Majesty's Offspring

Chapter 3: Transient Motions

“We now embark on a new age. What was once known as the Internet is now an Ocean of knowledge that we bring to the cold dark of space.”

Lewis Edwards I, Co-founder of Omega Research Corporation, July 2046

Once upon a time, Deimos-1 was a symbol of stellar power for the UEP. However, after the formation of the Martian Confederacy and the the subsequent war that followed between the two stellar nations, its future came into question and it was on its way to being plunged into the Martian atmosphere by the UEP.


It nearly started another interstellar conflict until a wealthy mogul stepped in to lease it from the UEP until December 2271, when it is destined to fall back into the Confederacy’s ownership per the Treaty of Phobos. Under its temporary ownership, it degenerated into an adult entertainment pleasure port, to the chagrin of both nations.


Julius casually maneuvered Merciless Errands around Deimos-1. The station was saucer-shaped with multiple torus levels. The main torus had six flat docking platforms situated at the outer edges, all filled with shuttles from customers. A holographic animation danced on top of the core section: an exotic dancer performing her seductive routine to entice customers inside.


Focusing his attention on the docking platforms, Julius conducted a fly-by and counted a few dozen shuttles on one of them.


“Murdock,” he said. “Run the transponder codes from those shuttles through the database. I want to know if we’ve had any encounters with them.”


“Aye,” Murdock said.


Julius swung the ship closer to the platform, slowing to a hover over it.


“Anything on this one?” he said.


Murdock shook his head.“No, just ran the last of them through and nothing.”


Julius sped over to the next platform. Curiously, he noted fewer shuttles on this one. As before he slowed their craft to a hover.


“Got something,” Murdock said, pointing. “All of those. They match Stromond’s ships. And that executive shuttle in the center—it’s Stromond’s personal yacht!”


“Stromond’s yacht?” Julius said. “I wonder how much they fought over trying to get their hands on that one.”


Murdock whistled. “That is a nice ship. We should take it.”


“No,” Julius said. “It’s that type of extravagant spending that probably alerted Enforcement to his activities in the first place. If we recruit this bunch, the yacht gets sold.”


“You’re no fun, Julius,” Murdock said.


Julius took Merciless Errands down to the same platform and began to put her down.


“What’re you doing?” Murdock said. “You’re landing?”


“Yes,” Julius said.


The shuttle touched the platform and the plasma thrusters cut off. Julius tapped a screen on the flat-panel displays. Outside, he could see the umbilical docking ring come up from the ground and begin to move toward the shuttle’s airlock.


“Why are we landing? I thought we were just going to do a fly-by.”


“Change of plan,” Julius said. “I want to see this bunch for myself before I recruit them.”


Murdock stared at the archaic umbilical ring. It looked like a mechanical worm trying to devour the shuttle. A slight shudder was heard as the airlock and docking ring pressurized.


“I’m not walking in that thing! Forget it!” Murdock said. “I can’t believe they don’t have a pressure dome on this platform.”


“You won’t need to walk anywhere. You’re staying behind,” Julius said. “I want you to rig their ships with explosives. And if you have time, fix our gravitational warp engines.” Julius stood up from the pilot seat and began stripping off the space suit.


“Explosives? Why?” Murdock said.


“A precautionary move. I want to be able to remote detonate them from in here. Get to it—they need to be ready by the time I get back.”


Julius stepped out into the airlock, leaving Murdock behind. The external airlock door was already open and he stepped out into the umbilical docking ring. A dizzying array of multicolored lights lit the way ahead. The lights flashed in sequence, making the onlooker feel as if he were flying at high speed through the ring.


Julius could feel his feet lighten as zero-g took over. Using lit handrails along the walls, he pushed himself forward. As he reached the other end of the ring, he could see more holographic dancers doing a show for him, beckoning him farther inside.


As he got closer, his feet slowly dropped to the ground as gravity gradually took over. It felt like a full “g” by the time he reached the entryway. He went through and entered the corridor of the outer torus.


The outer torus was more subdued and looked more like a hotel resort lobby than an exotic entertainment station. Towering over him as he walked in was an elegant water fountain that seemed out of place. Red velvet carpeting lined the floors of the torus. To either side of him were other umbilical docking ring entrances; each one had a plush sitting area with red couches that matched the carpeting.


He could see other customers in the corridor arriving and leaving. Julius examined them each as closely as he could, but he did not recognize any of them from the files as Stromond’s men.


Julius left the outer torus and entered a corridor that led to the main entertainment torus. Inside, the corridor’s walls were made of transparent metal, affording a breathtaking view of the stars. He soon entered the entertainment torus and was greeted with the sound of blaring music and rowdy voices.


The entertainment torus was essentially a long, circular corridor comprising multiple bars, seating tables, and exotic dancers dancing on zero-g tables. The corridor segmented into sections, each with its own theme and decor.


He walked down the corridor, planning to go the length of the torus until he could find the pilots. After passing a few sections, he entered one that was themed in fiery red colors and holographic flames going up the walls— it was here he finally saw them seat at a table.


Julius casually walked over to an adjacent bar opposite the pilots’ table. His attention was briefly taken away by one of the exotic dancers. He watched the topless woman perform on top of a zero-g table. She floated and danced above the table, playing to the crowd of onlookers as she gyrated her hips. She continued to do her dance even as she began to spin upside down.


Holographic flames from the table below launched up toward her. She played into the scene by struggling to kick away from the flames, propelling herself higher into the air. Imaginary hands, with red skin and black talons, emerged from below. She tried to kick away from them as they tried to pull her down into the flames.


The hands oved up her body, groping her as she pretended to fight them. She arched her head back, allowing herself to lose her fantasy struggle with the demons as they pulled her below. Suddenly, a bright flash emanated from the hologram and both dancer and demons vanished. The pilots applauded and whistled, drowning out the chants of the rest of the audience.


Julius reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet—a bi-fold with one side showing a small control interface and the other a hexagonal-shaped indentation. He reached over to a pile of zero-value coins that were stacked nearby at the bar and inserted one into his wallet.


The display lit up and Julius tapped some keys, filling the coin’s value from his own personal account. He then called the bartender over, pointing to the display of his wallet. The bartender stopped helping another customer and rushed over.


“What do you need?” the bartender said.


Julius motioned over to Stromond’s group. “How long has that bunch been here?”


“Those guys?” he said. “Almost my whole shift, six hours at least. Cheap bunch. No tips. I think they’re out of money or something; they haven’t bought a drink in hours. But you wouldn’t think it, looking at them carrying on.”


Julius handed him the coin.


“I want you to buy them a few rounds of whatever they were having. But I don’t want them knowing where it came from. Tell them they sat at the lucky table.”


The bartender grabbed the coin and then inserted it into his own wallet, emptying its value into his account. He then tossed the worthless zero-value coin onto the bar with the rest— the transfer of untraceable funds was complete.


“You got it,” he said and walked away.


Julius sat back and watched as the group received their drinks. He could see the waitress being asked some questions by the group then she walked away. They began to drink and soon became rowdier.


After ordering a drink of his own, Julius sipped from a mug of beer. It had been awhile since he last drank something from anywhere but the dispenser on the Sea Wolf— it was nice to drink top shelf for a change.


Julius watched and waited until the group had begun their third round of drinks before making his move. He then walked over, beer in hand, and joined them at their table.


Their attention turned from watching the dancers to him. They all gave him the same sneer. Julius smiled in return.


“Who the hell asked you to sit with us, smiley?” one said.


“That’s no way to talk to a future employer,” Julius said.


The same one raised an eyebrow, then asked, “Where’s Laina? We weren’t supposed to meet for another few hours.”


“Change of plan— she’s not coming. I’m Julius. Who are you?” he said.


Julius already knew their faces from the dossier that Laina had sent him, but he wasn’t going to make it easier for them.


“I’m Reece,” he said, then proceeded to point to the others and name them as well.


Reece himself looked like a rough-and-tumble character, with a bad scar on his left cheek and an unkempt beard. The picture in the dossier did not have a scar— perhaps a recent cosmetic accessory.


“I’m kind of the leader here,” Reece said once he was through with the introductions.


“Bullshit,” one of the others said—Cronin, if Julius remembered the names right.


“Shut up, Cronin,” Reece said. “I have Stromond’s shuttle and that alone makes me leader.”


“What happened to Stromond, Reece?” Julius said.


Reece sipped his drink. “He got careless. He let some new guy into the operation who turned out to have mixed loyalties. He fed information to Enforcement about the operation. Eventually, once the UEP drained him of any useful information about Stromond, they sent the dogs on us. Those bastards came at us with a lot of firepower—not just Enforcer ships, but some capital ships they must have resurrected from the UEP Navy. They took out our fighter bay before we could even man a single ship. All the fighters were destroyed and the only thing left was a shuttle port. So a group of us decided to make a run; we grabbed what shuttles we could and jumped out in the confusion. I ended up with Stromond’s prize.”


“What was your position?” Julius said.


“I commanded the defensive squadron,” Reece said. “We provided cover for his shipments from other pirates and any Enforcer patrols. We’re all combat pilots—good ones, too. But, uh … we’re willing to fill any job that you need.”


“As long as there’s good money involved, and I’m not scrubbing floors,” said the one named Tash.


Reece turned to Tash and gave him an admonishing look.


Julius glanced around the table. He had heard that Stromond had some excellent pilots. With the loss of many of Wolf Squadron’s best, he could use some new blood.


“All right,” Julius said. “You know the charter?”


Reece nodded. “Yeah, Laina gave it to us. It’s pretty much the same as Stromond’s; we don’t have a problem with it. What she didn’t tell us, though, was pay.”


“What’s our percentage of the plunder?” Cronin asked.


“It’s even among all the crew at the end of the tour,” Julius said. “Your regular pay depends on your rank and position.”


Reece glanced at Cronin, then back at Julius uneasily. “What’s this pay amount to?”


“Crew will get between a thousand and fifteen hundred credits a week, depending on specialty and position. Officers will get between two thousand and four thousand, depending on rank. Everyone gets life insurance and benefits. Debilitating injuries are compensated for depending on severity. You will all get a copy of all this when you sign on. “


Reece sat back and looked at the others. “You sound like a damn corporation. Do we get uniforms, too?”


The group began to laugh.


“Just pilot uniforms,” Julius said. “If you all sign on, you’ll be flying in our squadron.”


They all stopped laughing.


Reece looked at him. “You have a squadron of fighters— real fighters? Not a bunch of converted transports?”


“Yes,” Julius said. “Z-12s, Z-33s, even a few Z-40 Interceptors. Are you interested?”


Reece looked at the others. “There’s got to be some kind of catch here,” he said.


“Yes, there is a catch. You must be ready to adopt a new life. This is not corper job or easy assignment like what you had with Stromond. We don’t deal in Elation; we deal in piracy and stolen goods.”


“You won’t just be flying cover on a drug shipment with little or no action; you will instead be trying to neutralize a convoy’s cover and steal its cargo. You will have to fight for this and there will be resistance.


“You will be hunted by UEP Enforcers and probably the Confed, too. If you have what it takes and survive it all, you will get your share of the plunder at the end.”


Julius pulled out a digital pad out of his jacket and laid it on the table in front of them.


“If you think you can handle such a life, press your hand to the charter,” Julius said.


The group all looked to Reece, waiting for his decision. Reece squinted his eyes and gave Julius a staredown. It continued for a long moment, neither of them blinking.


Inwardly, Julius chuckled— after more than a century of warfare, how can any man possibly intimidate him?


Reece suddenly slapped his hand down on the charter and then let out a boisterous laugh, the others yelling and cheering with him. After it finally died down, he turned to Julius— a smile on his face.


“So,” Reece said, as he sipped his drink. “What’s our first assignment, Captain?”


“Shore leave at New Las Vegas,” Julius said.


Reece laughed, but noticed Julius was not smiling. “You’re not kidding, are you?”


“No,” Julius said.


Reece began to laugh again even louder. “Slap me, mates, I think I died and went to pirate heaven.”


The others obliged.








*****








The city was called New York, but there was nothing new about it. It was one of the oldest cities on the North American continent on Planet Earth. Following the A.I. War, New York was also one of the first cities to be rebuilt and modernized. Still, its ruined past from nearly a century ago was only barely masked by the pristine skyscrapers that rose up into the skies—skies that bore the same dark haze of pollution that its citizens tried so hard to eliminate when its cause was the calamity of war.


The streets bustled with mobs of people in suits. They went in and out of the buildings, looking like worker ants entering and leaving their nests of tall anthills—at least, that’s how they looked to Daniel Chin.


Daniel did indeed regard them as he would a colony of ants: mindless insects with a single-minded purpose, doing the bidding of their queen. Their reward was to live, eat, and go on another day of foraging and doing whatever the queen commanded. Their purpose in life was to work … and their reward for good work: more work.


He wanted to puke on their feet, stain their expensive shoes with the bile from his stomach. Watch their reaction as the putrid sight and smell of it attacked their senses … and hope to see them purge from pure disgust.


Daniel would laugh if that happened. He would even enjoy being sprayed and covered with their own bile in return—it would all be worth it. He resisted the urge of going up to one of them and beginning such an experiment. On another day, maybe, but today he had important business.


Walking into an office building’s lobby, Daniel knew he looked very much out of place. His drab clothing, short and slight physique, and unkempt facial hair attracted odd stares. Daniel ignored them, as he always did.


Yes, in his line of work it would be to his advantage to fit in, but he didn’t care. He was good at what he did. So good, in fact, that he could practically announce his intentions before arriving and still complete his mission. His conspicuous attire was as close to an announcement as he would give.


He walked to an empty elevator and stepped in. Although other people stood waiting for an elevator, they did not join him. He smiled, then manually punched in the number for the third-floor suite rather than speak into the panel. The elevator hummed softly as it went up, playing its annoying and happy tune all the while.


Daniel wondered if the music was meant to be a subliminal control device to keep the ants in line. It would not surprise him; the kings and queens of the corporate world would stop at no end to keep the ants happily foraging.


The elevator doors opened and he stepped out into a reception area. A lone receptionist sat at her desk in front of a terminal. She looked away from the holographic display toward Daniel. The look of arrogant disgust on her face was enough to erase any doubt of her feeling toward him.


“Can I help you … sir?” she said.


Daniel gave an exaggerated bow. As he raised himself from the bow, he pointed his right hand toward her. A slight hiss sounded and the woman slapped her hand on her chest. She stood up and looked at him, eyes wide, and mouth gaping. Then she dropped onto her desk, unconscious.


The toxic micro-dart in his sleeve was not lethal, but she would awaken with a nasty headache. He walked over to the reception desk and pushed the panel that unlocked the door to the inner office.


Inside was a large and luxurious work space with various couches and small tables. A man sat at a desk, facing a holographic terminal, with his back to the door. He continued to work the terminal, unaware of Daniel’s presence.


Daniel strolled in, closing and locked the door to the office behind him. As he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his flicker pistol, the man whirled around in his chair, at the same time punching a button on his desk.


“Susan!” he said. “I told you I was not seeing anyone now.”


Daniel wiggled the gun in his hand.


The man’s eyes widened. “Susan! There is a man in here—”


“I wouldn’t waste yo breath,” Daniel said, feeling proud of the strong slum accent in his voice. “Yo secretary’s takin’ a long nap.”


The man raised his hands. “Who are you? Who sent you? I can beat whatever your payment,” he said.


“Maybe I work free, like pro bono,” Daniel said. “You know? Like one’a dem big-shot lawyers?”


“But I have money. I can pay you,” he said.


Daniel kicked the chair in front of him, sending it hurling toward the man, who ducked as the chair smashed against the holographic terminal.


“Oh, I know yo ass has money, Cronder,” Daniel said. “But that ain’t why I’m here.”


“Be reasonable,” Cronder said. “Whatever you want! I have friends that can help you, whatever it is—”


“Shut up, wanker!” Daniel said, pointing the gun at Cronder’s head.


Cronder’s lip quivered and his round face was pale white and dripping sweat. “Please, I—”


Daniel thrust the pistol’s barrel into Cronder’s mouth, shutting him up. Cronder stared up at him, his eyelids quivering.


“You know,” Daniel said as he reached into his pocket then put a cigar in his mouth. The cigar sparked and lit up on his first puff. “Normally I do a little bit’a research on someone before I take him out. But when I found you was a scumbag politician … man, that was as far as I had to read. I could’a done this shit for free!”


He blew a puff of smoke toward Cronder and extracted the gun from his mouth.


“Please, God!” Cronder cried. “Please don’t—”


“Mmmm! That all you gotta say? You a pious man or somethin’? It’s a long trip from here to God’s ears, Cronder. And this is hell—and he doesn’t listen to prayers from the damned.”


Daniel took a puff from his cigar and let out a smoke ring.


“I know why God don’t listen to yo ass, but I don’t want him to know that I know the secret. So I’m gonna whisper it to you.” He leaned forward to Cronder’s ear. “You see—God, well, he’s really confused. He’s still trying to figure whether creating man was a good idea or not. In fact, he so busy trying to figure this all out, that he just has no interest in saving yo ass.”


Daniel back away and raised the flicker pistol to point it at Cronder.


“No!”


“And I can’t say I blame him,” Daniel said. “Give my regards to the Maker. Tell him that until he can figure out what to do with mankind, I’ll keep them coming his way. Oh, and tell him to make a whole lotta room.”


The flicker pistol flashed and the accelerated particle struck Cronder square in the chest, sending him flying back into the wall. When his body finally hit the ground, the scent of burned flesh permeated the air.


Daniel Chin holstered his weapon and left the office.