by Vann, Gregg
He was right of course, but the safeguards minimized most of the risks.
“The Regents realized that crime and other intrigue didn’t respect Sector borders, and also knew that they didn’t trust each other enough to work cooperatively on those issues. The SI were the only reasonable approach to inter-Sector problems that the Regents could agree on; only one per Sector—plus staff, responsible directly to their individual Regent.” Stinson nodded as I spoke, paying close attention.
“Each SI is permitted to operate freely throughout human space—no jurisdictional boundaries. We usually respect local law and custom…usually…and always notify our Sector counterparts when operating in their regions; typically just our presence—not the particulars of the case.”
I let him digest that before continuing. “We were created to go where the military and police can’t, and given the power to control both if necessary. SI are chosen for their skills and independence from blind Sector loyalty, and most importantly, their lack of any political aspirations.”
Now it was Stinson’s turn to blow out a long breath. He took another deep one before asking, “Who chooses how that kind of power is handed out?”
“The Sector Regent; when a position opens for his region, he selects a nominee, then forwards that selection to the other Regents and the existing SI. Everyone, and I mean everyone—each Regent and all six of the other SI, must agree on the appointment. It has to be unanimous.”
“A high bar to admission,” Stinson stated.
“It should be. I’ve been a Special Inquisitor since the initial formation agreement, and have only seen three new people admitted since; all of their predecessors had been killed in the line of duty.”
“Like they say,” Stinson offered, “Just because you can live forever, doesn’t mean you will.”
“Very true. Do these questions mean you’re scouting out my job—for after my retirement of course?”
“Hell no,” Stinson replied. “I prefer to keep my skull as is, without any hazardous implants. I was merely curious.”
I understood; it was a curious arrangement. The Special Inquisitors were the only truly tested, cooperative body between the Sectors. We had unfettered freedom to do whatever we thought was right or necessary; we were a powerful and dangerous oddity. In the end, we answered only to our own conscience, and those of our fellow inquisitors. We were encouraged and obligated to let one another know we’d crossed the line.
And then there were the Regents of course.
There was always the chip.
*****
Harrakan Station. One of humanity’s older and more notorious constructs. It started out as a deep space refueling and jump-off point, but as humans spread further out into more interesting and profitable systems, it became an unnecessary redundancy, eventually falling into disrepair. The population eventually began to drain away, and the station struggled to hold on to enough crew to continue operations.
After the Diaspora War, many people didn’t want to belong to one of the newly established Sectors, so they migrated to independent systems like Harrakan. The local space didn’t possess enough raw materials to make it an attractive acquisition, and the population wasn’t wealthy or influential enough to justify recruitment into the nearest Sector. The locals didn’t want to pay taxes for such inclusion anyway, so it worked out well for all concerned. The station found new life as a place of refuge for independently minded people.
They didn’t need a Sector allegiance; they would police and protect themselves.
The new arrivals began to carve out a life on the station, but without Sector affiliation and its inherent commercial benefits, they struggled. Over time, a criminal element started to take hold, drawn by the lawless nature of the Harrakan system. Cartels began to establish niches for themselves on the station, cultivating trade and commerce—most of it illicit. Depending on whom you asked, the cartels either saved or destroyed life on the station. What is undisputed however, is that Harrakan’s influence expanded, and it became known as a place where you could get things done without regulatory or legal impediments.
If not lawless, it was loose.
I watched the viewer as we approached, marveling at how many ships were docked at the station. Even more stood off at various distances, some waiting to dock, others simply too large to do so and dispensing shuttles instead. When our turn came, the procedure was pretty simple—unchanged since my last visit. Dock, pay the fee, then enter the station.
No questions asked.
The first thing I did was send one of Stinson’s men out to the local market to find a large robe for Del; it would have to be disguised if the Sentient was going to move throughout the station. I told him to get some civilian clothing for Mendoza and Stinson as well.
He returned promptly and handed over the clothing, complaining about the price as he did so. He believed they charged him more because of the Sector uniform. The ship was obviously Sector, but once we left it and changed our appearances, we should be able to get lost in the general chaos and disorganization the station was famous for.
There was nothing to be done about Del’s height and overall size, but the boots, pants, and long hooded trench coat, made the Sentient somewhat less conspicuous.
A bio filter mask hid its face, also sending the message: I’m sick and it’s probably contagious. It should keep people from getting too close.
“There you are, Jeff,” I said to Stinson. “You wanted a change of uniform. Congratulations.”
“It feels strange to be in anything other than Sector gear but I’ll manage. Hell, I even wear Sector informal dress when off duty.”
Mendoza looked good…too good. Her long hair was now in pony tails, and the short skirt, heels, and tube top—barely covered by a short vest, screamed look at me.
I stared at my designated shopper and pointed at Mendoza. “Explain.”
He cringed. “Sir, it was the only type of women’s clothing they had. I swear.”
“I’ll bet,” I replied. At least no one would be paying attention to Del. “Let’s go.”
As soon as I stepped out of the airlock, the smell and noise hit me. The docking area was a large, crescent shaped room that mirrored the outside curve of the station. The walls were bare metal, and covered with flyers—advertising everything from specialized fetish shops to concerts. I looked up at the high ceiling, taking in the view of the stars and passing ships—visible through square skylights mounted on top the docking ring.
I looked back down to scan the crowded space where we stood. Every shady type of vendor you could imagine polluted the area, selling everything from flesh to drugs, and some even more questionable wares. Men, women, and other creatures of indiscriminant gender, moved through the room in various states of dress…and undress.
I realized then that Mendoza’s outfit could have been much worse.
Most people were carrying guns, in some cases, that was all they were wearing, but it was evident who the cartel enforcers were. They were fully clothed, some even partially armored, and stood in one spot surveying the crowds. Almost to a man, they carried large plasma rifles.
We moved as a tight group into and through the mob of people, trading the crowded docking rim for a crowded common area. But this was much larger space and the crush of people subsided—somewhat.
The receipt from Evan’s records listed Bitra Mechanicals as the firm that performed the annual inspection on her shuttle; a quick stop at the nearest info-booth showed its location, also displaying the quickest route to get there.
Bitra was on Level 3, and the booth marked our position as sub-level D; we started pressing through the crowd, looking for an elevator. I’d been right, the only person drawing any attention at all was Mendoza; she’d had to dodge more than a few immoral solicitations by the time we reached the lift station. I couldn’t believe that Val Evan’s had actually come here.
What was she thinking?
On the elevator, Del’s size became much
more apparent, prompting one drunken, half naked girl to exclaim, “Look at the size of that motherfucker! Hey! Are you here for the Eros Festival?” She grabbed at Del’s coat, slurring, “I bet you can really throw it around.”
Her companion looked at us nervously. When Del turned his head to look down on the couple, the man grabbed the girl and pulled her away. “Shut the fuck up,” he yelled at her, “Are you trying to get us killed?”
I had to suppress a chuckle. If that mask didn’t conceal Del’s face; they would probably both jump out of the elevator’s open front.
The rest of the ride was uneventful, thankfully, and after exiting the elevator, we made the short walk to Bitra’s work hangar. It was positioned on the outside edge of the station, presumably to allow ships to dock directly with the hangar for servicing.
Stepping through the unlocked door, we found two mechanics working on a wing mounted engine. The stripped down motor was part of a large ship parked in the middle of the hangar. They barely glanced over at us as we entered.
“Marley!” one of them called out, “Customers!” He then returned to his work, accepting a tool handed to him by his coworker.
A metal door, set into the sidewall of the hangar clanged open. Two men, one large and clearly armed, walked out. The big one holding the Laz rifle looked around warily, then nodded to the shorter man who was obviously in charge.
Marley, I presumed.
“Can I help you?” he said.
I stepped forward. “I hope so. My friend recently had some work done and there was a problem with one of the components. I thought you could help me understand what happened.”
“No refunds!” he barked, and waved his hand as if to dismiss me.
I stepped closer, and the large man tightened his grip on the rifle, glowering at me. “I think you misunderstand,” I said, looking him in the eyes before turning to stare at the bodyguard.
“I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
The bodyguard’s eyebrows and gun rose at the same time, but it was too late; I struck him in the throat with my fist—grabbing the rifle when he dropped it. He clutched at his neck with both hands, in a feeble attempt to will oxygen through it, then I hit him in the head with the butt of his own gun and he went down. I punched an already paralyzed Marley in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, before grabbing his shirt and lowering his doubled-over frame to the ground. He stared over at his unconscious protector, laying helpless less than a meter away.
I glanced behind me to find Stinson and Mendoza pointing their guns at the mechanics, who for their part looked shocked and helpless. Stinson was wagging a finger at them as if to say, no…no…no. They both slowly placed their tools down on the scaffolding where they stood—raising their hands above their heads.
Del just stood there watching.
I pulled the burnt blackout unit from my trench coat and shoved it in Marley’s face. “Have you seen this before?”
“No,” he said in a weak and wavering voice; the lie so obvious that he was forced to look away from me.
His face suddenly contorted in fear. He was terrified. This was unpleasant to be sure, and his bodyguard’s moaning certainly didn’t help, but why was he this scared.
He pointed at something behind me. “Y…ou!” he spat out. “You said they would never find out. You said I would never see you again!”
I spun around to see that Del had removed his hood and mask. The Sentient was staring at the increasing panicked man.
“I have never seen you before human,” it said.
“Protect me!” he begged, pulling at my shirt. “Save me, and I’ll tell you everything! I swear!”
Del began to walk towards us. “Please….please,” he begged. “I’ll tell you anything…anything. Don’t let it kill m…”
A shot rang out from somewhere behind me, glancing my arm before striking Marley. His face exploded, sending a red and pink spray through the air and across the guard’s prone body.
I rolled behind a nearby pillar and peered out to see everyone else scrambling for cover.
“Above…on the hoist framework,” Stinson yelled. He and Mendoza started firing at a large figure hidden behind a thick beam. I pulled up the rifle I’d taken off the guard, flipped the holo-scope open, and sighted in on the beam.
It was Del. Shit!
But that was impossible; it was right behind me when Marley was shot. I looked around but didn’t see the Sentient anywhere. A flash of light and heat sailed past my head, and I ducked back behind the pillar.
Whoever it was, they were fast. They were firing so quickly that they managed to keep us all pinned down—even though we were in different locations. I kept trying to line up a shot, but the Sentient’s movements were totally unpredictable. It would lean out from either side of the pillar at random, then fire from different heights; quickly darting in and out from behind its frustratingly effective cover.
What the hell?
Through the scope, I saw a blurred form sail through the air and strike the Sentient.
That was Del; it was still wearing the civilian clothing. It hit the other Sentient with such force that they both flew over the railing, falling to the floor some twenty meters below.
The ship undergoing maintenance in the hangar was designed for atmospheric flight as well as space travel, and had a large set of elegantly shaped wings jutting out from both sides. The Sentinets, still grasping one another, landed on the right wing—snapping it completely off the fuselage. The wing joined them on the remaining 3 meter journey to the floor.
They struck hard.
If they’d been human, they would have exploded into bouncing pieces of dismembered flesh. As it were, they both jumped up, separated themselves from ship parts and broken scaffolding, then resumed their struggle. Blue electric discharges grew progressively brighter and danced across their bodies; the smell of burning plastic started to permeate the air.
The other Sentient pushed away from Del and both of its hands began to glow brightly. Del’s hands began to do the same, then they started trading blows. Each time a fist struck there was an electrical pop, followed by what can only be described as small lightning bolts flying out from the impact site.
They seemed evenly matched, but the long fall and repeated pounding were beginning to take their toll. Their movements were slowing—the blue discharges becoming less impressive. Suddenly, Del grimaced with exertion and emitted a blast of energy from its entire body. The discharge struck its opponent with such force that it stunned the other Sentient motionless.
Del seized the moment to grab its opponent’s head—twisting it violently before ripping it off the shoulders.
Damn.
An explosion of electrical discharges flew from the neck before stopping abruptly, then red and grey fluids began to flow out of the stump and down the torso. The body remained upright—no noticeable sag or movement.
Del looked fatigued, yet more menacing than anything I’d ever seen.
It turned to look at me, but instead of the emotionless face I’d come to expect, there was a trace of…..regret?
“It was Woz,” it said. “I suspected it might be involved, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
Holding the head in one hand, it stooped down to pick up the body with the other, then walked over to one of the smaller airlocks on the far side of the room. I rejoined Stinson and Mendoza, noticing that the mechanics were still huddled under the ship. They’d taken refuge there when the shooting started, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon.
“What the hell, sir?” Mendoza said.
Stinson was fully alert, keeping his pistol trained on Del. “It’s just as we suspected, Commander; it appears the Sentients were involved after all.”
I watched Del grab an EVA propulsion vest from a rack off the wall and strap in to the corpse. Then the Sentient tucked the head into one of the tool bags hanging off the side and adjusted the navigation controls. The vests were used wh
en the mechanics had to work outside the station, usually on ships too large to fit into the hangar. What was Del up to?
The Sentient deposited the body in the airlock, then muttered a few words over it while making arcane hand gestures. Energy pulsed from its hands as they moved, reaching down to spark over the lifeless form.
Some type of death ritual, I surmised.
Del stepped back into the hangar and punched the door controls. The inner door sealed shut, then the outer door released, sending the body on a slow trip through space.
The Sentient turned and started walking towards us and I could see power building inside its body. The energy field was so strong that its entire form was glowing blue. I pulled out my TAC pistol, and motioned for Stinson and Mendoza to ready themselves.
“Stop!” I ordered.
It paused. “I assure you, Commander; I had nothing to do with this.”
“I want to know exactly what’s going on. Where is Val Evans? Tell me now!”
“I will expl…” Its body jerked twice, then became rigid—the powerful glow faded away.
“What now?” I asked, exasperated.
Mendoza cautiously walked over to scan the Sentient while Stinson and I kept our guns trained on it.
“I think it shut itself off,” she said, walking around it in a complete circle.
She pulled out her scanner and waved it over the motionless figure. “Biologically it appears fine, but there are some incredible power fluctuations throughout its mechanical systems.”
“Is it dying or about to explode or what?”
“I don’t know, sir,” she shrugged. “If I had to guess, I would say that it’s repairing itself.”
Hmmmmm. I did some quick calculations in my head: One human body on the floor, one Sentient corpse floating in space, one unconscious guard slowly coming around, and two terrified mechanics hiding under a very damaged spaceship.