“Very well. Thank you, Natasha,” Enfield said. “Our first order of business is to elect ourselves as the new Board of Directors. Did everyone receive the VR remote units? Anyone not wearing it now? OK, good. So we can vote with the ship's computer.
“Do I hear a motion?”
“I move we elect this group the Board of Directors of Galactic Mail,” Natasha Sanna said.
“Seconded,” said Bob Graham.
“I have a motion and it has been seconded. Vote in the VR, Aye or Nay on the motion,” Enfield said.
“The motion carries,” the computer said from the overhead speakers a few seconds later.
“OK, we are now the Board of Directors,” Enfield said. “The next item of business is for the Board to elect its chairman.
“The floor is now open for nominations.”
Sanna once again spoke first. “I nominate George Enfield. I asked the computers after the notification came, and he and Patty Dawson here have been the source of a lot of the information we've been receiving the last seven years. Before that, we didn't get much. Also, the remote VR units. And they're the ones who smuggled the guns on board so we could be adequately armed. So I think George is the natural choice.”
“Other nominations?” Enfield asked. No one else offered a nomination, because no one really knew any of the other Board members yet.
“Computer,” Enfield said.
“Yes, Mr. Enfield,” the computer said.
“Can you access the biographies of all the Board members in my private secure storage in the ship's accounts?”
“Yes, Mr. Enfield, with your permission.”
“Analyze those biographies for the work experience, education, and age to determine the best candidates for chairman. Figure in the training classes we took as well, and our scores.”
“Mr. Enfield, Ms. Dragic, and Mr. Turner have the most relevant experience and education and are in the optimum age range.”
“Well, there's our candidates everybody. Now what do we do? Speeches?”
“George, as interim chairman, I call the vote,” Sanna said.
“All right, everyone. I'm overruled. Vote in the VR,” Enfield said.
“Mr. Enfield has a majority of the vote,” the computer said a few seconds later.
“Congratulations, George.”
Sanna stood and shook Enfield's hand, and everyone clapped briefly.
“The next order of business is to name a president for Galactic Mail,” Enfield said.
“According to the by-laws, you nominate the president, and the Board can concur or demur on your choice,” Turner said.
“Computer, based on the analysis of the biographies of the current Board and their scores in training, who are the best choices for president?” Enfield asked the overhead.
“Ms. Dawson is the best candidate, followed closely by Mr. Turner.”
“Very well. I nominate Patricia Dawson as president of Galactic Mail. Vote demur or concur in the VR.”
“The Board concurs with Mr. Enfield's nomination of Ms. Dawson as president,” the computer said a few seconds later.
“Mr. Turner,” Dawson said. “Will you serve as vice president?”
“Yes, of course,” Turner said.
“As your president, I step down from the Board,” Dawson said.
“And, as vice president, I do as well,” Turner said.
Enfield took the floor again.
“Per the permanent by-laws, and by our votes, we are the Board of Directors of Galactic Mail, its president, and its vice president. I have requested the central computer system not make this information public, or inform the current leadership. As you know, that was one of our options until we met. I think we should continue that arrangement for the time being. All agreed? Any opposed?”
There were no opposing votes.
“What we need to discuss then is how we proceed from here. It seems to me the first thing we need to do is assert our control over this ship, GMS Mnemosyne. With that, I'll turn the floor over to our president.”
Under Arrest
As Patricia Dawson walked down the corridor on Mnemosyne from the dining room back to their cabin, Marcus Abrams, the head of Ship Security, stepped out of a cross-corridor in front of her.
“Patricia Dawson, you are under arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Conspiracy against Galactic Mail.”
“There's no such crime.”
“Nevertheless. You will come with me.”
Two security guards had come up the corridor behind her. She was logged into the VR through her remote neck pickup and could see the clear corridor beyond them.
“The hell I will. And if you or your two goons make any move against me, I'll kill you all where you stand.”
When he nodded to the two guards behind her, for a moment he was looking at them, and they were looking at him. In that moment of inattention, Dawson hit the release on the smart holster through the VR and the pistol dropped from under her blouse into her right hand. With the smoothness of long practice, she double-tapped Abrams in the center of mass as she brought the pistol up and turned, then fired three rounds at each of the two guards in what was still known among tactical shooters as the Mozambique Drill – double-tap to the center of mass and one shot to the head.
She walked over to where Abrams was bleeding out on the floor.
“You should have listened to me.”
She put one round into his head, between the eyes.
Dawson scanned the corridor up and down, and checked her near vicinity in the VR. With no one else coming, she dropped the half-expended magazine into her free hand and loaded a full magazine, putting the half-empty magazine in the magazine holster with her second reload. She re-holstered the weapon, and commed the Board through the VR.
“Code Red. Security tried to arrest me. I'm fine. Three down dead in corridor 4-14.”
Dawson accessed Mnemosyne's computer in flag-override, locking all the interior doors in brig protocol. They would be unable to be opened from inside or outside without flag authority, which all the Board had.
Dawson and the Board had not yet let on to the captain or crew of Mnemosyne that the Galactic Mail central computer systems had given them the flag-override codes for the big ship, or that they had transmitted them and been recognized when coming aboard. Intended for an admiral to take command in dire need, none of the captain or crew had them, and none could countermand them without physically disconnecting all the individual systems on the ship.
Dawson also shut down all access to the interior security monitoring on the ship. Only she and the other Board members would be able to access the camera views of all corridors and spaces.
Finally, she killed all communications through the VR system except for her and the other Board members and their families.
Enfield was walking down a corridor in the command cylinder when he got Dawson's message. He continued walking without showing any sign of being alerted. He was unsurprised when Kurt Schechter, the assistant head of Ship Security, stepped out of a cross-corridor in front of him.
“George Enfield, you are under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Conspiracy against Galactic Mail.”
“Oh, that.” Enfield visibly relaxed, and spoke off-handedly. “You might want to check with your boss. There's been a change of orders.”
“I don't think so.”
“No, really. It was all a mistake. You should check.”
Schechter got a vacant look as he accessed his VR, then became concerned.
“I can't raise Abrams. Hell, I can't raise anybody,” Schechter said to the two security guards who had come up behind Enfield.
It was at that moment of distraction, with the three security people all looking at each other and thinking about something else, that Enfield moved. The one in front, two behind scenario was one of the standard practice setups in their tactical shooting exercises. Enfield's actions were a repeat of Dawson's just m
inutes before, including the coup de grace to Schechter and reloading his weapon.
Enfield commed Dawson and the Board.
“Same here. Three down dead in corridor 1-12.”
“This ship is on lock-down. On-watch bridge personnel, maintain your positions. All personnel in quarters and workspaces, remain where you are. All personnel in the corridors, proceed to the nearest crew mess and await further instructions. Anyone remaining in the corridors will be presumed hostile.”
The message repeated twice more over the ship's speakers. It was in the captain's voice, but it wasn't his orders. Dawson had constructed the message. And all the interior hatches were secured, so most personnel weren't going anywhere anyway.
Dawson watched crew members heading to the crew messes over her VR link. When they were assembled, she secured the hatches to the crew messes as well.
Dawson had the ship's computer monitor corridors for movement and queue those images for her. More of the Ship Security morons were patrolling corridors and ignoring orders to report to the nearest crew mess. She sent all the info on to the other nine Board members who were proficient tactical shooters, assigning them to specific targets and positions.
George Enfield took up his position just inside a cross corridor, facing away from the mess. Anyone going the wrong way could be presumed hostile. He casually leaned against the bulkhead, and waved and smiled at crew members heading for the mess as they passed him. After most of the crew were assembled in the mess, he continued to VR monitor the corridors in his area for hostiles.
A squad of four Ship Security passed his position at a lope, headed away from the mess toward the ladderways, weapons drawn. He stepped out into the corridor after they passed and double-tapped them all from behind. He walked forward, finished off two who were still breathing, and changed magazines. He picked up an extra pistol and two extra magazines for it from one of the bodies.
“Four down dead in corridor 1-11.”
Enfield melted into a side corridor and consolidated his two half-empty magazines into a single full one. That done, he moved to his next position.
Gretel Gadhavi took up a position on 4-15 near the access into cylinder four from the ring corridor above. Any security coming in to cylinder four had to pass through this chokepoint. She watched the ring corridor and the bottom of the ladder in VR.
She watched as a squad of four Ship Security guards came up into the ring corridor from cylinder two, moved around the ring and into the short corridor to the ladderway to cylinder four, and came down the ladder. As the last came down the ladder, with their squad leader talking to them and all of them looking away from her position, she stepped out of the side corridor and began firing.
She double-tapped each of the guards from behind, then took three head shots on those down but still moving. Jack Turner and Lacy Carter moved past her and started up the ladder as she reported in.
“Four down dead on 4-15.”
Once in the ring corridor, which the VR showed them was currently clear, Turner and Carter took up positions in the short corridors leading to the ladderways to empty cylinders five and ten. Only cylinder one, the command cylinder, crew cylinders two and three, and passenger cylinder four were currently occupied.
They could see in the VR that Ship Security was getting organized on 2-15, at the bottom of the ladder into cylinder two. There were two squads. They went up the ladder to the ring corridor one squad at a time. When all eight were up the ladder and in the ring corridor, the first squad headed for the cylinder four ladderway.
Turner and Carter coordinated in the VR. At the mark, they both stepped out from their side corridors. Turner's targets were in sight immediately, focused on the short corridor to the cylinder four ladderway, facing ninety degrees from him. He double-tapped them all in the center of mass, then delivered head shots to those down but moving.
Carter was two cylinders away in the vertically curved corridor, and out of sight of the squad at the cylinder two corridor when she stepped out. She advanced down the hallway just as Turner's shots rang out, which kept her targets facing away from her as she came around the ring. She double-tapped them all in the center of mass from behind, then headshot the movers.
The curve in the ring corridor kept Turner and Carter from being in each other's direct line of fire, and the sound absorbing tile on the curved floor squelched any ricochet.
“Eight down dead in the ring corridor.”
The VR showed them the remaining squad of Ship Security that weren't locked in. They were trying to hot-wire the hatch to the Ship Security ready room on 2-14. Carter and Turner took the ladderway down into 2-15, then down one more deck to 2-14. Turner went around one way, and Carter the other.
Once in position, just around the corner from the Ship Security ready room, Carter signaled Turner, just around the corner on the other side. Turner fired a single shot. Carter immediately stepped out from concealment to see all four of the last remaining free squad turning away from her down the corridor toward the noise. She double-tapped them all in the center of mass from behind, and finished off two moaners as she walked up.
“Four down dead in 2-14.”
Carter and Turner, Enfield and Dawson, Gadhavi and Graham then went from cabin to cabin, workspace to workspace, on deck 2-14, until there was no more Ship Security on Mnemosyne.
Captain Bowers
Pat Dawson had Captain Bowers brought to the Admiral's ready room under armed guard. No one on the bridge gave them any trouble, and she re-secured the hatch to the bridge behind them in VR.
George stood careful watch, with Dawson out of his line of fire.
“We have just completed securing your ship, Captain,” Dawson said. “Twenty-six of your Ship Security were killed in the fighting. The other thirty-four were trapped in their quarters and ready room when I secured the hatches. We have since shot them and spaced all the bodies. Your crew is all secured in their cabins or the crew messes, which are also locked. Your decision now is to follow my orders or follow Ship Security out the lock.”
“How did this melee all get started?”
“Marcus Abrams and two of his goons tried to arrest me. I killed them. Kurt Schechter and two of his goons tried to arrest George Enfield here. He killed them. From there it was 'Game On,' and we killed them. We killed them all. No prisoners, no surrender. I simply don't have time for that, against a superior force, or to try to convince people to see reason only to have them stab me in the back later.
“And we suffered no casualties.”
“A dozen or so civilians against sixty armed and trained security personnel? I don't believe you,” Bowers said.
“See for yourself.”
The display on the ready room wall came to life and showed scene after scene from the security cameras of Ship Security being bushwhacked and gunned down, in threes and fours, by single shooters. These were followed by scenes of the systematic execution – there was no other word for it – of Ship Security personnel who had been locked in their quarters and ready rooms, caught by surprise when the hatches unexpectedly opened and a pair of shooters took them down.
“We've trained for this our entire lives, Captain. For this very eventuality. Trained and expert tactical shooters. Trained in hand-to-hand combat. Trained in strategy, tactics, and ship handling. Trained in your own security procedures. Trained in your own computer systems. Trained with your own training courses.
“Of course, we couldn't have done it without access to your flag-override codes, Captain. So you need to ask yourself: How could I have possibly gotten your flag-override codes? The answer is simple. Galactic Mail's central computer systems gave them to me. Why would they do that? I can answer that question easily.
“Computer,” Dawson addressed the overhead.
“Yes, Ms. Dawson.”
“Who is the Chief Executive Officer of Galactic Mail?”
“Patricia Dawson is the CEO of Galactic Mail.”
“And who is Chairman of
the Board of Galactic Mail?”
“George Enfield is the Chairman of the Board of Galactic Mail.”
“Has this been confirmed by Galactic Mail's central computer systems on Doma?” Bowers asked.
“Yes, Captain Bowers,” the computer voice said.
“You see, Captain. We now head Galactic Mail.”
“But who are you people? How can you do this? I've never heard of any of you. It's not time for a shareholders meeting or Board elections.”
“For that, I'll ask you to look to the display once more.”
The display lit up again, with a clip Dawson had made of Jan Childers' VR recording, the one she received when she first signed up as a Watcher.
Bowers watched, fascinated, as an aged Jan Childers explained the role of the Watchers, and why they watched. He watched through to the end.
“... Uniting all of humanity under one government would be a tremendous mistake. Sooner or later, even the most benevolent and well-intentioned government can be corrupted, turn to despotism. To where, then, would one flee to escape it? From what outside point could one oppose it? Humanity would sink into millennia of tyranny.
“We decided the possibility – more, the likelihood – of tyranny on individual planets was a lesser evil than tyranny on the grand scale, across all of humanity. Galactic Mail is structured to prevent a galactic government from forming, as long as it does not become one itself.
“But we believe it will, or at least it will try.
“It is for this reason that you watch. It is your great responsibility.”
Bowers turned back to Dawson.
“So you see, Captain. From the very founding of Galactic Mail, there has been a secret group of Watchers, established by Galactic Mail's founders, dedicated to being prepared if and when Galactic Mail strayed from its purpose. To step in and restore it to its original role. To avert the great evil of a galactic central government. For a hundred and seventy-five years, this group has watched Galactic Mail, and trained against the chance they were needed. The eighteen passengers you picked up are the current members of that group. We are the Watchers.
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