Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  We ate and the time seemed to go nowhere. The next thing we knew we were all standing and saying our goodbyes. A taxi pulled up alongside Alice's limo and she wiped away a tear from her eye after we embraced.

  “Be careful. All of you,” she said. “Come home safe – and preferably without any more replacement parts, okay?”

  “That's something we just can't promise these days.”

  5

  The shuttle was swift enough once we'd waited for an hour and a half. The queue to the boarding desk snaked well beyond the entrance and it seemed like the entire planet suddenly wanted to be someplace else. It might have had something to do with the interstellar cruise liner which had arrived yesterday and was set to take 4,500 holidaymakers on a one-year tour of the galaxy. How it could be done in that little time was anyone's guess.

  By the time we'd made it to the business desk, Mason had demolished three burgers from the kiosk, two brownies and a large bottle of soda. I couldn't blame him – I was starving myself, but I settled for a coffee and a ham sandwich instead.

  “Dirty bulking,” he explained when I frowned at his food. “I lost muscle mass during the op.”

  “Bullshit. You were back on your feet in under 24 hours.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but neither are you.”

  “I've taken medical advice and I was told to regain my strength. I'm doing it right now.”

  “You're regaining your waistline, that's all.”

  Once we'd cleared customs and they'd searched Thor with every conceivable device they could find, we made our way onto the shuttle and took seats in the business suite. Thor was ushered into the loading bay because that was the only place he would fit into. He was happy enough; the flight was only thirty minutes and as we disembarked, he came tramping towards us, narrowly missing a group of school kids on a field-trip.

  “Makes a change, sir,” he said. “Travellin' like you boys. Felt like a true gent on that barky.”

  “Wait until you see the ship,” I said. “I was told it was in dock 32. This way.”

  Thor took our cases and followed behind as we crossed the busy platform to the entrance of docks 30-40. The cruise liner was beyond that and most of the passengers sped past us, dragging behind them their floating luggage racks. The whole place felt like some mad game show, some desperate chase to win the prize of having arrived at your ship in the fastest time. Despite our size and the hulking shape of Thor we still found ourselves being buffeted and knocked by frantic herds of people dressed in cheap suits or bright summer clothing. As we moved out of the firing lines, I felt a wave of relief as the only people in our hallway were us and, just up ahead, the grinning face of Baz.

  “You're early,” I said. “We didn't expect you until tomorrow.”

  “Alice explained things and I headed straight over. Jo has the ship covered. I'm not giving you a chance to leave me behind.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” I laughed. I didn't mean it though – right there and then I felt that we were starting out on something deep, something new and I won't lie, it scared me. Right then I wanted Baz with us. It was only right. We'd been through a lot together.

  We moved along, Thor now carrying all our luggage and whistling to himself as he did so. Beyond the next gate was the Hikane and its name flashed in bright lights on the digital display above our heads.

  “What does she look like?” asked Baz. “Alice didn't have an image for me when I asked.”

  “You'll see,” said Mason.

  We rounded the corner and there she was. The loading bay opened up into an enormous chamber, perhaps the size of several football fields and there, suspended on its dry dock, was the Hikane. In person, she looked even finer than the image back at the dealership. She was no Helios, but she sported a much sleeker hull, curving lines on her prow and a sweet humming engine core. There was none of the bulk or bristling firepower of a warship. Instead, the firing ports were discretely worked into the shape of the craft and the finery of interstellar travel was given top priority.

  “Wow,” said Baz. “That's a ship.”

  “A fine vessel, sirs, if I may say so,” added Thor.

  “Let's just hope she's space-worthy,” said Mason.

  “We're about to find out.”

  Coming towards us at a jog was a short, squat man in stained coveralls and an oil streak across his brow. He was carrying some component with wires trailing from it and he held it up as he panted to a stop before us.

  “Have you come for the Hikane?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I'm the guy who parted with a lot of credits to have this ship ready for tomorrow morning. Tell me that you're on schedule.”

  “Well sir, the problem is this-”

  “Problem? That's the last word I want to hear.”

  He held up the component in both hands almost like a supplication. I looked at it.

  “It's the nebulus buffer,” he said. “We can't get it to align properly but my best team is on it. We just need a little more time.”

  “How much time?” I asked.

  “Another day, maybe two. Then she'll be ready to sail. You have my word on it. Believe me, sir, my crews have been working all day long and plan to go on through the night, barely stopping even for a mouthful of tea.”

  I looked at Mason who was shaking his head. Baz and Thor were still staring at the Hikane, now dead in the water without a nebulus buffer. I assumed it was unable to sail – I didn't really know what a nebulus buffer actually was. It sounded like something I wouldn't want to sail without. But there was someone who did.

  “Jo?” I offered. Mason shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  I brought up my comms unit and got hold of our engineer who appeared on the display with her hair in a messy bun and the same oil streak as our friend with the nebulus drive.

  “Go,” she said. “But bear in mind I'm busy, boss.”

  “I've got a guy here says he can't align the-” I looked at him and he mouthed the name of the thing to me. “-the nebulus buffer.”

  “Why the hell not?” she barked.

  “I don't know,” I replied. “Here, you speak to him.”

  I pressed the reverse icon and Jo's image spun to face the engineer. Words were exchanged, terms and instructions I had no hope of understanding, but it seemed like our friend did. By the time Jo had finished the man's skin had turned a bright pink and he bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to leave.

  “Carter?” said Jo. I spun her back round.

  “Yeah?”

  “It should be okay now. Two hours tops. Anything else, boss?”

  “No, that'll be all, thanks.” I laughed.

  “It's tough being the best. Laters.”

  Before arriving at Titan 5, Jo's staff had handed in their resignations. It was a great loss; Ali and Jana had been with us for a long time and they were some of the best technicians we'd had the pleasure of working with. It was a heavy blow to lose them, but if I'd found Jo's resignation in that pile of paperwork, I might have thrown my own towel in. When you had someone, who was the best at what they did, you looked after them. Period. I only hoped that in our absence she'd be able to rebuild what we'd lost.

  We followed the blazing trail of the engineer towards the Hikane and skirted around a fork truck that sped across the open space straight into the loading bay of the ship.

  “Might as well start there,” said Mason. We followed. There were cries from within, cuss words and the general racket of people at work. It had a faint aroma of our days in the service when life was organized around the bell and the yelling drill sergeant only this time no one would tell us what to do or how badly we were doing it.

  We climbed up the ramp and found ourselves in a narrow loading bay already stocked with sealed pallets arranged in long neat rows. Some of it was Thor's parts horde, some an advance delivery of Mason's weapons from Alan. The rest would come during the night.

  “You think they'll
tidy up before they finish?” asked Baz, kicking at a pile of refuse.

  “I'm sure they will,” I laughed. “For these credits I expect it to be spotless.

  We went deeper into the ship, leaving the loading bay through the rear door. Here the halls were decked in steel all the way to the stairwell and the elevator pad. At my request, the walkways and steps had been widened and reinforced to allow Thor more access to the ship though I left the living quarters as they were. Flashes of our previous bot still played in my mind and having him turn up in my room one night was a possibility I didn't relish.

  Up we went, having found the engineering decks sealed from unauthorized personnel. We passed the living quarters and carried on to the bridge where several crewmen were just replacing the bulkhead panels.

  “Is it okay to go in?” I asked as we stood outside.

  “Sure,” said the woman with a ratchet in her hand. “We're all finished here.”

  The doors parted and the sweeping vista of the bridge appeared before us. Elegant was a good word to describe it. Ornate? Bespoke? After years on the bridge of the Helios which looked more like a gamer's bedroom than the nerve center of a vessel of the line, the Hikane's center of command blew us away.

  “Is that real wood?” said Mason as he ran his fingers over the consoles. They curved round in a great arc, ending in the Captain's seat which looked more like a leather recliner than the helm. The FARGO drives had been seated within the walls and made to look like part of the design and not simply stuffed into the most convenient gap.

  “Best tell Angel there'll be no feet put up on these beauties,” said Baz.

  “I feel like I should be wearing slippers,” I said. “Look at the floor! Look at the ceiling!”

  We spent a few minutes walking around touching stuff. It seemed the right thing to do. The air was full of newness like we'd bought a high-end speeder and not an expensive spaceship. Even Thor seemed mesmerized by it and was reluctant to walk around on the new flooring.

  “You're free to go where you like,” I told him once we'd finished fondling the ship. “We'll head to our quarters and settle in. You can leave the cases there.”

  “Thankee, sir,” he said and turned to go. “I've got a few things to tend to meself before we depart. Good-evenin' gents. Sleep well an' all.”

  With that he strode away, ducking as he passed through archways even though they were high enough to accommodate him. When he was gone, we grabbed our cases and headed back down, closing the bridge doors behind us.

  “Quite a ship, isn't she?” said Mason.

  “Let's see how she sails first,” I replied. “Then I'll make my judgment.”

  On the living deck, we separated. All of the rooms were identical so there was no real need to fight over them. I took the one nearest to the stairs and thus the bridge. Mason took the one opposite. Baz vanished around the corner just because he could. No doubt he'd pick a random room and claim it was better than all the rest.

  No less impressive were the living quarters. Decorated in the same design as the bridge, the lavish surfaces, the ornate flooring, and the very soft looking bed made me feel a little less anxious about the coming departure. I threw my case on the desk near the 'window' – a digital display of whatever I wanted to see and began to unpack. I found storage for my clothes and my personal items but kept my rail pistol – a gift from a customer long ago, in its holster near my bedside. It was a relic from before Mars when wars had been fought on Earth herself, but it still fired better than most plasma pistols and with a 13 round magazine capable of punching holes in most armor types it made for a comforting bedside weapon.

  I laid back on the bed and took a deep breath. I set my alarm for two hours, closed my eyes and tried not to imagine Angel doing the same thing somewhere else in some forgotten cell. Cold. Damp. Friendless.

  Maybe my breakout plan was still a better option.

  6

  The cell wasn't quite as damp as I'd pictured. In fact, it turned out to be quite the opposite. Situated some 300 miles south-west of Setti, the Avalon Center for Criminal Correction and Rehabilitation sat alone in the baking sun where temperatures beyond the forcefield that surrounded it sometimes peaked at 62 degrees centigrade. Angel, after being read her rights but not formally charged at that time, was swiftly admitted into the towering, hulking mass of plascrete and molanium without a word.

  At the desk, she hadn't waited for the administrator to ask her to strip. Rather than give them the satisfaction of seeing her blush, she'd gone through the drill like she'd written the book herself and the whole procedure took no less than eight minutes to complete. At the end, wearing her prison-issue coveralls and boots, she'd marched ahead of the guards and straight into the cell that waited for her. They said nothing to her. She hadn't been on the news. She wasn't a mass murderer. People's interest in the Martian war had long since faded and a 'traitor' could mean many things to many people. All that mattered was that she was isolated, that she didn't try to escape and that she received her allowance of three meals a day plus access to her lawyer and the exercise yard.

  Many the guards were former Earth Gov. veterans and once word mysteriously got out about what crime she'd been accused of; they began to take a serious interest in her.

  On the night that the Hikane was reaching readiness, as I lay on my bed thinking just what kind of cell Angel was in, her door opened. She heard the lock turn and the chime sound somewhere far off. Instinctively she stood up from the bed and turned to face it. Nothing happened. She waited. Her breathing slowed and her stance became combative. If they knew anything about her, they'd try to rush her, not give her chance to strike. She had to be ready.

  The door suddenly flew sideways, and the lights went out. Anticipating this, Angel had closed one eye to the light above her and now, by opening it, she retained some of her night-vision.

  The first attacker crumpled as her open hand struck a throat in the darkness. The next grabbed her other arm but already Angel was bringing her right arm back around and up, hitting an elbow and forcing it towards the ceiling with an audible crunch. The third managed to tackle her legs and she went down, grazing her brow on the steel toilet seat and narrowly missing a direct impact. The attacker scrambled on top of her and she could smell the rancid breath of a habitual Spatz popper. Thin bony hands found her throat and began to close around her windpipe, but this didn't unnerve her. With her own two hands, she grabbed the head of the addict, found the eye sockets and drove the knuckles of her thumbs deep into them. There was a high-pitched squeal and Angel found her throat released from the vice grip but she didn't let go. She felt the eyes beneath her hands pop and run with hot gummy fluid and still, she didn't let go. It was only when the lights came back on and the guards came rushing in that Angel, panting with furious anger, finally released her. The bleeding woman, a prisoner, now blind, rolled on the floor with her hands covering her face. Blood poured from between her fingertips.

  “What the-?” said one of the guards. “Who-”

  “Be quiet!” said the other. “You didn't see this. Right?”

  “What the hell are you-?”

  “You didn't see this. Do you understand? This never happened.”

  Turning to Angel, the second guard gestured to the door. She stood up, wiped the blood from her thumbs on the shirt of the prisoner, and did as she was directed.

  “I've never seen anything like it,” said the first guard in a kind of dazed whisper.

  “You still haven't,” said the other. “Now take this one to the shower block and clean her up. When she comes back these three will be in the medical bay. Make sure you say nothing to anyone. Understand?”

  “No, I don't, but I'll do it. Anything to not be here.”

  7

  The alarm woke me from a fitful doze. For a moment I was lost. I couldn't remember where I was or what ceiling was above my head. I found myself staring at the intricate design of diamonds and squares until my memory kicked in. Then I was up a
nd looking for my boots.

  On my way down to engineering, I passed no one. The corridors were spotless and any of the debris from before was gone. The work crews weren't messing around. The air filters were pumping out cool new-speeder smells and it was pleasant to breathe.

  When I reached the stairwell the NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONEL sign was still in place but as I technically owned the ship, I decided it no longer applied to me. After 'authorizing' myself down to the lower decks, I saw our friend from before talking to one of his team.

  “Is it done?” he asked.

  “It's done,” said the other. “The nebulus buffer is working fine now. I don't know what you did but-”

  “I need to find out who that woman was. I've never met anyone who could explain it so well. She needs to be on this crew.”

  “Haven't you asked?”

  “The owner? Hell, he doesn't look like the type of guy who-”

  I stepped into the room and they both turned to look at me.

  “Who what?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all, sir,” he mumbled. Then, to his teammate. “Run along and make sure we don't leave any kit behind this time. Alright?”

  “Aye, boss.”

  The man vanished and we were left alone. The hum of the drive engines was louder down here but it sounded smooth and in good working order.

  “Well? Do we have a space-worthy craft or what?” I asked. The engineer grinned.

  “We do, sir. All functions are now within the green. I've just got my crew to finish up and remove our muck and she's all yours.”

  I looked around. The drive room bore a close resemblance to the Helios but was, perhaps, slightly smaller. Two enormous chambers, each glowing a dull green, throbbed with power while various pipes and relays snaked in and out of them to run off in all directions. The control consoles and workstations were exactly where they were on the Helios. I felt better about taking her out for having seen it.

  “About that... woman, sir. I was thinking-”