by Ryk Brown
Terig had asked himself time and again, ever since his return, if he would have made the same decision had he heard both sides of the argument. He hoped he would have, but could not be sure. He also wondered what his wife would say. She scoffed at some of the atrocities committed by the Dusahn, but she too seemed of the mindset that it was better to yield to their new rulers and live, rather than resist and perish. He doubted she would support his decision.
It hurt Terig to keep the truth from his wife, but he had been instructed to keep her in the dark for her own protection. If the Dusahn had the same abilities to extract information as the Jung, she could be proven to be complicit and subject to execution were he caught and convicted.
Terig convinced himself that he was only being the man she had married and that no matter how angry she might be at him for not telling her, she would understand and forgive him in the end.
He closed his eyes and took one last deep breath. He was doing the right thing. He had made a promise; a promise to people who were taking far greater risks for worlds not their own. He had made a promise to people of honor, to people who, like him, felt obligated to do the right thing, no matter the risk.
Terig Espan opened his eyes, put one foot in front of the other, and headed up to driveway to return to work.
* * *
Tensen Dalott tried to appear uninterested as he waited in the arrivals security checkpoint line at the transfer station. The truth was, he was eavesdropping on everyone around him, trying to determine what to expect when his turn came. He had been in line for over an hour, and was finally only a few steps from the checkpoint. As best he could tell, the workers simply scanned his embedded ID chip, asked some questions, and made their decision. He had seen several people escorted away, under guard, through a door to the side, but had not seen them come out. Sometimes it was an individual, sometimes an entire family. He had not been able to determine why the Dusahn had taken those people away. Had their ID chips failed inspection? Had they answered one of the Dusahn’s questions incorrectly? Those who had been escorted away had not resisted in the slightest. Was it because they knew they had done nothing wrong? Or because they knew that resistance would only worsen their situation?
Tensen wondered what he would do if he were not allowed through the checkpoint. Logic dictated that he remain calm. It was entirely possible that those people were simply searched more thoroughly and then released on the other side of the checkpoint, out of Tensen’s view, and allowed to continue to their shuttle of choice to the surface of Takara.
It was also possible that they were taken directly to a holding cell to await interrogation and whatever fate followed.
Another passenger was allowed through the checkpoint and the line moved forward three steps. Tensen stepped forward. He was now the second person in line. He tried to listen, but heard nothing but mumbling. He did not think there was a sound suppression field in use; he had heard one of the inspectors call to the next inspector in the row of checkpoint stations, asking him a question.
After a few minutes, the passenger at the checkpoint, a young man, threw his hands up in obvious frustration as a Dusahn guard led him toward the infamous door to the side. It was the fourth person in the last six persons to be led off.
The person in front of Tensen stepped up to the checkpoint station and Tensen stepped forward to the holding line on the floor. From this distance, he could almost hear the questions being asked: the purpose of his visit, if he had ever been to Takara before, why he left whatever system he had come from, and what he did for a living. The questions seemed more of a way to kill time while confirming the passenger’s identity.
Another woman was escorted toward the door. His odds were getting worse. Tensen stepped forward, placing his left hand, palm down, on the counter in front of him. A beam of green light passed over his hand.
“State your name and place of birth,” the guard stated in heavily accented Angla.
“Tensen Dalott, Navarro province, Takara,” Tensen replied.
“Why were you off-world?”
“I was on vacation on Ursoot. I’ve been trying to get back for more than two weeks now.”
The inspector was unmoved. “Current residence?”
“Rega Seven, Pittar and Olliwilde, number three two seven, Mahtize province.”
“I thought you were born in Navarro province?” the inspector questioned, casting a suspicious glance at Tensen.
“My father’s contract was sold to House Mahtize when I was young. I was raised in Mahtize province.”
“What do you do in Mahtize province?”
“Speculative investments,” Tensen lied.
“Unmarried?”
“Widower,” Tensen replied.
The inspector raised his hand, signaling for a guard.
“Is there a problem?” Tensen asked.
“Follow the guard,” the inspector instructed.
“What’s wrong? What did I do?” Tensen tried not to overreact but felt a display of concern was warranted.
“Citizen,” the guard stated in a strong and confident tone, as if requiring absolute compliance. “You will keep your hands visible at all times and you will follow me.”
Tensen tried his best to look confused, as well as worried, as another guard stepped over and moved behind him. “Of course,” he finally complied, trying to appear as scared and subdued as the guards expected him to be.
Tensen followed the first guard toward the door to the side, the same door through which he had seen others before him enter but had seen none exit. He glanced back over his shoulder, confirming that the other guard had fallen in behind him. As they approached the door, he felt his options quickly fading away. If the door led to a holding area, it was likely far more secure than out here in the open. He contemplated overpowering the guards. He had training, but had not utilized it in many years and doubted he still had the speed and agility necessary to take out both guards. Even if he was successful, there were more nearby, all well-armed and wearing cold, distant expressions. His chances of escaping uninjured were less than zero.
Seconds later, they reached the door. The guard punched in a code and then pushed the door open, stepping inside. Tensen followed him in, looking around the room as he entered.
It was unremarkable, with a desk, an ID chip scanner station, and what appeared to be some sort of medical kit. A technician was standing to one side, cleaning some device.
“Sit,” the technician instructed, speaking in perfect Takaran. Tensen complied as the guards stepped back out, undoubtedly to escort some other poor passenger to their doom.
“What is going on?” Tensen asked. “Did I do something wrong? I was just trying to get back home.”
“You came from a world that is not yet controlled by the Dusahn. You will need to be re-chipped,” the technician stated calmly.
“What’s wrong with my chip?” he wondered, feeling it was an obvious question for him to ask.
“It is not of Dusahn issue,” the technician explained. “All citizens of the Dusahn Empire must carry a Dusahn ID and tracking chip.”
“Is that really necessary?” Tensen wondered.
“Is there a reason you do not want to be chipped?”
Tensen sighed. “I don’t really like needles very much,” he admitted. “And I bleed easily. It’s a bit embarrassing, to be honest.”
“It only requires a small puncture on the inside of your non-dominant forearm,” the technician said as he prepared the injection device. “The bleeding should be minimal.”
“And you’ve done this to everyone on Takara?”
“We are working on it,” the technician replied. He armed the device then moved toward Tensen.
“Do you have to remove my original chip?” Tensen asked.
“
That will not be necessary,” the technician explained. “You can still use it to access your health care system, but you will no longer be able to use it to pay for goods and services. For that, you will need to use the Dusahn chip I am implanting.”
“Very well,” Tensen agreed, reluctantly.
The technician placed the device against Tensen’s arm and pressed the trigger. There was a sudden pinch on his arm and a sharp pain. The technician pulled the device away, revealing a small wound that was oozing a little more blood than one might expect.
“See what I mean?” Tensen grimaced.
The technician dabbed the wound with a small white pad, then sprayed it with a healing compound that stopped the flow of blood and closed up the tiny puncture site. He handed Tensen a small medical packet. “If it begins to bleed again, apply the cream and bandage within this kit and see your physician.”
“And this chip contains all my information, the same as my old chip?” Tensen inquired.
“A direct copy,” the technician replied. “But it is tied to the Dusahn database and tracking system, as well.”
“That’s it?” Tensen asked in disbelief.
“That’s it. You may go.”
Tensen stood, unsure of which way to go.
“The other door,” the technician stated.
“Thank you.” Tensen took a step toward the exit, then paused. “May I ask a question?”
The technician looked at Tensen.
“What do you think of the Dusahn? What are they like?”
“The Dusahn have only our best interests at heart,” the technician stated, as if reading from a script. “They will lead us to new levels of happiness and prosperity.”
“Of course,” Tensen replied, heading for the exit.
“Shuttles to Mahtize province are to the left, five gates down. They depart every hour. Welcome home, Mister Dalott.”
Tensen nodded. “Thank you,” he replied, just before he stepped through the exit.
* * *
“We apologize for the delay,” the housing officer said, leading a group of refugees down the corridor. “The Mystic Empress was not setup to accommodate families. We had to combine adjoining suites, put in additional doors, and create more storage areas. We still have to create kitchenettes in many of the suites, but we can do that while they are occupied. In the meanwhile, those of you who do not yet have kitchen facilities will have to take your meals in your assigned dining facilities, according to the dining schedules.”
“A far sight better than living in the cargo pods on the Glendanon,” one of the refugees commented.
“Yes, I imagine so,” the housing officer agreed.
“Is it safe for children?” a woman clutching her young daughter asked.
“As long as they remain in the public areas, yes. Most non-public areas normally have secured access, but many of those have been temporarily disabled to aid in the reconfiguration process. We would recommend that children not be allowed to roam the ship unattended.”
The procession reached a small central hub, from which the corridors split into four directions. The housing officer stopped, turning around and stepping backward toward the far side of the intersection to allow most of the group to enter the hub. “This is your new neighborhood; section four, level C. Odd numbers are to port, even numbers are to starboard. There are small observation decks to either side of this hub, with gangways that lead up and down. All of the cabins in this section are currently unlocked and the door controls are in programming mode. Once you are inside your cabin, do not leave until palm scans of all members of your family have been added to the door controls for your cabin. If you have any problems programming the door controls, please contact passenger services using your cabin communications console. Loaded into your entertainment systems, you will find an information program to acquaint yourself with the ship and her rules of conduct and operations procedures. I urge you to spend some time watching that program, as it will make everyone’s life a lot easier.” The housing officer took a breath, raising his data pad. “I will now call out your cabin assignments. Please listen for your family name and move to your cabins as expeditiously as possible. And welcome aboard the Mystic Empress.” The officer looked at his data pad. “Tarallo, family of four, C-one zero three.”
A man and woman, each leading a child by the hand, worked their way forward through the group. The man looked at the housing officer as they approached. “That way?” he asked, pointing forward beyond the officer.
“Second to the last door on your left,” the officer replied, smiling.
“Thank you,” the man said, nodding respectfully. He put his free arm around his wife’s shoulder, leading her and their children past the officer toward their new home. For the first time in weeks, hope dared to show itself on their faces.
“Contois, family of three, C-one zero four,” the housing officer announced.
A woman standing nearby stepped forward, followed by a teenage boy and young girl. “Thank you,” the woman said as she passed.
“You are most welcome,” the officer replied. “Down the corridor and on your right.” He looked at his data pad again. “Nash… Uh, there are a lot of you, aren’t there. Let’s start with Nash, Keith, family of three, cabin C-one zero nine.”
Keith Nash, patriarch of the Nash clan, stepped forward, followed by his wife, Laura, and their granddaughter, Ania. “Thank you, Mister Jokinen,” he said, reading the officer’s name tag.
“You’re quite welcome, Mister Nash.” The officer looked at his data pad again, as the first element of the Nash clan passed by. “Nash, Alek, family of four, C-one one zero.”
Keith led his wife and granddaughter down the corridor, each of them lugging what little they had managed to bring with them from Burgess. Behind him, he could hear his sons’ names being called, as the housing officer passed out the cabin assignments to everyone in his family. He reached their door and paused, turning to look back and watch his sons and their families coming down the corridor behind him, their faces beaming with anticipation. It had been a miserable couple of weeks, but they had survived just as they always had.
Ania was not waiting. She pushed the door to her new home open, entering with a squeal of delight, followed by her grandmother.
Keith stood at the door, waiting to exchange glances with each of his sons as they too led their families into their new homes. His son, Tommy, who was still single, would not be housed nearby, as he had taken a position on the Mystic’s crew and would be bunked in the crew areas. But his family was safe, for now. All but Robert and Jessica… But he had become accustomed to his oldest and youngest always putting themselves in harm’s way for the sake of others and he was proud of them for it.
Once satisfied that the last of his sons’ families were safe, Keith stepped through the door to join his wife and granddaughter in their new home.
* * *
As the car made its way down the streets of the base housing complex, Abby stared at the perfect little houses, each a close facsimile of the other, properly manicured and evenly spaced. Trees, so young they did not yet block the moonlight, were centered in the middle of every front yard. The only differences between the homes were their colors, the cars in their driveways, and the occasional decorative item hanging on their front porches.
Despite their attempt to create a welcoming and comfortable environment for the families of the scientists and technicians working for Special Projects, they had created the equivalent of a prison. There were no bars, guards, or fences, but their communications were monitored and their movements were tracked by a combination of security escorts, drones, and tracking devices implanted within them. They were living in a sterile, pretend world. But they were safe.
Was that really all that mattered? It was a question Abby asked herself eve
ry day. They were undoubtedly far better off than when they were living in the refugee camps on Tanna. And they were definitely better off than many on Earth who were still living in poverty, waiting for the recovery to include them.
The car pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Abby looked out at her home; a single vehicle in the driveway, a light on by the front door, and a few more within.
The Alliance security officer in the front passenger seat got out of the car and looked around, then stepped back to open her door just as he always did. Abby stepped out into the evening sea air, smiled politely at the young man, bidding him a pleasant evening before heading up the walk. As usual, the man waited until Abby was safely inside before returning to the car. He and his partner would wait in the car in front of her home, until such time as they were relieved. In the morning, there would be another, identical car, with two different men.
Inside her home was the only place Abby felt like the eyes of Galiardi and his military were not following her every move. Their homes were constructed to block the tracking chips implanted in their forearms. After all, they needed some privacy, and how much time they spent in any particular room in their own home was none of the military’s business.
Abby leaned against the closed door a moment, sighing. She closed her eyes and took a few slow breaths, allowing herself to relax a bit. Afterward, she removed her coat and shoes and placed them in the closet, donning her slippers before continuing into her home, such as it was.
Inside, it was a very different story. Although all the interior layouts were virtually identical, the furnishing and decorations were not. Abby’s husband had managed to procure many things from their country of birth, so at least the inside of their home was their own.
She made her way across the living room and down the hallway; the doors to both her children’s rooms were open and their beds empty. For a moment she was concerned, but then remembered that their son was away at lacrosse camp and their daughter was sleeping over at a friend’s house down the street. She felt disappointed that she would not get to see them. She had missed the first decade of their lives while working with her father on the original jump drive project. Although she had managed to reconnect with the children during their stay on Tanna, it had been short-lived, and upon their return to Earth she had been forced to return to work.