Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles)

by Ervin II, Terry W.

  I made it to the upper decks, just below the current cargo bay where a section had been converted for temporary habitation. It looked dismal with a crude, low ceiling and dingy walls that reminded me of an old city parking garage. I explored further to learn it even spiraled into two levels, mimicking one of the old structures. Whatever I-Tech designed it was either ignorant or sadistic.

  The setup lacked individual, or even family, privacy. Only two small sections had been walled off for men’s and women’s facilities. I’d have wagered as an afterthought because half the bolts anchoring the walls were loose or missing. The water hadn’t been turned on, but the piping was poorly installed and bound to leak.

  Maintenance had stacked old cots with crates on seven of the tables and associated benches. Piles of ash-brown clothing, and gray sheets and blankets sat organized on several tarps.

  I pulled out my notepad and jotted down what had to be done. Weeks, let alone months, under such conditions guaranteed unruly behavior leading to trouble.

  I’d bring my concerns to Club. I didn’t know what type of pull she had, even if she cared. Maybe Mer, or my roommate, Tech Cox, could advise me on whom I might consult if Club didn’t assist.

  Next, I needed to determine a time frame for colonist boarding. I figured Medical would know the colonists’ cold sleep recovery schedule. Besides, I wanted to pick up my impounded muscle relaxant.

  All was quiet in Medical, so I moved to the nearest medical clerk. “Excuse me, is Dr. Sevanto available?”

  The young lady looked up from her terminal to my ID tag, and politely smiled. “May I ask what it is about, Specialist Keesay?”

  The navy blue bodysuit identified her as an administrative specialist. She probably knew I was connected to the earlier emergency in the lab. “Mainly about the colonists.”

  “Maybe I can help you?”

  “You might, Specialist Tahgs,” I said, leaning on the counter. “I’d like to know when the colonists are scheduled to board.”

  Specialist Tahgs smiled and entered the request. She pursed her lips before answering, “The eighty-nine R-Tech colonists are scheduled to be brought out of cold sleep in seventy-two hours. They will be monitored during recovery at the space dock’s facilities.” She stopped and read further before adding, “Those that survive will be transferred to us shortly thereafter.”

  “Those that survive?” I asked. “Do you expect there to be trouble?” Odds were, one or two might have a severe reaction to the chemicals used in recovery. Maybe one might die.

  “I’m sorry, Specialist, but all I have is an addendum indicating an expected higher-than-normal level of fatalities in recovery.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She consulted several more screens. “I’m not sure. It could mean any number of things.”

  “I understand, Specialist Tahgs.” I jotted down her statement. “Is Dr. Sevanto available? He might have access to the information I need.”

  “If you will have a seat, I’ll let him know.”

  I sat down and reviewed my notes. Ten minutes later Tahgs ushered me into Dr. Sevanto’s lab. He sat perched on a tall stool, dictating information into a wall terminal. “How can I help you, Specialist Keesay?”

  “In two, maybe three ways, Dr. Sevanto.” I flipped through my notes. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  Dr. Sevanto closed the file he was working on and gave me his undivided attention. I took advantage of it. “First, the eighty-nine R-Tech colonists are to be brought out of cold sleep within seventy-two hours. Working with them is one of my primary responsibilities. I’ve been informed of a higher than normal fatality rate expected in recovery. As a security official, is there anything that I should be made aware of?”

  He gave me a sideways glance while thinking. “Some technical problems were detected after cold sleep was initiated.”

  “Technical problems?” He didn’t answer. “Malfunctions in equipment? Improper preparation for cold sleep? Drug contamination?” I’d casted a wide net with no response. Not even a blink or flinch. “Should I discuss this issue with Chief Brold?”

  “What I do know isn’t much, Specialist. Speak with your superiors in Security.”

  I checked off some information. “Okay,” I said evenly. “I have looked over the quartering area for the colonists. I believe that unless some modifications are made, there will be many justifiably unhappy R-Techs. Who on your staff could I consult with respect to this?”

  “That depends, Specialist. What do you believe is wrong with the quartering?”

  “It’s not my intention to go through Medical with the issue. I’m new on board and just wanted to know who to consult, should the need arise.”

  “Understood. What do you see as problematic?”

  “Unsanitary conditions,” I said. “Lack of privacy. If they want to warehouse the colonists, they should just keep them in cold sleep.”

  “I believe they are to undergo some sort of agricultural training en route.”

  “Well, that’s good. The less time they spend in their housing area, the better. But still.”

  “I get your point, Specialist. If you require, I will direct my opinion to your superiors.” He got up from his perch. “Is that all?”

  “Two more.” I scratched my head. “I’m quartered with Maintenance Technician Benjamin Cox. A cursory check of his file indicated disability rehabilitation?”

  “You haven’t met Benny?”

  “We haven’t crossed paths yet. Is there anything I should be aware of?”

  “Tech Cox was in a decompression accident.” He paused. “And suffered a severe head trauma. He had neural and other reconstructive surgery, followed by rehabilitation.”

  “Okay. So there is nothing to watch for?”

  “Well, Tech Cox appears a bit slow, and his gross and fine motor skills are somewhat impaired. It’s likely he’s already reported to the Mavinrom Dock Medical for evaluation, so you won’t see him around for a few days.”

  “So his mental processes function just a little slower because they’ve been,” I searched for a word, “rerouted?”

  “Yes, that is one way to look at it.” He shot a glance at the ship’s chronometer.

  “Last item, Dr. Sevanto.” I slipped my notepad into a vest pocket. “I had a liquid drug compound impounded when my possessions were searched.”

  “You did,” he said, nodding. “It was turned over to Medical for identification.”

  I waited. “I would like it returned.”

  “I see no reason for a Class 4 Security Specialist to have in his possession such a potent neuron inhibitor.”

  “It’s not a controlled substance.”

  “It is a dangerous substance.”

  I placed my hand on my duty revolver. “This is dangerous as well. Negral Corp allows me to carry it.”

  “You have been trained and authorized to carry a sidearm. You do not have medical training.”

  “Isn’t that the point of categorizing a substance as controlled?” I began to have doubts of winning this round. “Regulations allow financial reimbursement for confiscations of this nature.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  I wasn’t going to make this easy. “I expect reimbursement equal to the cost at which the confiscated substance was purchased.” I stared at him. “I purchased the concentrated Triskiseral while stationed on Pluto.”

  “You have a record of the purchase, Specialist?”

  “As I said, Dr. Sevanto, it was legally obtained for 393 credits. I assure you, I have a verifiable record of its purchase price.”

  “I am unable to authorize reimbursement for three times the value of a medication.”

  “You can.” I was sure that Dr. Sevanto ran a clean shop, but nobody likes investigators checking into files. “It will send up a red flag calling for an explanation to corporate HQ.”

  “Security Specialist,” he said, “do you consider it wise to press such an issue with the head of Medical on a
ship to which you’re assigned?” He sat back on his stool, confident he’d just uttered checkmate.

  “Medical Director, do you consider it wise to cheat the security specialist responsible for eighty-nine R-Tech colonists?” I let it sink in a fraction of a second. “Colonists who will likely be less than cooperative after weeks of substandard living conditions?” I could live with a stalemate.

  “I am confident you will see to the correction of those unsatisfactory conditions.”

  “I will do my best.” I measured my words. “Medical appears well staffed. Security is not. Like you, I have a large number of duties. Unlike you and your staff, however, I’d bet that many of the colonists likely to visit Medical are less than model citizens.”

  “You wouldn’t be threatening negligence of duty?”

  “I am neither a moron nor an incompetent, Doctor,” I said flatly. “Yet you deem to treat me as one. I assure you, in my list of duties, the priority of escorting colonists to Medical and waiting while they are treated isn’t high.”

  “I could speak with Chief Brold on this issue. I think you know those results.” He waited a few seconds. “But I’ll give you a chance. Convince me. Why do you need the Triskiseral?”

  “If you insist,” I said, preparing to unbuckle my belt. “But this will take a second.”

  “I’ve already given you more time than I intended.” He crossed his arms. “But even if you don’t convince me, I’m confident it’ll be interesting.”

  I loosened my belt that held my holster and equipment, before reaching down my coveralls. I pulled out my protective cup. “See, I can tell by your expression your last statement has been confirmed.” I disassembled the backing and handed it to Dr. Sevanto. “Note the micro-syringe loaded in the shallow area. That holds Triskiseral. If I get kneed or punched in the groin, a magnetic pulse propels it forward through the small hole, injecting the striking appendage.”

  “Does it work?”

  “It did, once.” I smiled. “Except the nerve agent wasn’t fast-acting enough.”

  He looked more closely. “Is it patented?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Just not a common item.”

  He handed it back. “So what you are saying, Specialist Keesay, is that the concentrated Triskiseral is for use in duties directly related to your corporate assignment?”

  “That is how it should be interpreted,” I said while replacing the cup.

  “And why didn’t you indicate this when you requested the return of the Triskiseral?”

  I adjusted my belt. “It shouldn’t have been necessary.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment.”

  “But you know Chief Brold,” I said. “If he thought I was incompetent, would he have allowed me on board? And if Negral Corp overruled him, I’m confident that as head of Medical, you would’ve been informed.” I checked my gear. “If not by him, then by the XO.”

  “And if I question your competence, I am in fact questioning his?”

  “That’s how I interpret it.”

  “Interesting line of thought,” Dr. Sevanto said. “Although, whenever possible, I prefer to make my own judgments. Don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t hold the incident with Tech Stardz against you. But the abrasions and contusions around your face and hands I question.” He crossed his arms and waited.

  “Fair enough. Some were received in the aftermath of an attempted theft. They were mistakenly inflicted by over-zealous security, who also preferred to make their own judgments.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “The others,” I continued, “were delivered by a colonial marine nicknamed Pillar.” His smile followed mine. “You have the transferred medical reports which can confirm this. The first bruising was in the line of duty. I will defer to your judgment on the second.”

  He grabbed a nearby computer clip. “You may pick up the Triskiseral tomorrow. See Administrative Specialist Tahgs.” He placed his arm on my shoulder and led me out. “And try to avoid running into bulkheads, or pillars.”

  It was a lame joke, but I laughed anyway.

  Chapter 19

  While many languages remain in use on Earth, especially in R-Tech dominated pockets, English prevailed as the dominant corporate and, by default, intra-colonial language. This is because the majority of scientific research continues to be recorded and published in English. Although not easy to learn and comprehend, especially by alien diplomats, corporations determined retaining it more practical than implementing change.

  My alarm startled me from a troubled sleep. Normally I dreaded dreams that recounted my participation in the Colonization Riots. This morning was an exception. The first thing I did was enter in my electronic notebook a reminder to mention it to the chief.

  The last three days had passed quickly. I checked the rest of my schedule. A morning security meeting; the first one with the entire staff. Next, I was to accompany Dr. Sevanto to the dock while the colonists were brought out of cold sleep. After that, I was to check on the modifications to the colonists’ area.

  I wasn’t the only one getting an early start so I skipped most of my exercise routine. I could work out later. After a hurried breakfast I arrived five minutes early and took a seat in Specialist Liu’s office. She smiled politely and went back to work. Club entered with a tall, lean man a little older than me. His ID tag read Frost. He carried a military issue MP pistol, stun baton and a light-duty hand laser that was good for maybe three close-range shots.

  Before they sat down I got up. “Good morning.”

  Frost said nothing. Club replied with a nod, then sat, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Frost took out a palm computer clip and tapped away. I pulled my pocketknife and cleaned my fingernails.

  A moment later a muscular, heavy browed man wearing tan coveralls sauntered in and sat next to me. His gray-green armband identified him as auxiliary security.

  “Greetings, Keesay,” he said. “Anatol Gudkov. Glad to have you on board.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maintenance Tech Gudkov.” I offered my hand.

  He shook and chuckled. “The more Sec-Specs they hire, the less I have to cover.”

  “Prefer your other duties?”

  “Only an aux because of a stint at a penal colony, and failure not to volunteer.” He grinned at the admin specialist. “Liu, heard they might bring another sec-spec on. You know anything?”

  “Can’t confirm that one, Gudkov,” she said, still engrossed in her work.

  “You, Club?”

  Eyes still closed she shook her head.

  “You just came from the dock, Keesay?”

  “Correct. But I wasn’t impressed with what I saw.”

  Frost chimed in. “Shortage everywhere. Give it up, Gudkov. You’re stuck.”

  “What do you know, Frost?”

  Frost went back to his clip without response.

  Gudkov opened his mouth to say something more when the door slid open. A woman and two men entered. All three were armed like Frost, but the lean, dark-skinned man’s coveralls were creased and worn across his right shoulder. It mimicked my coverall’s telltale sign of a rifle sling. The rifleman stood next to me. “Hey, Keesay,” he said, looking down at my fading bruises.

  I stood, read his tag and offered my hand. “That’s correct, Nist.”

  “Go in for that old stuff I see.” We shook briefly and he slapped my shoulder. “Heard about you.”

  Gudkov cut in, “Nist, you know anything about new sec-spec hires?”

  “Now, why would I know anything about that? I was on leave.” He turned his back to Gudkov and said to me, “We’ll talk later.”

  I sat down, adjusted my gear, and began to ponder how Specialist Club armed herself. Specialist Liu stopped her work. The door to the adjoining office opened. “Come on in, team.” We all moved at Chief Brold’s order. Six folding chairs supplemented the two cushioned, resulting in cramped conditions. Liu and Club took the good chairs. I sat between Frost and C
lub.

  The chief tapped a key on his desk, closing the door. He tapped another. “Let’s get started.” Liu pulled out a large clip and began recording.

  “We have one new member. Class 4 Security Specialist Krakista Keesay, stand up.” Chief Brold began to his right. Each nodded as they were introduced. “Zabden Frost, Dorian Ross. You know Li Liu and Joyce Club. Anatol Gudkov, Faxtinian Muller and Larcher Nist.” He paused and I sat down. “Keesay comes to us from stationing on Pluto. And for those of you who’re interested, the XO rated him a 6.4 on his diversion assignment. That tops everybody but Club. And doubles Gudkov.”

  It took me a half a second to recall my meeting with Lt. Commander Devans. It had been planned. Whatever the measuring criteria, I did well enough.

  Slipping a red toothpick from his mouth’s corner, Chief Brold glanced at his agenda. “You all can get acquainted on your own time. On to business.” He paused. “Hope those who had leave enjoyed it. Those still scheduled, it’ll be just as short. Soon enough we’ll be several months hurtling through space in this steel can.”

  Several groans followed but it couldn’t be worse than warehouse duty.

  “Club and I’ve worked out a tentative duty schedule. Nist, you’re our liaison with the marines. Keesay, you’re assigned to the colonists. Gudkov, sec-bot maintenance and relief duty in the Control Room. Frost and Ross, passenger support. Muller and Club are primaries in Control. Liu, administrative. Everyone but Liu will be on roving patrol, especially around engineering.” He paused. “Any questions thus far?”

  Gudkov stood. “Chief, I heard that the company might provide more assistance.”

  “Still angling?” The chief shot a glance over to Club.

  “Mer’s gone planetside,” she said, standing to address us, “and came up empty. Maybe on the dock, but even if he does, you’ll still be part of the team.”