Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident

by Phillip Nolte

  The three Scrapyard defenders crowded together so Kresge could see all of them at once in the display.

  "Harris, Carlisle, Hawkins! You guys all made it!"

  "That we did, Commander," said Harris. "We have a heck of a story, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait. I understand that there's a... a rather sticky situation onboard the station?"

  "That's right, Lieutenant," said Kresge, serious again. "The terrorist leader claims to have nuclear device that he'll set off if we don't meet his demands. We don't know if he's bluffing or not."

  There was a short silence. The three defenders looked at one another. Carlisle bit her lip.

  "He might not be, Sir," she said, finally. "We captured one of the terrorists during the attack by the first ship. Actually, he might not be a terrorist at all, his name is Caleb Jordan and..."

  Kresge interrupted her.

  "You captured someone named Caleb Jordan?"

  "Yes, Commander. You've heard of him?"

  "Well I'll be...His wife, Hanna, escaped from the raiders and turned herself into us a couple of days ago."

  "You mean his wife is alive? She wasn't on board the second raider ship?"

  "Absolutely not! She's here and she's alive and well. More than that, she's been a lot of help!"

  "So has her husband, Commander," said Carlisle. "He told us that the pulse beam weapons on the raider ships had been salvaged from an Opposition Cruiser that survived the Succession War. If that's true, and we think it probably is, then the terrorists could very well have a working nuclear device. They could have removed the nuclear self-destruct module from the same ship. Let me see if I can get some details."

  She consulted her wrist computer. They all watched patiently as she went through the ritual.

  "Succession War... Veritian Brotherhood... Heavy cruiser...Excalibur class... self destruct module... Here it is, Commander, it would be a cylinder about a meter tall and a meter in diameter. Yield around twenty-five metric kilotons. More than enough to take out the station and just about everything else within a fifteen kilometer radius. I'd make the danger zone out to be about fifty kilometers."

  "Not good news, but good work, Ensign."

  "Ambassador, will that information be helpful?"

  "Most definitely, Commander."

  Kresge reluctantly relayed some final information.

  "There's something else you all need to know." He glanced over at Steuben. "Our resistance group is... a bit unusual. There isn't time to go into too much detail, but be aware that Irene Marshall and I and several station security people took refuge with the members of a smuggling ring right after the attacks. To be truthful, we didn't have much choice. Irene and I have managed to get them all working together for now, but there's still a lot of tension. Some of the station security people still aren't too happy about it. If you ask me, the members of the smuggling ring have more than risen to the occasion and we wouldn't be talking right now if it weren't for them. I'd like to see them get some kind of immunity from prosecution or something. Maybe you can help with that, Excellency, but we can talk more about that later. If there is a later. Right now, I've got to go. I still have a hostage situation and now probably a real nuclear bomb to deal with." He paused for a moment. "Carlisle, I want you to put your tactical mind to work on a solution for this situation."

  "Hostage...nuclear bomb...solution...," she said, swallowing nervously. "Absolutely, Commander. I'll get to work on it right away."

  Kresge signed off.

  "We need to talk to Caleb Jordan again," said Carlisle. "He may have more information that we can use."

  To their surprise, the Ambassador's wife spoke up.

  "I would like to accompany you."

  "Absolutely," said Harris.

  "Very good. However, I must get something from my rooms. I'll meet you outside the prisoner's quarters in five minutes."

  Chapter 59

  ...Individuals who practice the mysterious art of Truthseeing have always been extraordinarily rare. Only about five people a year -- out of thousands who make the attempt -- are able to master the extraordinarily difficult techniques and earn the title of first level adept. The tradition was started sometime in the late twenty-first century when the technology necessary for the development of the Truthseer sensor net finally became available.

  There are many common misconceptions surrounding the profession. The Truthseer sensor net has been referred to as "the most sophisticated lie detection system ever developed." More accurately, the sensor net allows the adept to obtain physiological information about the individual or individuals who are being examined. This information is used to augment both innate abilities and abilities that the adept has developed during a rigorous training regime. A bit of background should help make these concepts more clearly understood.

  Starting with a natural ability to judge emotions and read people, a Truthseer candidate must then undergo a period of intensive training on how to recognize and integrate each element of a full array of subtle indicators that allow the adept to tell when subjects are under stress and the nature of the stress when answering certain questions. Using this information, Truthseers make uncannily accurate judgments about whether the subject being examined is being truthful or not. The sensor net, which often takes the form of a veil for female practitioners of the art, allows the user to gather real time information on heart rate, changes in breathing, pupil dilation, galvanic skin response, and another twenty or so physical parameters that provide information on the emotional state of the subject being examined.

  The system is very, very accurate but it is not perfect. Truthseers have been fooled by sociopaths and occasionally by special subjects who have been placed under deep hypnotic suggestion. However, over the last three centuries, they have been correct in their assessments about ninety-eight percent of the time, which is a remarkable record.

  A visible veil or net of some kind is often used on official occasions when the subject being questioned is to be made aware that he or she is being examined. The Truthseer may or may not have to be identified as such, depending on the laws of individual cultures. For more clandestine purposes, a "net generator" can resemble almost any familiar object. Such devices can be planted in a room or on a person and provide all the necessary information to the Truthseer. Remote devices of small, unobtrusive sizes and shapes have also been produced...

  ...Most Truthseers have been female, only around ten percent have been male. The males are generally not as effective...

  Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "Lie Detectors Throughout the Centuries" by Edith Falcone, District Court Judge (ret.), Santana Quadrant.

  Onboard the Meridian Imperial Diplomatic Ship Istanbul, October 10, 2598.

  Carlisle and Harris waited only about a minute outside the door to the cabin where Caleb Jordon was confined before they were joined by the Ambassador's wife. A member of the Ambassador's elite personal guard was stationed outside the door. Harris noticed that the Ambassador's wife was wearing the very same gossamer, iridescent veil that she had been wearing when she and her husband had interviewed them just a few hours earlier. He guessed that the veil was what she had needed from her rooms.

  The Scrapyard survivors had become more and more convinced that Jordan was telling the truth about his involvement with the terrorist group. In spite of their inauspicious introduction, Carlisle and her two companions had actually begun to rather like the little man. Though he knew it wasn't required -- Jordan was a prisoner and suspected terrorist -- Harris pressed the intercom button.

  "Caleb? Can we talk to you?"

  "Lieutenant Harris?" Caleb replied, his voice muffled over the intercom. "By all means, come in!"

  The guard placed his hand on the reader next to the door and nodded to the three visitors. Harris worked the latch and pushed the door inward. The two women followed him in. As had happened every time they went into a compartment onboard the Ambas
sador's ship, the two Federation people were nearly overwhelmed by the opulence of the furnishings. The walls were paneled with what looked to be genuine wood and the floor was covered with what had to be very expensive carpeting in a classic Persian motif. The chairs and tables were fussily ornate, but somehow tasteful.

  Eschewing the far more comfortable overstuffed chairs available, Jordan was sitting on a simple straight-backed chair reading the pocket Bible that the group had allowed him to keep. He marked his page, closed the book and looked up at them as they entered. He certainly didn't look very dangerous, with his long hair tied in a neat pony tail and his feet not quite reaching the floor. He looked as though he were still in mourning. His eyes grew wide and he swallowed nervously when he saw the Ambassador's wife. He immediately came to his feet.

  "Lieutenant Harris, Ensign Carlisle, what can I do for you?" he said, clutching the bible against his chest with both hands as though it might shield him.

  "This is the Lady Sondia Saladin," said Harris. "She's the wife of the Ambassador.

  "That's what I was afraid of," said Jordan. He looked at her, went to one knee, and bowed his head. "I am truly sorry for my part in these awful goings on, Milady. I know that I deserve to die but, before I do... I would like to beg your forgiveness."

  "Please relax, Mr. Jordan," said the Lady Sondia. She smiled faintly, perhaps a little touched by his grand and unexpected gesture. "We are here for more information. Come, let us sit. In spite of what you may have been told about us, we Meridians believe that a man is innocent until proven guilty. It is something we borrowed several centuries ago from the Western cultures of Old Earth. You have nothing to fear if you are telling the truth."

  "Okay...," said Jordan. He still had the look of a condemned man.

  They each took a seat in one of the ornate chairs, all except for Jordan, who went back to the simple, severe chair he had been occupying when he had been interrupted. Harris took the lead.

  "How are you, Caleb?" he asked. "Are they treating you alright?"

  "Oh my, yes!" said Jordan. "Best prison cell I've ever seen. Best prison food, too. Come to think of it, maybe the best food I ever had!" He smiled shyly, the first time any of them had seen him do so. Still extremely unsure of himself around his captors, the presence of the Ambassador's wife added yet another layer to his feelings of uncertainty. He looked at his feet.

  "Glad to hear it." Harris glanced at the two women before continuing. "We have some good news, Caleb." The little man looked up expectantly. "A woman named Hanna Jordan turned herself in to the Orbital Station Authorities after escaping from the terrorist camp, two days ago."

  Jordan sat numbly for at least five seconds.

  "Hanna wasn't onboard the second ship?"

  "No, Caleb, we're pretty sure she stayed on the station."

  The joy on the man's face was unmistakable. He sat for a long moment with his mouth open, not making a sound. Finally, he spoke.

  "Hanna! Hanna is alive!" burst out of him. "It's a miracle! Praise the Lord!" He began to weep openly and unashamedly.

  "Yes, she's alive and, according to Commander Kresge, she's been a lot of help."

  "I had given up hope!"

  "There are still some serious problems, Caleb. We need to ask you a few more questions if you don't mind."

  "No problem, Lieutenant. Ask away," said Jordan, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. The news about his wife had transformed him. His eyes were brighter as he squared his shoulders and sat up straighter in the chair.

  "Lady Sondia would like to go first," said Harris.

  Jordan swallowed nervously. The Ambassador's wife looked at him through her veil and asked a series of questions.

  "What is your name?"

  "My name is Caleb Matthew Jordan," he replied, looking straight at his questioner.

  "Where are you from?"

  "I live in the village of Nazareth on the continent of Rapture on Heard's World, out here in the Santana Quadrant."

  The Lady Saladin asked him several more seemingly trivial questions and watched him intently as he responded to each of them. Her large, dark eyes seemed to be focusing alternately on Jordan and, oddly, on her veil. Finally she got to the meat of the matter.

  "Were you telling the truth when you said that you and your wife had been tricked into helping this group of terrorists?"

  Again Caleb Jordan looked her straight in the eye. His gaze never faltered.

  "Yes, Ma'am, as God is my witness."

  She nodded her head towards Harris. "I have no more questions."

  "My turn," said Harris. Jordan transferred his attention to the Lieutenant. "Did you by any chance help to salvage anything else besides those two pulse cannons from that Opposition cruiser when you were there?"

  Jordan frowned in thought, but only for a moment or two before answering.

  "No, Lieutenant, it took me and three other workers the better part of a day and a half to dismount those two guns and transfer them to the freighters."

  "Just the two guns, nothing else?"

  "No, but...," Caleb thought for a moment, "...but me and those three men weren't the only ones working on that ship. Ezra had another two or three men with him and they were working somewhere else. They were all a part of his inner circle, if you know what I mean. They'd found a bunch of suits of old battle armor still in the lockers. I don't know how many, but it I think it was somewhere around twenty of them. We had four sets on the Armegeddon II. I managed to get into one of them before you guys hit our ship the second time. That was the same armor that probably saved your life during the second battle, Lieutenant."

  "Did you see them bring anything else onto either one of the ships?"

  "No, I didn't..." He thought again for a moment. "Wait, there were a couple of sensor units...and there was a crate in the forward hold of Ezra's ship when we were loading the first gun. I only saw it once. When I came back a few hours later, it wasn't there anymore."

  "How big was that crate?"

  "It was a cube, maybe a meter and a half per side."

  Carlisle and Harris looked at one another.

  "What is it?" asked Jordan.

  "We think there's a pretty good chance that it might have been the nuclear self- destruct unit from that old cruiser."

  Jordan paled and his mouth dropped open.

  "It gets worse. Just a few hours ago Ezra announced that he has planted a nuclear device onboard the orbital station. He's threatened to set if off if we don't meet his demands."

  "May God have mercy!"

  "We'll pray with you, Caleb," said Harris. "Another question. How well do you know this Ezra character?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well... is he the kind of man that would use a device like that to commit suicide and take a bunch of innocent people with him? Could he be bluffing?"

  "I...I really can't say. Good Lord, I sure hope it's a bluff! You'd have to ask Hanna, she knows him better than me. Yeah, ask Hanna, she'd know, she used to have him in her Sunday worship classes."

  Harris looked at the two women. No one had anything else they wanted to ask him about. The three visitors got up to leave.

  "That's all for now, Caleb. Thanks for your help."

  Jordan bowed his head and began praying as they left.

  "Dear Lord, I thank you for saving my beloved Hanna..."

  Harris, Carlisle and Lady Saladin gathered in the corridor outside the room. The guard closed the door behind them and resumed his station.

  "He's telling the truth," said Lady Saladin.

  "I think so too but how can we be sure?" asked Harris.

  "The same way she could tell that we were who we said we were." Carlisle looked at Lady Saladin. "You're a Truthseer, aren't you, Ma'am?" It was more a statement than it was a question.

  "Yes...Yes, I am," replied Lady Saladin. "The veil betrayed me, didn't it?"

  "Sort of. I did a search of my wrist comp database."

  "It's really not a secret, bu
t we don't go broadcasting it."

  "I imagine that your abilities are a great help to your husband."

  "You could say that. On the other hand, he has to be really careful what he says around me!" They all laughed.

  "For now, may Allah be praised, Caleb Jordan is telling the truth!"

  Chapter 60

  "...It has been said that religion is one of Mankind's greatest inventions. I won't dispute that. There can be absolutely no doubt that religion has done Mankind a great deal of good. In the beginning, religion provided explanations for the things that frighten us. Perhaps religion's greatest contribution was that it provided guidelines that allowed us to live together without killing each other. For part of the time anyway..."

  (There was a pause for polite laughter from the audience before the speaker continued.)

  ...On occasion, people will make sacrifices for one another. A wise man once said that one of the real powers of religion is that it provides a mechanism to create warriors willing to die for their god and their fellow believers. In other words, that induces people to willingly die for strangers. Imagine how powerful this concept was in primitive societies!

  ...Religions quickly evolved into mechanisms that were and still are used to control people, for certain individuals to amass power. However, one could argue that because of the more organized and stable social arrangements made possible by religion we were able to create perhaps our most important invention: Science. As you know, Science and religion have been at odds with one another ever since... (More laughter)

  ...At the current time, the same incomprehensible religious conflicts that have plagued Mankind for millennia continue to rage even after we have spread out to populate the Galaxy. Does it really matter how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Do we care? Where does it all end? I personally think that humans have reached the point in their development were we have outgrown religion. If you ask me the time has come for us to move on... (Applause.)