The other woman sniffed. “That was a decade ago. The Lord killed the rebels. Coordinator James and the council of the time paid for their treachery. As painful as that was, it did allow us to assume leadership roles. You wouldn’t be in that chair without the removal of so many others with political clout.”
Her tone implied Olivia wouldn’t have achieved leadership of Harrison’s World without the mass executions. True enough.
And Abigail acted as though tens of millions hadn’t died in the orbital strikes. For the other woman, the deaths of those in the middle and lower orders didn’t count as anything but an inconvenience.
Olivia sighed. “You disappoint me. The admiral and his task force came for a reason. The system lord has not spoken since Admiral Mertz arrived. I’ve never heard of the lords disciplining one of their own before, but it’s possible that’s what happened. That could be good news for us, but we’d be fools to count on it.
“The admiral may have orders to discipline Harrison’s World further for allowing rebels to flourish here. We need to walk this path carefully. There will be no executions.”
The other woman sneered. “What do those peons matter? You can’t tell me that any officer of flag rank cares one whit about the lower orders cleaning his decks. His stance on the prisoners must be some charade.”
Olivia made a show of considering that. “It’s possible he may be playing some deeper game. When are you speaking to him next?”
“In a few hours. He’s sending a cutter to pick me up, but I plan to decline at the last moment. The prole can come down to me.”
Abigail’s intransigence simply amazed Olivia. People like her were so certain they ruled the Empire under the guidance of the lords that they didn’t care how anyone else thought. Even the people that might revolt and hang them. Or, in the case of the Fleet admiral, drop high-velocity tungsten rods onto them until they died.
“You risk too much,” Olivia said after a moment. “We have no deep space scanners, so w
e don’t have any idea how large his task force is or how it’s deployed. Would you like it if he came calling with a troop transport full of marines? They could come down and drag you up to the meeting.”
The other woman leaned back and her nostrils flared. “He wouldn’t dare!”
“I’m not willing to bet this planet on your ego. I’ll go and speak to Admiral Mertz in your place. We’ll come to an understanding sooner with a willingness to actually talk, I’m certain.”
Abigail’s shocked expression was almost comical. “The council appointed me as negotiator! You can’t replace me!”
Olivia stood slowly. “You forget yourself. I am the coordinator of Harrison’s World. My decision is final. Run along and complain to your allies all you like. They won’t overrule me. I control enough votes to assure that.”
The younger woman stood abruptly. “You rule at our pleasure, Olivia. Never forget that. One day our willingness to take your insulting behavior will end. And so will you.” She stormed out in a rage.
Olivia could’ve probably been a little less imperious, but the woman got on her last nerve. Oh well. Abigail King would never have been her ally, much less her friend. The bitch was too ambitious. This day had been inevitable and a long time coming.
* * * * *
Sean managed to sleep a while before people started moving. His change in status seemed to have already made the rounds. People that had avoided him like the plague nodded politely. Some even spoke to him.
He dressed in Fleet fatigues without name tags or rank insignia. He figured he could skip the shower after last night.
The prisoners ate in a mess hall manned by their own people, but the food came in grav vans with armed guards. The stone-faced men with Old Empire weapons stayed near the vehicles and only allowed a few prisoners to come get the day’s food.
Sean walked toward them and stopped when they raised their weapons. “My name is Force Master Chief Sean Meyer. I’m the senior prisoner. I want to speak to someone in authority.”
“Back away,” one of the guards said. He aimed his flechette rifle at Sean to emphasize the command.
“No. Take me to someone with authority to answer my questions.”
The man sneered. “You think you have some say in this, prole? You don’t. Move on.”
Sean smiled. “You’re sadly mistaken. One word from me and you’ll have a riot on your hands. Is that really how you want your commander to learn your name? All you have to do is pass the word up and it’s someone else’s problem.”
The two men looked at one another. The one who hadn’t spoken gestured for Sean to back up. “Go sit down and I’ll call this in. No promises.”
Sean made himself some coffee and sat down. Twenty minutes later, two new guards arrived in an open topped grav car. They came toward Sean.
“Get up,” one said. “Hands behind your back.”
When some of the other prisoners stood, Sean held his hand out. “Stand down. There isn’t going to be any problem. I’ll be back shortly.”
The guards cuffed him, led him to their vehicle, stuffed him in back between two additional escorts, and lifted off. With a little height, Sean could tell the prisoners were on a small island. Hedged in between the guards, he couldn’t get a clear look at it, but the island wasn’t more than a half kilometer offshore. The water looked cold and a bit rough.
The grav car took them over what appeared to be slums. Further inland, the buildings became more upscale. One might charitably call them middle class, if one squinted. The car zeroed in on one of the larger roofs and landed. The building had a sign indicating it was owned by Roscoe Consolidated.
His guards escorted him through the roof door and into a lift. They went to the tenth floor and led him down a corridor with worn tan carpeting. The art on the walls looked inexpensive and generic.
One of the guards knocked on a door and led Sean inside without waiting for a response. The office consisted of a battered desk, an even more battered man behind it, and office furniture that someone probably should’ve junked years ago.
The man didn’t look at all pleased about the interruption. “Put him in the chair and wait by the door. This won’t take long.”
That didn’t sound promising at all.
The guards dragged a chair in front of the desk and sat Sean down with more force than necessary.
“Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to see me,” Sean said dryly.
“Don’t be a smartass,” the man said with a snarl. “I can have them let you out of the car over the ocean if you piss me off, prole.”
“My apologies. I’m Force Master Chief Sean Meyer, the senior Fleet prisoner. I have some concerns about my people and their housing.”
The man sneered. “So I gathered. As far as I’m concerned, you should feel glad we didn’t drop you a hundred kilometers offshore and let you swim for it, you bastards.”
Sean hadn’t expected this level of animosity. “Have we met? I certainly don’t remember harming you.”
The man rose abruptly and stomped around the desk. Sean thought he was going to hit him, but the man only grabbed Sean by his tunic and yanked him to his feet.
“Oh, no?” the man shouted, spraying Sean with spittle. “Maybe you remember Port City better? You know, the capital of Harrison’s World before you blew it up, along with my brother. Give me one excuse to rip your head off and I’ll dump your worthless body where no one will ever find it.”
The level of danger was significantly higher than Sean had anticipated, especially since he had no idea what the man was talking about. “I’m truly sorry that happened, but I didn’t do it and neither did the men with me.”
“You think that matters?” The man shoved Sean back down in the chair. “Say your piece so I can have someone come clean my office. Maybe the stink will go away in a few years.”
Sean had intended to probe for some idea of what was happening, but he didn’t dare.
“A number of our people were taken to a hospital. Not all of them have come back. I want to know how they’re doing.”
The man glared at Sean for a moment and returned to his desk with a muttered curse. He tapped on the keys to his console. “Six prisoners are in a guarded wing of a local hospital. If I could, I’d haul them back and let them die right in front of you. You want to know anything else?”
“I don’t suppose you might give us some reading material?
The man snorted. “As if you rats from the lower orders can even read. Get this bastard out of my sight. And the next son of a bitch that wants to see me? Shoot him.”
The guards hustled Sean out the door without a moment’s hesitation.
He had no idea what had happened on this planet, but it didn’t look good for him or his people. If the Rebel Empire Fleet had bombarded the capital of this world, he could understand the hatred they were expressing. It limited his ability to see to their conditions, but he couldn’t help that.
Based on how grave Captain Cooley’s injuries were before the AI ambushed them, Sean hoped he was still alive. He’d lost his legs and suffered life-threatening injuries when the Rebel Empire destroyer had wrecked Shadow.
They flew Sean back to the island without saying a word. He used the time to study the layout of the city and the island once they made the flight across the bay. The view reinforced the idea that the prison camp had once been a training facility. Parts of the island were still in use, though the people below weren’t Fleet. They looked like stevedores.
He had a tantalizingly brief view of some ships drawn up offshore unloading cargo containers. They were big. There were also some sizable grav vehicles. He imagined the cargo came by sea and made its way across to the city after sorting.
Maybe, just maybe, they could escape their prison if Mertz didn’t come through. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to make some contingency plans. If they could get into the city, they might be able to get to a spaceport. It was a terrible risk, but if they had to run,
they needed to be ready.
* * * * *
Abigail King stalked into her office. Her assistant started to say something, but rapidly found more productive things to do with his time.
“I’m not to be disturbed for any reason,” Abigail told him and went into her office, slamming the hardwood door behind her.
She immediately called a memorized number.
“Calder Consortium. How may I direct your call?”
“Put me through to Master Calder.”
As the head of the conservative alliance, Edward Calder was due the title even from the second most powerful official on the planet. After all, he’d been the one who put her where she was. He could take her out just as easily.
“Right away, Deputy Coordinator King.”
The line was silent for a moment before her patron came on the line. “Abigail, I’ve been waiting for your call. How are things proceeding?”
“Poorly, Master. Coordinator West has removed me from the role of negotiator and is going up to the Fleet vessels in orbit herself. It sounds as though she’s looking for a way to find common ground with Admiral Mertz.”
The line was silent for a moment. “Do you think she’s become aware of our plans?”
“It’s hard to tell, Master. It galls me, but she’s more subtle than I am.”
Calder laughed. “Don’t confuse the persona you play for who you really are, Abigail. You’re far more discerning than you give yourself credit for.
“Now, while I’ll admit that this might be a setback, I’m not yet ready to throw in the towel. You’ve put this Admiral Mertz into a heightened state of intransigence as I instructed. All we need to do is keep him and Coordinator West from coming to an agreement. If the progressive coalition negotiates our release from Harrison’s World, they will consolidate their rule for the foreseeable future. I won’t allow that to happen.”