by J. L. Doty
That was it! The conversation had turned in a direction that could get them all arrested and vented. “Do?” he asked, playing dumb. “Do about what?”
“This situation we’re in,” Omasin persisted. “The way we’re headed right now, we’re all likely to be killed.”
York decided to leave before they crossed the line. He stood. “The best thing you can do, Mister Omasin, is to have faith in the officers and crew of this ship. They’re trained and experienced and competent.” York wasn’t a good liar, but at that moment he was amazed at how easily he could spew such drivel. “I have to be going now,” he said and turned toward the door, but he found it blocked by Faiel, who leaned casually in his way. York considered the big man for a moment. There was no threat in his posture, but too, he made no move to get out of the way. He was probably a professional, and York was no match for the man.
“Lieutenant Ballin,” Fithwallen said.
York turned to face her.
She smiled pleasantly. “Mister Omasin and I are both powerful and influential people. If you were to have any suggestions on how our present situation might be handled better, we could support you in a compelling way, and of course we would be most grateful. In fact, when this is over I could use a good military liaison on my executive staff. The salary would be quite handsome, with considerable benefits and perquisites. And if there were any ensuing difficulties as a result of actions you might take now on our behalf, Mister Omasin and I could help the powers-that-be see the need for such measures, and extricate you from any entanglements in a most legal fashion.”
In other words, York thought, take over the ship, get us the hell out of this, and we’ll make sure they don’t execute you for mutiny.
York said, “I really must be going now.”
“Of course,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”
When York turned back to the door Faiel was no longer blocking it. Cienyey escorted him back to the lift, again prattling on about the importance of doing favors for important people, especially wealthy ones. When York got back to his cabin he pulled a chair out of the wall and sat down, and started shaking.
Mutiny! He sat there for several minutes before he could hold his hands steady.
“Ballin,” Sierka screamed, and York slammed awake. “Answer me. Now!” Sierka had used captain’s access to override York’s terminal, and was screaming a stream of profanity at him.
“Lights,” York growled as he dropped out of his grav bunk.
He staggered groggily to his terminal, hit the receive switch and Sierka appeared on a screen, his face bright red, veins bulging on his forehead. Sierka saw York and hesitated, then, with spittle flying from his mouth, screamed. “Where have you been, you idiot?”
York opened his mouth to say he’d been asleep, but Sierka cut him off. “I’ll have you up on charges for dereliction of duty. When I call, you answer. You’re under arrest . . . No, forget that. The civilians on G-deck are rioting. Get your marines down there and stop it.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll—”
“You’re a drunken incompetent. You’ll never amount to anything . . .”
York tuned Sierka out. The fool wanted York to quell a riot on G-deck, but he needed to shout epithets and curses at him for ten minutes first. And he finished with, “You get those moronic marines of your down there, and kill anyone that resists. That’s an order.”
York scrambled the marines, told Palevi, “I need fifty marines in full armor. Nerve prods and riot gear, that kind of stuff. And tell them no lethal force unless absolutely necessary.”
Palevi gave him a sour smile. “This ain’t gonna be no fun.”
While there would undoubtedly be some contraband weapons among the civilians housed on G-deck, there wouldn’t be anything heavy enough to penetrate power reinforced plast. So the best way to handle a riot was to send in invulnerable troops with orders to disable, but—and here York decided Sierka could go fuck himself—not kill anyone.
Just outside the main lift on G-deck a squad of AI had established a small perimeter, but were too badly outnumbered to take the rest of the deck. A young female AI second lieutenant marched up to York and said, “Glad you brought me reinforcements. Tell your people they’re taking orders from me.”
York hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “No. Get out.”
Her face darkened, and as she spoke she rested a hand threateningly on her sidearm. “I gave you a direct order.”
York grinned. “And I gave you an order.”
She wasn’t very smart. He outweighed her by a good thirty kilos, and she broadcast her move. He saw her muscles tense as she gripped her sidearm and started to draw it, so he simply reached down with his left hand, caught her wrist and halted it. Then with his right hand he grabbed her by the lapels, pulled her toward the lift and tossed her head over heals into it. She came up reaching for her gun again, but found herself staring into the barrel of Palevi’s sidearm. She stopped and looked around quickly, realized she and her goons were badly outnumbered. She growled, “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
“Palevi,” York barked. “Disarm these AI troops, and hustle them off this deck.”
They hit G-deck at a run, let the few civilians with weapons ping shots of their armor as they charged straight at them, more often than not just slammed an armored forearm under someone’s chin and knocked them on their butt, once or twice jammed a nerve prod in someone’s gut. York didn’t wear armor, just a light combat harness, let his marines sweep out in front of him and clear the way. But with his first step on G-deck a sense of foreboding settled in his gut, and his unease grew as they progressed. G-deck stank, not just the slightly unwashed smell of a locker room, but the rank overpowering odor of too many people crowded together without proper sanitary facilities.
“Cap’em.” Palevi’s voice in his implants. “We got a problem here. G-two-two-niner outboard.”
“I’ll be right there.”
York checked the bulkhead number next to him, headed for Palevi. Five marines, Tathit in charge, stood guard over a clutch of civilians near G-two-two-niner. The civilians looked like they’d been roughed up, and as York approached, Tathit hooked a thumb toward a hatch, said, “In there, sir.”
Palevi waited on the other side of the hatch with several marines in a large barracks. On the floor lay three AI troopers, in worse shape than the civilians outside. Palevi said, “Three still breathing, one not.” He nodded toward a grav bunk on the wall. In it lay the remains of a fourth AI trooper, his pants down around his knees. The fellow had been beaten to death, his genitals mutilated.
York stepped through the hatch into the corridor and looked the civilians over more carefully. They were bloodied, beaten and angry, but they’d outnumbered the four AI troopers three to one.
York demanded, “What happened here?”
A young man, clearly the angriest of them all, tried to step forward, but a marine blocked his way. “They raped my wife,” he snarled. “We stopped ‘em, and we paid ‘em back.”
“Cap’em,” someone shouted from down the corridor, another group of marines guarding another clutch of civilians. Salley, the ex-marine proprietress of the Drop Zone, blocked by one of York’s marines, waved at him.
York keyed his implants. “Let her pass.”
She brought with her an older fellow, a professor type, and introduced him as Joaha Sarvik. York guessed he held some sort of de facto leadership position among the civilians, and he looked tired. He said, “These rapes have to stop.”
“Rapes?” York asked. “Plural?”
Salley said, “We call ‘em rape squads, cap’em. AI come down here quite regular, beat up some, rape some.”
Sarvik said, “We can understand the limited food and water rations. I’m sure it’s as hard on you as the rest of us, but—”
“Rations?” York demanded.
Sarvik frowned. “Yes. Limited food and water. No bathing. You have been on rations like the rest of us, haven’t
you?”
York wanted to lie, but Sarvik deserved the truth, “No.”
Sarvik went from reasonable to angry. “What the hell is going on here?”
York spoke carefully. “I don’t know. But it’s going to end.”
York turned to Palevi. “Throw those AI thugs in the brig. Yan can patch ‘em up there. And set up regular patrols on this deck. Anyone wants to hurt someone, they get hurt first.”
They secured G-deck quickly after that. Once back in his office, York told Palevi, “Can you do something to get that deck cleaned up? Teach them how to shower shipboard style, make sure they get a reasonable water ration and food.”
Palevi smiled, not his usual grin. “Yes, sir.”
York monitored the progress as Hyer and her squad conducted a search for contraband weapons on G-deck. About a half hour later he was thinking of returning to his bunk when he heard Thring pleading frantically with one of his marines, “Let me pass. I must see Lieutenant Ballin. It’s a matter of life or death.”
York called out, “Let him pass.”
Thring stumbled into the room, his eyes wide with fear. “He’s going to execute them.”
York asked, “Execute who?” But before Thring spoke he already knew the answer.
“No trial,” Thring pleaded. “No hearing. Nothing. Just plain murder.”
York grabbed him by the front of his robe. “Where?”
“I think on Hangar Deck.”
He tossed Thring aside, sprinted up the corridor, shouted back over his shoulder at the marine, “Tell Palevi I need backup.”
Just as York reached Hangar Deck Cinesstar’s hull echoed with the hollow clang of the blow-down cycle of an air lock. The drone service bay.
He found the hatch to the Drone Bay wide open, and inside he came upon the AI major and his goons. Sarvik and a number of his people were on their knees next to a personnel hatch, their hands cuffed behind their backs, plast tongue gags jammed into their mouths. Salley too was cuffed and gagged, but she was laying on her side, one cheek swollen and her eyes puffy, blood trickling from her nostrils. A couple of the AI goons were in the process of recycling the hatch.
“What’s going on here?” York demanded.
The AI major looked up unhappily. The stencil on his tunic read Juessik. “This is no concern of yours, Lieutenant.”
York hesitated. There were admirals who would back down against an AI major. York shook his head and swallowed hard. “I’m the commanding officer of Cinesstar’s marine contingent, and as such I am Chief of Ship’s Security. This is, therefore, my concern.”
Juessik frowned and looked York over carefully. “Very well, Lieutenant. We’re venting some mutineers.”
York stuck his hand out. “May I see the execution order?”
The young, female, AI lieutenant York had tossed out of G-deck a few hours earlier stepped over to stand beside Juessik. “Is there some problem here, sir?”
Juessik looked at her. “I’m not sure yet, Lieutenant Darma.” A dozen AI goons slowly surrounded York, and he hoped Palevi would hurry.
“The execution order,” York said. “I have to see it before you can proceed.”
Juessik shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant.”
“Look out, Cap’em!”
At Salley’s warning York’s reflexes took over. He spun and dropped to one side, but one of the AI goons caught him across the side of his head with a rifle butt. York hit the deck solidly, tried to climb up to his knees, but a boot slammed into his ribs, and another caught him in the back. He barely avoided another rifle butt aimed for his head, but something else hit him in the groin, and he curled up in pain as blow after blow landed all over his body . . .
For some odd reason the blows had stopped. There was a lot of shouting, and one of the AI goons suddenly landed face down on the deck in front of him, bounced hard. The bastard didn’t get up, but lay there with blood trickling from his nostrils, his eyes closed and peaceful.
Someone rolled York onto his back. A marine medic leaned over him, and with Palevi standing above her she checked him with some sort of instrument. “He’ll be all right,” the medic said. “At worst, a couple broken ribs.”
As consciousness returned, and with it a hard lump of pain in his left side, York looked around carefully. Palevi had arrived with overwhelming force; they’d disarmed the AI troops and rounded them up near a bulkhead. Several of them showed signs of a one-sided and rather nasty fight. York grabbed the medic’s shoulder, and though his ribs and back complained painfully, he demanded, “Help me up.”
He could barely walk, and they had to help him over to Juessik, who stood with his people behind him. York considered kicking him in the crotch or something, decided it wouldn’t be worth it. “Major Juessik,” York said. His lower lip was beginning to swell around a nasty cut. “I’m afraid I’ve been somewhat remiss in my duties as chief of security, and I’ve left you and your people without proper protection. I have almost three hundred marines under my command . . .” York emphasized the word my. “. . . and it seems only reasonable to provide for your safety.”
York saw a little fear in Juessik’s eyes, knew he’d have to be satisfied with that. “Sergeant Palevi,” he said without looking away from Juessik.
“Sir.”
“Sergeant. Assign four armed marines as a body guard for Major Juessik.” York looked at the young AI lieutenant. “And four more for Lieutenant Darma here. Until further notice they are to accompany them everywhere. And no one will countermand these orders but me, and only me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The rest of Major Juessik’s people will be given proper quarters in the marine barracks effective immediately.”
York turned away from Juessik and Darma. Palevi was grinning as York pulled him aside and whispered, “I want to know everything Darma and Juessik do and say. And take the rest and lock them up.”
Palevi’s grin broadened. “Yes, sir. Happy to, sir.”
CHAPTER 16: ABANDONED
“We’re going to have to shut her down,” the mechanic shouted above the noise in the engine room. “That imper hurt us.”
“We can’t,” Jewel shouted back at him.
The mechanic shrugged. “Shut her down now for a couple hours, maybe a day, and we can repair her. Don’t shut her down and we’ll be dead in space fairly soon anyway.”
“Damn!” Jewel swore. She shouted back at the mechanic. “I don’t want to lose that imper.”
The mechanic shrugged. “You’ll lose him no matter what if we don’t do something to fix this boat.”
Jewel shook her head. “All right. But let’s transit easy, keep our flare to a minimum. I don’t want that son-of-a-bitch to get a fix on us.”
The day after the civilians had their little uprising Sierka threw a fit about the way York had treated Major Juessik and his AI comrades. At least this time he didn’t order York up to his cabin, but called him late that night and chose to rant and rave via com link. York turned the volume down, nodded politely now and then and ignored most of it. Sierka did force York to release the AI goons he’d locked up and to remove the escorts he had on Juessik and Darma.
When Sierka finished there was a message from Alsa. York called her on a screen. “I found another little surprise,” she said. “The d’Hart woman. Same kind of device, buried at the base of the skull near the brain stem like the others.”
York asked, “Federation or imperial issue.”
“Imperial.”
“Anyone else?”
She grinned. “I decided not to wait for everyone to come to me. I told Sierka I should probably give every officer and VIP on ship a checkup after those gravity anomalies we went through. He gave me the nod, so I’ve been scheduling them one after the other. So far, in addition to the one’s you already know about, I’ve run full profiles on Andow, Rhijn, Cienyey, Dubye, and all our officers—all negative.”
“Does that include Soladin and his little piece of
fluff?”
Yan frowned. “Soladin came out negative, but what little piece of fluff?”
York drummed his fingers on his console. “I can’t remember her name; Lady Something-or-other. Try and get a complete passenger manifest, run profiles on anyone who’s wealthy, powerful, royal, or of any kind of rank or stature whatsoever. Also anyone who’s part of the entourage of any member of the royal family, and anyone who was on Trinivan, no matter how insignificant.”
Her brow wrinkled. “That’s a lot of work, York.”
“I know. Just fit them in when you can. Oh, and make sure you check out Sarra Fithwallen, Brentin Omasin, and Fithwallen’s bodyguard Jandeer Faiel.”
“Woe!” she said. “That’s big money you’re talking about. They’re on board?”
“Yes they are. See what you can find out, but be careful. Remember. Keep no records and tell no one.”
She grinned. “Don’t worry about me, York Ballin. You worry about you.”
“I will,” he said, and cut the circuit.
There was a message from Maggie. She wanted him to come up to the cabin she and Frank shared, said it was important, and not to worry about Sierka’s orders that he stay below H-Deck. It was late and there wouldn’t be anyone about.
Ordinarily York wouldn’t have listened to her, but it would be good to get into a bottle and a game of cards with Maggie and Frank. But when Frank opened the hatch to their cabin, it was obvious he’d have no such luck.
There was a whole group of them packed into the small cabin. Frank and Maggie, Jondee, Temerek, McGeahn, Gant, even Thring, and they all looked guilty, like a bunch of pubescent boys and girls caught showing one another their genitals.
“How about a drink?” Maggie offered.
York glanced around the room at each of them, and not one would look him in the eyes. “Ya,” he said, leaning against a bulkhead. “Make it something strong. I think I’m going to need it.”
No one moved or said anything as Maggie splashed something into a glass, then handed it to York. He took a sip, found it was real whiskey, not trate, was grateful for that luxury. “So,” he said, looking at Maggie, and in no mood to beat around the bush. “You wanted to see me, said it was important.” He looked around the cabin again. “And it’s obvious this is not a social call. So what’s so hot?”