by E. R. Torre
“I've noticed,” the man replied.
“When I'm looking for certain...help...I demand the best. A few inquiries revealed those with even a passing acquaintance with you were impressed by your efficiency and successes. Several more inquiries revealed you were under contract with Octi Corporation. A curious choice, as they’re not the most reliable corporation to do business with.”
“They pay.”
“They also work for both Empires and have a habit of stabbing their employees in the back.”
B'taav offered no retort to this accusation. There was none worth giving.
“Anyway, I contacted Octi and they were willing, after some negotiation, to let me take on your contract, at least for three months.”
B’taav’s eyebrow lifted.
“As you no doubt have guessed, the cost to me was not inconsiderable,” Merrick continued. “But as of now, you’re my employee.”
“I’m touched by your confidence. What makes you think I want to work with you?”
Merrick’s cold features softened. He let out a low chuckle.
“What makes you think you won’t?”
“Go on.”
“The job I have requires you to travel to the Tauric System. More specifically, you are to go to the planet Salvation. One of the main ports of calls for my cruise ship fleet is located there and I suspect that office has been infiltrated by hostiles. Given that I am to make a major presentation there in the coming weeks, I want you to check the office out before I arrive. All your expenses will be paid for, and I will extend a healthy bonus for any positive resolution.”
B’taav stared deep into Merrick’s eyes.
“I'll need more incentive.”
“Like?”
“Can you get me out of the Octi contract? Permanently?”
“It’s certainly possible. Can we do business together?”
B’taav picked up the diskette.
“We can do business.”
SALVATION, third planet in the Tauric System
Salvation was so named three millennia before by a group of weary explorers whose journey veered perilously close to catastrophe. During those early years of space exploration, if you found yourself in trouble, there was no armada of ships to turn to for help. An uncomfortably high percentage of exploration crafts were never heard from again.
One such ship, the Maria, suffered major structural damage after colliding with space debris. Most of the ship’s major instruments were damaged while many of the crucial instruments, including the food distributor, were completely destroyed. Hurt and very hungry, the crew was forced to take a detour through the Tauric system. They were in desperate need of a safe harbor to conduct much needed repairs. They were also hoping, though this seemed a very long shot, to find a world that offered any sort of nutrients.
They feared the worst.
Cursory exploration of the Tauric system a few years before indicated the explorers would find neither food nor shelter. But luck was on their side. The early exploration data proved invalid and the third planet in the system not only had a breathable atmosphere, but also luscious fields of green and thousands of clear, fresh water lakes and a diverse resident fauna.
The crew of the Maria took their time repairing and re-supplying their ship. An exploration that appeared headed for disaster was thus saved.
And that’s how Salvation got its name.
Three thousand years later, the fauna and lush green fields were long gone, replaced by rusted walls and decaying concretal buildings. The lakes were contaminated with spill off from the ports. Rocket fuel, oils, and some three hundred man made substances labeled as “unknown” flowed through the once pristine waters. The planet’s soil turned into a chemical wasteland, her clear skies grew hazy and gray. In less than a thousand years’ time, Salvation become just like the other space port worlds in the Epsillon Empire.
The old cargo craft’s sides were still smoking from orbital entry as she glided into one of Salvation’s landing bay ports. The pilot watched with diminished interest as the automated systems did their work. His left hand lay at his side; his right hand held a thermos. It took an hour to travel from Salvation’s Displacer to the planet’s atmosphere and then another half-hour to approach the landing strip.
The pilot took a sip of his warm tea. At this point it was the only thing keeping him awake.
“Here she comes,” the man in the dark trench coat said. He pointed beyond the smudged glass in the waiting room and at the skies over the Ferro City Star port. The four men with him looked up but didn’t move from their chairs.
“Now we just gotta wait an hour or so for him to get through customs.”
One of the seated men shook his balding head.
“He’ll be out as soon as the ship lands. Mayor’s orders.”
“No kidding? This guy has that much clout?”
“Enough,” the balding man said. He rose from his chair and said: “Come with me.”
The group followed him through the waiting room’s exit doors. A customs officer watched the group as they approached his post. He was ready to tell them to leave, that this was a restricted area.
When they showed him their Police badges, he let them through.
B’taav stepped off the rear exit of the weathered cargo craft and onto the greasy landing strip. While he stretched, he took a cautious breath of the air and found it, despite the strong scent of gasoline, adequate. He gripped his black duffel bag tight and, using a remote control, shut the doors to his craft. When he was certain the ship’s security lock was engaged, he followed the markings on the ground to the south side of the landing strip.
Another cargo ship screamed overhead as it lifted off. The burst of its after burners sent a stiff, warm breeze in B’taav’s direction. He increased his pace and reached a rail beside the doors leading into the Customs Building. He looked up at the doors, and a scowl appeared on his face.
A group of five men exited the building, waved at him, and approached. B’taav’s free hand reached into the black duffel bag he carried and gripped the handle of his fusion gun. They smiled and appeared friendly enough, but experience told him he could never be too careful. Especially when outnumbered five to one.
“Hey!” the balding man at the front of the group called out. “I’m Len Herbert.”
Whether the balding man noted B’taav’s right hand was in the duffle bag or not, he nonetheless slowly, very slowly, reached into his coat and pulled out his ID badge. “We were contacted by your company. Merrick Enterprises wanted us to give you a hand while you were here.”
B’taav eyed the badge. He recognized the standard shield of the Epsillon Law Enforcement Agency.
“I’m the chief of police in Ferro City,” Herbert continued. “What can we do for you?”
B’taav released the fusion gun and slung the bag over his shoulder.
“Get me a phone,” he said.
Deep within the fiftieth floor of the Ferro Police Center building was a large, well-kept room whose walls were lined with dozens of yellowed citations and worn photographs. Normally, B’taav would take his time examining the items on the wall and get a feel for the man whose office he currently occupied. In his line of work, it was helpful to understand potential allies or enemies. But at this time, the platinum haired man was more interested in making his call. After an hour of trying, he finally was connected via video link with Constable Bill Goodwin, the local representative of the Merrick Cruise Lines. The man looked and sounded like a depressingly typical middle management number cruncher.
“How can I help you?” Goodwin asked. His thin, angular face filled the monitor.
“Who told the police I was arriving at Salvation today?”
Goodwin straightened his thin black tie and said, “Why, we did.”
It was impossible for B’taav to keep the exasperation from his face, something Goodwin noted.
“We…we figured you could use some help once you got here,” Goodwin q
uickly added. “The local authorities and Merrick Industries are working together and we thought you’d want to join us and, you know, hit the ground running. We want to put an end to all these shenanigans as soon as possible. Pooling our resources should expedite this task.”
B’taav’s darkened eyes drew level with the image on the monitor. He stared at Goodwin for several long, uncomfortable seconds before turning his attention to Police Commissioner Herbert. The bald man stood very silently by the door to his office.
“Other than the commissioner and his four men, how many other people know I’m here?” B’taav inquired.
“We just called Commissioner Herbert. He’s been very thorough on our behalf in the past and is above reproach. We thought—”
“We?” B’taav interrupted.
“Me,” Goodwin admitted. “I made the decision.”
B’taav shook his head.
“I was hired to investigate acts of piracy committed against your company’s cruise ships. In case you weren’t aware, I’m an Independent, a free agent. The reason people like your boss hire people like me is because the work I’m tasked to do is often…sensitive. It may involve skirting certain established boundaries…”
B’taav paused. He offered the Commissioner a cold stare.
“Constable Goodwin, Mister Merrick hired me because he expects me to work as a true Independent, without having to answer to, or stumble around with, anyone else. I’ve done considerable research regarding your problems here, and it is clear Merrick Enterprises is dealing with a group of people who don’t follow any rules and don’t think twice about killing innocents. This makes them, and my job, very dangerous. That being the case, I require full control over every aspect of it.”
“I don’t do this because I’m a person who savors his solitude, nor do I do this because it irritates me to deal with bureaucratic clowns. I do this because these bad people tend to bear grudges. If I’m working alone and I screw up, bad things could happen to me. If I screw up while others are supposedly helping me, I endanger their lives as well as my own. Thanks to your actions, Constable, I am responsible not only for my welfare, but also yours, Mr. Herbert’s, and that of the four men that accompanied him to the spaceport. So please, forgive me if I sound harsh, but it upsets me when the people employing me decide to call others behind my back and tell them where the fuck I am and what the fuck I’m doing.”
“Sir, I—”
“Shut up and listen,” B’taav growled. “You tell Mr. Merrick my fee went up. And while you’re at it, tell him my next call comes when I’m done. I’m sure he’ll understand. Oh, and Mr. Goodwin?”
“Yes?” the Constable stammered.
“Don’t tell anyone else I’m here, ok?”
Goodwin opened his mouth to say something but B’taav switched the monitor off before he did.
“Son, who the hell do you think you—” Herbert started.
Before he could say another word, B’taav was directly in front of him, pressing the Commissioner against the door to his office.
“I’m nobody,” B’taav said. “As far as this department is concerned I’m not here now nor was I ever. You’re going to make sure the four men who accompanied you to the air strip say the same thing.”
“You’re not my boss.”
“No. I’m just a working man, like you. Thing is, if I can’t resolve old man Merrick’s problems here in Ferro City, there’s a strong possibility he will find himself another space port for his operations. I’d hate to think what happens to your local economy when Merrick Enterprises packs up and leaves.”
Herbert opened his mouth but said nothing. The Independent eased back.
“I see we finally understand each other.”
“My…my men will do what I ask,” Herbert said. He stepped around B’taav and to his coffee machine. The Commissioner poured himself a drink but didn’t offer any to the Independent.
“That was quite a speech you gave Goodwin,” Herbert said. He sipped his coffee and, despite some lingering anger, a smile formed on his face. “I’ve butted heads with him before. Can’t say I never wanted to tell him a thing or two.”
B’taav returned to his chair. His black duffel bag lay on the floor. He grabbed it.
“Constable Goodwin may not be right about many things, but he did right by telling me you were coming,” Herbert continued. “Whether you like it or not, it’s my job to keep the citizens of Ferro City safe. If there are Independents circulating around here chasing pirates or fairies or pussy, it’s my business.”
“I suppose. I read your file.”
“Then you know I’m clean.”
“Clean enough. It’s the only reason I didn’t turn around at the star port and leave.”
“You also know I’ve been busting my ass trying to solve Merrick’s piracy problem.”
“What exactly do you know?”
“Most of it has reached the news. The pirates are more of a nuisance than anything else. They’ve sabotaged some of Merrick’s equipment, rifled through his warehouses, even stolen cargo. Nothing big. Nothing worth sending an Independent to check out.”
“Your information is outdated,” B’taav said. “Did you hear about a Merrick cruise ship by the name of DeCarlo?”
“Sure,” Herbert said. “Lost with all hands when she fell into a sun, right? An accident?”
“No. The DeCarlo took on two thousand passengers at the port world of Bathurst. The passengers expected a real treat: Visiting five systems in two weeks with an eventual return to Bathurst to disembark. The official story was what you said, that her engines malfunctioned and she dropped into a gravity well and was crushed. But that’s not what happened.”
“No?”
“Somewhere in the Persepolis system our group of pirates raided the ship. They had inside help, because all communications between the DeCarlo and Merrick’s home base were jammed. She was unable to send out even one distress signal. The pirates boarded her and quickly took control. It wasn’t too hard. She was a luxury ship filled with unarmed, and well pampered, civilians. The pirates held the crew and passengers at bay and stripped them of their valuables. Afterwards, they parked the DeCarlo off the Azul Nebula and tore up every piece of hardware that wasn’t disabled in the initial attack. They then gathered up their loot and left the passengers and crew adrift and helpless. What followed was a nightmare.”
B’taav paused.
“Imagine you’re trapped in a cave without food or water and with very little or maybe no light. You’re alive and well but you’re stuck. Escape might be as little as a few feet away but you’re blocked behind a wall of unmovable rocks you could never push aside. Now imagine the hours passing very slowly, one after the other. Imagine realizing that this is the way you’re going to die.”
“You scream, even though you know no one can hear you. You claw at your cage until your fingers are bloody pulps. But you can’t escape that hunger, that thirst. The terror. There’s no hope.”
“Now imagine you’re not alone in that dark cave,” B’taav continued. “Imagine you’re trapped with hundreds, maybe even a thousand, other people. They all know there’s no escape and that it is only a matter of time before they die. What would they do to each other?”
“By the Gods,” Herbert muttered.
“The DeCarlo was found a few weeks ago. She was a lifeless derelict. Based on the ship’s logs and personal notes found onboard, Merrick’s officials pieced together what the passengers did after the pirates left. They found strength in groups. These groups attacked each other. The first to go were the weak. The elderly, the frail, then women and children. All were killed, all for two reasons. The first was because the pirates disabled the air-purification systems. The survivors knew they needed to save as much air as possible...”
“A-and the second reason?”
“The pirates also disabled their food dispensers. They needed to eat.”
Herbert’s hand shook, spilling droplets of coffee on the fl
oor.
“Merrick Enterprises paid out a large amount of money to the relatives of the lost. They’ll pay out even more when the truth of what happened to the DeCarlo comes out, as it eventually will.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Herbert asked.
“I want you to understand why I was brought in and why this job is so important.”
“I can help.”
“How?”
“I have someone who can escort you around Ferro City. Someone I trust. He has very good contacts, and he can keep his mouth shut.”
B’taav thought about that for a few seconds.
“You trust him?”
“With my life.”
B’taav nodded.
“Let’s get started.”
B’taav followed Herbert through concrete corridors and down humid stairs before arriving at the station’s firing range. Only one man occupied the cavernous room. He was a short, graying man who sported a tight crew cut. He was reloading his weapon.
“This is Officer Ken Shepherd,” Herbert said. “Shepherd, this gentleman is B’taav. He’s an Independent, hired by Merrick Cruise Lines.”
“Independent?” Shepherd said. There was suspicion in his voice. “Since when do you fellows consult with the police?”
Herbert frowned. Shepherd caught his superior's look and extended his hand. B’taav shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. B’taav,” Shepherd said. “What can I do for you?”
“You’ll be Mr. B’taav’s escort while he’s here,” Herbert said. “If he has any questions about Ferro City and its citizens, you will provide him with whatever insight or knowledge you can. If he has any really tough questions, you can always direct him back to me.”
“You've been moonlighting outside the office, sir?”
Herbert's frown deepened.
“I'm heading back there right now. Someone has to keep Ferro City running.” Herbert turned from Shepherd and addressed B'taav.