Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382
07/23/2183
Encrypted Emergency Transmission
Weyland Yutani Network – Colonial Marshal Secure Channel -
From: Chief Colonial Marshal John Coffee / ICC Agent Shella Roodt: Ashkelon Station
To: USCM Tremolino: Tartarus Sector
Message: Request immediate Evacuation. Dangerous, emerging conflict between Jĭngtì Lóng Naval Commando's (Under orders from Special Executive Victor Li-Shing) and the Red Triad. One ICC casualty, three dozen local bystanders dead or wounded. Several commandos dead or wounded and two Red Triad Enforcers dead. Expect serious escalation in conflict within 48 hours of this transmission. Victor Li-Shing has ordered Ashkelon Station on security lock down. No departures allowed, only arrivals.
CSCS Kowloon (New type) and two other CSC destroyers on site (Unknown type). Approach with extreme caution. We believe their intentions are hostile.
End Transmission
_ _ _
Aboard the Tekla, Oliver glared at the message with disappointment and heated displeasure. All encrypted ICC channels, as well as those of the Colonial Marshals, were constantly monitored by the Tekla's systems just in case this happened. This was not difficult, as the most efficient means of communication across interstellar space was the vast and sophisticated network of communication satellites known as The Network, set up by Weyland Yutani.
However, would-be competitors to The Company preferred other means to transmit intellectual property, for obvious reasons. Espionage between interstellar mega corporations was a constant and ongoing problem.
Member corporations of the Central Space Consortium maintained their own network of comm satellites throughout the ICSC. In terms of bandwidth and performance, the CSC comm-satellite system couldn't compete with The Network outright, but it was still their most secure means to send data from Ashkelon Station back to the CSC.
An important secondary objective of Oliver's mission here was to attempt to crack that system and intercept encrypted files and transmissions from Ashkelon Station.
Weyland Yutani was always interested in scientific and technological developments by rival corporations. Rumors of an ongoing joint-project between the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation and Technion Interstellar had not escaped their notice. And yet, for decades, all efforts to access that research had failed.
Oliver was already well-briefed on those prior attempts and any obstacles they had not yet overcome. Laboratory data banks on Ashkelon Station run by Jĭngtì Lóng or Technion Interstellar were highly secured with air-gaped servers and high-level encryption. Besides that, they did not trust such valuable and costly research to vulnerable and volatile computer memory storage alone. There were always hard copy backups, and it was only those backups that ever passed through the air gap.
Every twenty four hours, a nano-optical long-data memory disc, or 'LD', was created with a detailed record of the labs experiments for the day. At that time, a trusted executive would physically carry that disc out of the labs and upload it directly into Executors computer core. This was done for two reasons. Both as a local memory backup, and to utilize its powerful A.I. to run further simulations from the data.
In the past, attempts were made by The Company to bribe, blackmail, persuade or threaten executives to turn over these discs by highly paid private agents. None were successful. Those agents, and the executives they targeted, usually disappeared afterwards. Most probably killed and disposed of by the Red Triad once they were tipped off and contracted to hunt them down, thus keeping their employers' hands clean.
Executor itself of course did not belong to any one corporation exclusively. It was considered property of the Central Space Consortium, as was Ashkelon Station itself. Jĭngtì Lóng and Technion Interstellar leased the right to operate these labs and use Executor as they saw fit. Any communications to and from the station that were considered 'privileged intellectual property' were handled by Executor.
Intercepting, compiling, collating and decrypting data transmitted from Ashkelon Station via the CSC satellite network was neigh impossible for a ship like the Tekla to accomplish. Executors ability to encrypt such data was impressive by any standards, and the Tekla's A.I. was simply no match for it.
Besides that, research related to the joint project between Technion Interstellar and Jĭngtì Lóng was rarely entrusted to wireless communications at all. Detailed files related to the project were brought back to the CSC on LD's using specialized, armed couriers aboard fast hyperspace transports or Jĭngtì Lóng defense fleet destroyers.
Thus on many levels, the concord agreement served as a convenient cover by The Company to get more permanent assets on the station to facilitate better efforts at espionage. Oliver understood that he and Shella Roodt were just the latest agents tasked with this objective, and their odds of success were much better with her operating on the station compared to him and the Tekla's A.I. moored some distance away from it.
Yet, much to Oliver's dismay, Shella Roodt was apparently out of pocket. She'd turned off her tablet and deactivated her personal comm dish. Oliver never had the chance to brief her about Xenomorphs and why Ashkelon Station might be a threat. Now this emergency distress message put that entire mission at risk.
False-priorities were not part of Oliver's programming, yet he understood the same was not true for people. Shella allowed the Chief to put the safety of her colleagues ahead of her mission for The Company. It was a short-sighted, foolish choice, but an altogether human one. People were not always reliable that way. His doubts about her loyalties had proven correct. Somehow he would make sure that she suffered for it, but now the fate of the mission was entirely up to him.
Once the Tremolino arrived to evacuate all ICC personnel, there was no guarantee they would ever return. Without an ongoing ICC presence here, there was far less chance that he, or any other synthetic like him, would get close to the station again. He had to do something to salvage something from the mission while he still could.
Oliver closed his eyes and calmed his thoughts. It was time to report in to his superiors and receive whatever guidance they could offer. Meanwhile in the background of his mind, analysis of the ships records of the USCS Casimir had finally concluded. The M-class freighter had a long and sordid past. Indeed it was as older even than Ashkelon Station itself. Modified, upgraded, patched-together and well-traveled as much as any similar vessel ever was.
Ownership of the Casimir by Weyland Yutani, through subsidiary transport firms, began in the early 2130's, just as The Company was expanding their terraforming efforts establishing many new colony worlds within the American Arm of the Outer Rim Territories.
Ships records prior to that were largely incomplete, especially since the ships original A.I. core was corrupted and replaced in late 2098 with an as-then top-of-the-line A.P.O.L.L.O. unit manufactured by Seegson Corp. Little of what records and logs were left from the original core were ever recovered by the ICC when the vessel was re-registered with the new A.I.
However, Oliver could not help but notice that the time and location of that re-registration was not done in the same location as the A.I. overhaul itself. That was unusual. Most spaceports capable of such work had a local ICC Office.
Oliver checked scanned copies of the original work order receipts submitted at the time of re-registration and was surprised to find that the overhaul was done on the surface of GL-382, in an expanding ships port while construction of Ashkelon Station was just getting started. Temple Colony had its first elected governor at the time, Alexander Darkon, father of the current station administrator Ze'ev Darkon.
Oliver wondered if someone on Ashkelon Station would be copying these records from the ICC Database looking for dirt on Ze'ev, or his father? After all, prior to the recent arrival of ICC personnel there would be no way to access the ICC Database on the station. Yet who would benefit from such information? The Red Triad perhaps? They would certainly profit from any blackmail materials they could get a hold of.
There was nothing in the records to say that either Ze'ev or his father had used the ship for anything directly, legal or illegal in nature, yet with the common frequency by which it visited Ashkelon Station they certainly would have had the opportunity to do so through an intermediary.
That train of thought begged the question, which of them might have need to use it for something? By all accounts Ze'ev's father Alexander was a gifted governor and a talented colony engineer, but he was not a local. His family connections to Technion Interstellar were established when he was adopted by a prominent Jewish family in his mid twenties before he married into another. Thus his original name was never Darkon to begin with, yet no official record of his original name existed?
It was as if he appeared from nowhere, so far as records of the Colonial Administration could attest. Even the first name, Alexander, seemed off. Though prominent in Jewish genealogy, it originates from the Greek king Alexander the Great, ruler of Macedonia who established one of the largest empires of the ancient world. It was a convenient name that someone of non-Jewish origin might take to assimilate themselves into Jewish culture, especially if it was similar to their own name?
This gave Oliver an idea. He took the earliest known photo of governor Alexander Darkon and tasked the Tekla's A.I. to run it through facial recognition against any other known records of men of similar age. This would take a while. Records that old were hard to assimilate in any one place, even by The Company, especially for individuals who may never have had ID's with the Three World Empire, the United America's, or any other major government to begin with. Strangely enough, that problem wasn't getting any smaller with ever-growing populations on frontier colonies.
As a further search-parameter, Oliver suggested it comb first through men with names similar to Alexander. A needle in a haystack made of needles perhaps, but it was better than nothing.
Ze'ev Darkon's possible connection to the Casimir seemed more likely. After listening in on Shella Roodt's last conversation with the Chief, he knew now that a smuggler named Guo Ho-Stern had traveled to LV-426 on his behest. So far as there were any records, the Casimir never traveled directly to the Zeti-Reticuli system. However, it came close enough to possibly rendezvous with another vessel soon after its destruction.
He could not verify any passengers by the name of Guo ever traveled aboard the Casimir either, but that was not surprising. Four years ago, Ashkelon Station was a no mans land so far as the ICC was concerned. There were no operational records at all from the station in those days except what the station kept for itself, and in order to access those he would have to breach Executor's firewalls or get someone with access to do it for him. Neither was going to happen at this very moment.
The most immediately useful thing he did glean from the records, were the names Reese Castle and Wade Barrett. Former crew of the ship who worked now as spacecraft technicians aboard Ashkelon Station. Oliver knew better than to believe coincidence was the most likely explanation for that.
Records for Reese Castle indicated the ICC targeted him for asset seizure as a suspected smuggler. Considering the ship, and his contract, were owned by The Company to begin with, it was easy enough for the ICC to drain his accounts and sell his contract to another crew. They even managed to do so while he was still in transit in hypersleep. A prime example of efficient justice at work. Not that Oliver gave a shit about justice whatsoever of course.
Wade Barrett had an interesting record. Formally a 2nd Lieutenant in intelligence for the Colonial Marines. Operational details of his tours of duty were classified. That wasn't a permanent barrier for inquiry on his part, but it wouldn't happen instantly. Oliver could determine at least, for now, that he was never posted to LV-426, nor did he ever serve aboard the Sulaco. Not that he would ever expect that he was. Any such loose ends were long since tied up.
Details of Wade's life after the marines were scarce and Oliver believed they were worth looking into. It wasn't easy to imagine how a former marine ended up in a smugglers crew with a man like Reese? At this moment he had no evidence to connect them to Ze'ev in any way beyond the possibility that Guo Ho-Stern may, or may not, have been transported aboard the Casimir to or from Ashkelon Station after the events of LV-426.
One last detail of note for him was the fact the Casimir was scheduled to arrive back at Ashkelon Station very soon with its current crew. No registered passengers were logged to arrive with it. Of the current crew, no one stood out to him as someone with a past tied to Ze'ev or his father. Nevertheless, he would keep close tabs on that ship from now on ordering the Tekla to notify him the moment it arrived and queried station control about a berth for docking.
_ _ _
Within his office, Joe 'Duck' Dechellis sat before a bank of monitors and jury-rigged communications equipment. His expression was pale, equal parts mortified and excited as he watched the live feed from the E.M.V.'s external cameras outside the executive penthouse suite of the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation.
Joe was a dwarf, barely over four feet tall even in heavy-heeled boots. Such diminutive size had never slowed him down or limited his ambitions however. Sometimes, especially while he was still working as a station technician, it was actually an advantage. The fact that Joe was always comfortable in small spaces became its own gag. The nickname 'Duck' was another one, given the fact that he rarely ever had too.
It also probably had something to do with his New Yorker accent. Anyone who missed seeing him in a room would still easily recognize his voice and fast-paced speech. Joe spoke his mind frankly, and often. He was one of the most popular 'old-timers' on the station.
At fifty seven years old, Joe was familiar with everyone and everything on Ashkelon Station. He was also always ready with a story or a joke at someone else's expense, which somehow always seemed even funnier coming from him.
Right at this moment however, Joe was anything but content and jovial. There was work to be done. The most serious sort of work there was; murder by any means necessary.
As the floor-to-ceiling view port of the Jĭngtì Lóng penthouse suite was shattered and blown apart by two shaped explosives planted on its lower edge, the force of the subsequent, explosive decompression expelled a cloud of air, debris, and people into the frigid, deadly vacuum of space.
Joe felt himself swallow heavily with disgust, pity, and self-loathing even as he watched it unfold with unrepentant satisfaction. Funny how those emotions can exist at the same time? Joe realized. It was a damn shame this had to be done, but it had to be done. Joe wouldn't live easy with this act of slaughter, but he would do it again if he had too. Anyone in that suite working with Victor Li-Shing deserved to die with him. Enjoy the vacuum you smug, corporate fucks! May god have mercy on your souls!
The dramatic scene was enhanced by bright emergency beacons and several external spotlights as Executor engaged priority-one hull-breach emergency protocols.
“Damn it I don't see him!” cursed the E.M.V. operator inside the spider panning the cameras and zooming in on the tumbling, spinning bodies. “Victor's not out here!”
Joe could see he was correct. Some of the victims were dressed in casual business garb, or lab coats. Some were dead already, the rest were certainly doomed, yet none resembled Victor or his bodyguards. Joe clenched his fists on his desk, speaking sharply into the headset wrapped over his head. “I already said dis might happen! Get up dere and find him! Finish de job!”
“Roger-that!” Spoke back the operator through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, the two EVA saboteurs successfully retracted themselves via cable to the EMV and gripped a hold of handles beside the airlock. Their own frustrated voices broke into the channel, breathless and angry.
“We didn't glimpse him or the bodyguards inside when we planted the charges!”
“He's in dere! I guyantee it!” Grunted Joe.
The E.M.V. lurched into motion once gain, ascending the tower with rapid, jerking movements. Spotlights placed on the exterior of the station swept over the area in sweeping arcs, focusing on the cloud of debris and the yawning hole where the penthouse view port once was. It didn't take them long to spot the huge metal spider scrabbling up the hull towards it.
_ _ _
Catherine Gray emerged from the lift on the space port level dressed in running shoes, loose fitting jogging sweats and a hoodie just as a slight vibration rattled through the deck. It was nothing hugely dramatic, yet her acute senses immediately registered it as an explosion just as red flashing sirens started going off along the corridor.
Behind her the lift doors slammed shut, as part of Executors emergency hull breach protocol. At first she didn't understand what was happening until people started pointing to the panoramic view ports above and alongside the spaceport perimeter walkway.
“Look at that!”
“Oh my god! Are those people floating in vacuum without a suit?!”
“Isn't that the Jĭngtì Lóng Penthouse?!”
Catherine spun on her heels and started slamming on the controls for the lift. Open damn it! Open! It was no use. Her efforts only managed to shatter and crack the buttons. Simultaneously, her deep-seated sense of anxiety about floating in space without a suit sent shivers of fear and dread through her.
Catherine had the immediate urge to throw up, yet her synthetic body refused to permit it. Reserves of bodily fluids were too precious to squander. All at once she felt paralyzed, and useless. She didn't even have the willpower to approach the view ports to get a look for herself.
Dr. Gordon! It's not fair! Not him! She raged, only realizing then that she didn't have the same sense of worry about loosing her father-in-law, Victor, who may also be in mortal peril. Loosing them both might mean her end, simply for the fact there wouldn't be a source of finance, or expertise, to keep her multi-million-dollar body going. Stop being so selfish! Stop worrying about yourself for once! she scolded herself, but it was no use.
Overwhelmed with anxiety, Catherine started moving away from the large panoramic view ports, pushing herself through a growing crowd. I need to get away from the windows! she thought in a near-panic. Only two things would bring her immediate comfort. A space suit and a stiff drink!
_ _ _
Keren refused to lay down on the sleeping mat beside her sister. Instead, she sat with her back against the wall of a small guest room, facing the door, gripping the pistol Miss Chen had handed over. She had her knees drawn up under her chin and crossed her arms over them.
The only source of light was a glass oil lamp on a side table. Open flames as a light source were highly frowned upon, shielded by glass or not, yet Keren soon found the flickering burning wick most mesmerizing to stare at.
Sheren fell asleep quickly, snoring softly. The sound and the flame lulled Keren to sleep several times, but then each time she forced herself awake again. She tried everything she could think of to stay alert. Pressing her fingernails into her own skin, biting her own lip, or her tongue. Pinching and slapping her own face, pulling hairs out of her own scalp. None of it worked for long.
In the end she gave up on the struggle, opting to stretch out on the floor and place her heels firmly against the bottom of the door, which opened inwards. That way any attempt to open the door would wake her up.
Hours passed, which felt like minutes to Keren when Miss Chen rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Wake up girls! Wake up!” She said.
Keren flinched at first, completely bewildered about where she was for a moment. Then she saw Sheren and started breathing again. The bruises and scrapes from her recent scuffle on the shuttle were raw and inflamed, but Miss Chens herbal remedies were helping a great deal. Keren kew she'd feel much worse right now otherwise. A beating like that wasn't going to heal itself overnight.
Keren shook Sheren softly by the shoulder who got her to her feet, yawning. Keren opened the door with the pistol ready in her hand. Miss Chen stood before them, still dressed in a traditional, belted Chinese robe. She held out a stack of clean folded clothes and some towels. “The bath is at the end of the hall,” she gestured. “Clean yourselves up and get dressed. The General has agreed to see you.”
The sisters did as they were bid, taking turns in the steaming hot water. Sheren first, then Keren. The clothes turned out to be plain, Gong Fu training uniforms in the traditional Han-Zhifu style consisting of a waist-length cotton jacket with a mandarin collar, loose pants with drawstring ties, cotton-sole shoes and short sleeve v-neck undershirts with three buttons. They were solid black in color, with no special designs or patterns on the fabric.
Keren felt goosebumps on her skin when she fit on the fighting garments. These were as genuine as she was ever likely to find on the outer rim. As a child her father commonly had her make do with just the shoes when he trained her. Do not pretend you are worthy of a uniform until you know how to move in one, he coached her. On the day he presented her first, she had cried with pride.
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“Why do we have to wear these stupid old-fashioned clothes?” Sheren asked in a sour tone.
Keren didn't have an answer for that, but she was happy to have them. “I don't think we're in a position to argue about it. Suck it up! You look cute.” Keren commented cracking a grin at her little sister.
Sheren rolled her eyes. “Whatever!”
Keren tucked the pistol inside her waistband, concealing it completely when it was covered by the jacket.
Miss Chen was waiting when they emerged, her expression pleased when she saw them. “That's better!” she croaked, leading them to a cramped kitchen where an iron pot of steaming Congee, a type of savory rice porridge mixed with peanuts, eggs and strips of meat was waiting on a table. A platter of steamed buns cooked with ground pork, vegetables and chives, along with a kettle of hot tea, were on offer as well. Sheren's eyes grew big as saucers when they saw the food. Both sisters were ravenously hungry.
Miss Chen didn't speak a word as they ate breakfast together in silence, ladling out servings of porridge and pouring refills of strong sweet tea made with ginger, honey and fragrant herbs.
“The food is very good!” Murmured Sheren shyly, speaking kindly to Miss Chen for the first time.
“It is necessary to regain your strength!” she stated matter-of-factly. “You must not waver or look weak in front of The General”
“Who is The General?”
“He is our leader. Very old, very wise, and a great hero!” Miss Chen stated proudly. “It is a rare honor that he agreed to see you. Very rare!”
He must be old indeed for someone as old as you to say so, thought Keren.
“And then, we will get to see our father?” Sheren asked.
“Yes child,” Miss Chen answered, “but you must not disrespect The General! Remember to bow and keep your eyes down. Do not speak out of turn.”
The warning made Sheren nervous and distraught all over again. It also had a detrimental affect on her appetite. Soon after Miss Chen rose from the table and beckoned for them both to follow. “Come, we should not keep The General waiting.”
They descended once again to the hidden vault, and down even further through two trap doors into a cramped maintenance passage. Deep shadows strained their senses and kept them on edge as they kept moving at a hurried pace. Miss Chen knew these tunnels as well as anyone could, despite the minimal lighting.
Access panels, humming electrical junction boxes, gas valves and fan ducts of some sort were all illuminated by dim overhead bulbs every fifteen yards or so. Blasts of steam, sparking electrical circuit breakers or the occasional pack of rats caused Sheren to cringe, gasp or cry out on multiple occasions. Twice, Keren spotted the glassy eyes of concealed cameras swiveling to track their progress.
After a while of endless twists, turns and ladders, Keren lost all sense of direction. These were old tunnels, deep in the bowels of the station, beneath the cargo train tunnel most likely. The air down here was very stale and uncomfortably warm, almost hot. Keren recognized the feeling of intense energy nearby, like when she was warming up the fusion core on a test cycle of a ships main engines.
Ashkelon Station had a total of twelve nuclear reactors, four below each tower. Experienced station technicians monitored their operation at all times, as did Executor. There was little danger of radiation containment failure, as they were all heavily shielded and safeguarded with redundant safety systems. Yet even so, the look of things down here didn't exactly fill her with confidence. Some of these pipes she was brushing her elbows against were clearly overdue for replacement, even ones that bore warning labels for super-heated radioactive coolant in the form of liquefied molten lead. Seriously dangerous stuff!
At normal power levels Ashkelon Station generated enough nuclear energy to sustain an entire colony world on its own. Much more than it actually needed. This was intentional. At any time, any one cluster of reactors from the stations' three towers could be taken offline while the others sustained normal power levels with only a fifteen percent increase in output. Any one tower could, theoretically, maintain normal power levels for the whole station if it was kept near ninety percent.
Much of this excess energy fed Executor's greedy computer cores, the stations' artificial gravity generators and powerful communication and sensor antenna arrays. In addition to that, there were several weapon emplacements on constant stand by, ready to protect the station from drifting space debris, rogue meteors and foolhardy pirates.
Keren only saw those station defenses used once in her lifetime when the maneuvering controls of an incoming shuttle went on the fritz. There was no time to intercept it before it might have potentially collided with the station. Most of the passengers and crew were able to eject in an emergency escape capsule. Only the shuttle captain and the pilot went down with the ship, doing their best to regain control and slow the craft before it was too late.
She and Eva were only girls when this happened. Keren remembered how disturbed Eva was that her father Ze'ev had to give an order to fire on the shuttle with innocent people still aboard. Later, Keren's father Guo explained that - Ze'ev did the right thing. Duty and responsibility require hard choices. Sometimes hard sacrifices. The loss of a few lives to save many is nothing to be ashamed of. People die everyday for no good reason at all. At least the shuttle crew deaths had cause, no matter how tragic the reasons. If the shuttle was allowed to impact the hull it would have been worse for everyone.
Keren realized thinking about her father so much was making her anxious. Miss Chen had said he was being kept in isolation, under guard. She also said he was unwell and could not speak to them. What did that mean exactly?
_ _ _
Encrypted Transmission
Weyland Yutani Network Nexus X4643X – Special Projects Code XX121 -
From: ICC Shuttle USCSS Tekla; (Unspecified Sender): Ashkelon Station
To: Medical Frigate USCSS Patna; Michael Bishop; Director of Special Projects, Bio-Weapons R&D, and Synthetic Design. Weyland Yutani Corporation: Anchorpoint Station
Priority Report: Agent Roodt is out of pocket. Interference by CSC Special Executive Victor Li-Shing is a major complication. Timetable shrinking. [Ref: Attached Encrypted Emergency Transmission via Network to USCM Tremolino]. Request delay on any evacuation attempt. Suspected private investigation of LV-426 incident by Ashkelon Station administrator Ze'ev Darkon confirmed. [Ref: Attached data; Audio File/Transcript Meeting Agent Roodt/Colonial Marshal Chief Coffee] Guo Ho-Stern may be alive. Attempted contact with 'The General' by Agent Roodt and Chief Coffee imminent. Request instructions?
End Transmission
_ _ _
Finally they started ascending ladders again, up several levels worth, though Keren still had no idea where they were? Normally at every maintenance tunnel junction, or ladder, there were plaques indicating their specific location. So far every one she had seen was defaced, painted over or removed creating a seemingly endless maze. The station techs have it worse than I thought, Keren admitted to herself. Of course they probably come down here with maps and tunnel schematics to begin with. They would have too.
At last they reached the end of their journey, passing through a trap door emerging in a very cold walk in freezer. Carcasses of butchered steers hung by hooks and chains in long rows illuminated by overhead fluorescent lights. Keren had never been in one of these freezers before, but she knew they were located near the street market. All this way in those tunnels just to end up back where we started?
No sooner had she helped Sheren up through the trap door than two men emerged from the shadows in dark leather jackets, thermal masks and gloves holding automatic sub-machine guns. Keren resisted the impulse to reach for the pistol. They already had the drop on her. Drawing a weapon now would only possibly get her and her sister killed.
Miss Chen recognized them immediately, and they did likewise, lowering their weapons. “This Way,” she stated to the sisters, leading the way down one row of frozen slabs of meat.
The guards fell in behind them following closely. She could see by their eyes that both were Chinese. Keren couldn't see any tattoos under so much clothing but she had the distinct impression these men were Triad. After the bloodbath at Dizzy's club, she had no desire to be near such men again. Why are they here? Does The General use them for security? she wondered.
At the end of the freezer was a short passage with double doors on hinges that swung easy in both directions at either end. Through the other side was an abattoir. Two dozen Asian men and women in aprons, goggles and gloves were busy hacking and sawing away at freshly slaughtered steer. Slabs of bloody meat were stacked on wheeled carts waiting their turn to be taken into the freezer. Chinese classical music played over speakers in the background.
None of the butchers looked up from their labors as the group passed among them through a side door into a short hallway. They turned into an open doorway near the center entering a storage/locker room. Aprons, gloves and googles were stored here in stacks or hanging from hooks. A large framed poster hung from one wall showing painted scenes of cattle grazing under a dome on GL-382 below.
One of the guards swung the poster away from the wall on concealed hinges revealing a reinforced hidden door. He banged on it with a gloved fist until an eye slit opened up on the other side. A few murmured words were spoken, which Keren couldn't overhear. As the door opened, the masked guard stood aside.
Miss Chen lead the sisters through the door into a plush office. Two more guards were standing within. Both were Russian, dressed in dark suits. They did not carry sub-machine guns openly, but odds were they had concealed firearms beneath their jackets.
"Dobroye utro Maks!" Miss Chen stated in greeting to the largest of the pair in perfect Russian. “Kak General?”
“General zdorov, on ochen' khochet vas videt'.” The man answered in a deep growling voice.
Maks was big, as big as a bear, with cold blue eyes, a clean-shaven face and equally clean shaven skull. Keren put him in his mid fifties, burly, with huge hands and a gruff way of breathing.
It was easy to see Miss Chen and Maks were old acquaintances. There was mutual respect between them. The other man, by contrast did not warrant any notice by her whatsoever. He was much younger, and shorter, but heavily muscled with short-cropped dark hair, dark eyes and a heavy platinum chain around his neck. This one exuded swagger.
Sounds of club music drifted through air ducts in the ceiling. Around them, the walls of the office were paneled in burled walnut. Several oriental rugs covered the hardwood floor around genuine leather furniture, bookcases and display tables. Valuable art objects, paintings and antiques were displayed with expensive taste.
The young guard gestured at the sisters to raise up their arms. He wants to search us for weapons! Keren realized. She also saw the hint of Triad tattoo's under their collars and shirt cuffs. Instantly she was on edge. This time she had a chance to draw her weapon before they could get to theirs. Her body tensed. There is no fucking way I am going to let myself be disarmed!
“That won't be necessary!” Miss Chen scolded the man in Chinese, interrupting him. The guard seemed to understand her meaning perfectly well, though he was none too happy about it. Frowning, he stepped back, glaring at her.
Why is she covering for me? Keren wondered. She knows I still have her pistol.
Maks gave the younger man a single look which cowed him to look away. Then he lead the way to a door out of the office, entering a lounge and private bar area with room enough to seat thirty.
A dozen other Triad enforcers, both Russian and Chinese, several with female companions at their side, sat on plush leather couches before large one-way glass panels drinking and smoking.
Another bar, a dance floor and private booths were visible through the glass, crowded with people engaged in all manner of drugs and sinful debaucheries. This is a Red Triad club! Keren recognized at once.
“Pozhaluysta podozhi zdes',” Maks stated to them, gesturing to a pair of couches nearby.
Miss Chen sat down and gestured to the sisters to do the same. As they did, the younger guard stood close by as Sheren clutched her sisters hand. They were well aware that many of these men and women were starting at them, speaking to each other in low voices. Either in Russian or Chinese. Some were even scowling. It didn't make her feel any more comfortable.
“Why does everyone already seem to know who we are? I don't get the sense we are welcome here.”
“What did you expect? Two enforcers lost their lives for your sake. Not that were aware of that at the time of course."
Keren frowned. What the fuck is she talking about? But then it struck her. The pair of Red Triad enforcers inside Dizzy's club. The ones who opened fire on the commando's. They were doing that to protect her and her sister?!
Miss Chen nodded as the look of recognition flashed over Keren's face, “They did what they had to do to ensure your escape. If they had known those commando's were coming for you beforehand, the whole tragedy could have been avoided.”
“You're saying all these Red Triad enforcers also work for the Union?” Sheren asked, glancing around in surprise.
“Actually what you think of as 'the Red Triad' is really just a special branch of the UPP,” Miss Chen stated, gesturing around the room. “All of these men and women were born in the Union. That's how they operate here so well. None of the other governments have ID's or background records on any of them. If questioned, they will claim they fled the UPP as refugees, same as your father did.”
“How do you justify the crimes and atrocities the Red Triad commit?!” Keren questioned.
Miss Chen smiled, “A necessary evil for a greater good! Firstly these crimes are not being done against the interests of the Union, or the people of the Union. Secondly, the main share of funds, ill-gotten goods and information we gain through these crimes are sent back to support the Union. Lastly, whatever harm we do to undermine mega corporations or governments, weakens potential enemies. Interests of the Union always justify the means.”
Keren was flabbergasted, yet in her heart it all made sense. Growing up on Temple, other kids often teased her with rumors that her father was a criminal and a smuggler. Later, after she moved to Ashkelon Station, some even said Guo worked with the Red Triad. She ignored these claims, largely because she never wanted to believe them. Now it seemed her worst suspicions were proven true, and she expected worse realizations were yet to come. “So everyone in the Red Triad is also an agent sent by the Union just like my father?” she asked with sour disbelief.
Miss Chen chuckled, “No. There's a big difference between a trained UPP agent and a Red Triad Enforcer. Your father was born and raised to be a true patriot. His worth and loyalty to the Union are without question. These enforcers were already convicted criminals back in the Union. Their choice to serve out a sentence here with the Red Triad may be preferable to a longer stint in a UPP labor camp, but it is by no means a vacation. The risks are significant, as you already witnessed with your own eyes.”
Keren was still baffled, “Why did they do it? We are nothing to them. Don't they have families in the UPP?”
Miss Chen nodded, “Some do. Any living relatives will be well compensated for their loss. When possible, their remains are also returned to the UPP for a soldiers funeral. This is the highest honor most of them could ever hope to receive.”
Keren's memory flashed back to her friend Dizzy, who also gave his life. “What about Dizzy?”
“Dizzy was recruited by your father into the cause. He has no family in the Union, but his name will be added to the hero's memorial anyway out of respect and appreciation for his sacrifice. Someday, you can visit that memorial if you wish? It is one of the great monuments every citizen of the Union should see.”
“If I wished for anything it would be that Dizzy was still alive and no one else died in his Club!” Keren cursed morosely, pained by lingering feelings of anger, loss and resentment. Sheren squeezed her hand tighter, sharing in the sullen feelings.
_ _ _
Aberdeen Eloise Tyler raised a brow at her ICC comm terminal as the screen blinked -Priority Private Call-. Private calls were rare on official ICC channels. At least, this was the first time she'd ever received one on the station. She entered her personal access code to verify her identity and receive details about the call.
Encrypted Private Call: Weyland Yutani Network
From: Medical Frigate USCSS Patna; Michael Bishop; Director of Special Projects, Bio-Weapons R&D, and Synthetic Design. Weyland Yutani Corporation: Anchorpoint Station
To: ICC Managing Director Aberdeen Eloise Tyler: Ashkelon Station
Accept: Y? N?
Aberdeen swallowed and hastily put out yet another cigarette in the growing pile of her personal ashtray. What in the fuck? She pressed Y on her terminal keyboard.
The face of Michael Bishop appeared on her comm screen. Smiling, yet coldly serious all at once.
“Aberdeen! Thanks for taking my call!” He stated with genuine courtesy.
“It's 'ICC Managing Director Tyler' Mr. Bishop. Only my friends call me Aberdeen,” she replied, not returning the smile. She was aware of the mans reputation. Michael Bishop was a brilliant scientist specializing in biomechanical development, human enhancement and of course, synthetic androids. The Bishop series android was named and modeled after him, and she had already met a few of those. It was disconcerting speaking with someone who looked and spoke exactly like an android. For the life of her though, she had no idea why he might be calling?
“Forgive me!” He croaked with his characteristic, hoarse and husky voice. “I know you must be busy. I understand things are rather tense there on Ashkelon Station?”
Aberdeen frowned. “To say the least, yes, Mr. Bishop, things are tense. However I don't understand why that should be any concern of yours or that of Weyland Yutani? This is highly unusual. What is the reason for your call?”
“Please call me Michael!” He stated with another hasty smile. “I wanted to warn you against evacuating that station. It seems the Chief Colonial Marshal and your ICC agent, Shella Roodt, have recently transmitted an emergency distress call to the USCM Tremolino. Were you not aware of this?”
Aberdeen did her best not to react with surprise frustration, but she failed. “No I was not Mr. Bishop. We spoke about the possibility, but again, I am confused why you are calling me about this?”
“I realize it's unusual, I didn't go through the standard channels because I didn't want to waste any time! I believe everyone on the station is in great danger. Speaking to you directly seemed like the prudent thing to do. I was told you are in charge there?”
“Yes I am in charge,” Aberdeen stated, frowning again. “Please explain?”
“There is a possibility of a contagion, a bio-weapon, endangering everyone on the station. It's important that no one leaves to spread it elsewhere.”
“Oh?” Aberdeen stated, blinking in alarm. “How do you know this? Where did this information come from?”
“It's a long story,” Michael said shaking his head in frustration. “We don't know everything yet, but that's not what's important right now. I just wanted to warn you to hold off on an evacuation until I get there.”
“You're coming here?” Aberdeen questioned with surprise.
“Yes I am departing Anchorpoint Station for Ashkelon Station as soon as possible. My ship has the best labs and facilities available for this sort of thing. I lead research and development of bio-weapons for Weyland Yutani after all. I have plenty of experience with what you might be dealing with.”
Aberdeen instinctively grabbed another cigarette, lifting an electric lighter off her desk, clicking it on and watching the tip glow red hot. Her mind was a storm of questions. Jesus help us, this is the last fucking thing we need right now!
Michael blinked. “Aberdeen can you still hear me?”
“Yes!” She grunted, lighting the smoke and taking a quick drag.
“Ok so you understand how serious this is?” He pressed impatiently.
“Of course, but please Michael, you've gotta give me more information! What am I supposed to tell my people?! Are we all supposed to quarantine ourselves immediately?”
Michael paused, seeming to ponder the question, then answered. “We both know the ICC wrote the book on quarantine procedures, but to be quite frank, I think it's too late for that.”
Aberdeen clenched her jaw with frustration, “No sir I don't accept that!”
Michael frowned, then sighed. “I understand how you feel. All I know is a source there sent me a sample of something the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation cooked up in their labs. We're still testing it, but it looks deadly. Very deadly.”
Aberdeen immediately thought of Special Executive Victor Li-Shing and his enforced station lock down. “Jesus! That's why Victor Li-Shing locked down the station isn't it?!”
“Probably.” Michael agreed. “There are two possible explanations. Worst case, they had a containment breech and they are trying to contain the spread of the contagion off the station. That's what I'm warning you about. Unfortunately if that's true, you can bet they'll avoid admitting it and make up some excuse to cover for it.”
“What's the other possibility?”
“The second possibility is they didn't loose containment of the contagion, they are just looking for the source who sent me the sample in an effort to prevent getting caught breaking interstellar arms-treaties. That's not a great scenario either, since they'll likely go to any lengths to keep their bio-weapon a secret. However, they should lift the lockdown and pretend everything is back to normal as soon as they find the source. That's bad news for them of course, but a much better outcome for you.”
Aberdeen considered that, then said. “Well Victor and his people didn't arrive in bio-hazard suits? That would seem to indicate it's unlikely that there is a dangerous contagion on the loose wouldn't it?”
“Not necessarily,” Michael stated sadly. “Bio weapons like this are very well engineered. There are often antidotes developed along with them to prevent 'friendly forces' from getting ill. It's possible Victor Li-Shing and his people were already inoculated before they arrived. In that case they may not be wearing suits just to make sure they don't tip us off about what's really going on”
“Son of a bitch!” Aberdeen cursed.
“I know this a lot to take in,” Michael stated in the gravest, most understanding tone he could manage. “Rest assured my people are the best and we will get to the bottom of this!”
Aberdeen took in another deep drag. “What about the Colonial Marshals on the way? Have you warned them as well?”
“We have!” Michael promised. “It would be just as bad a scenario if they didn't know about this and evacuated your people off the station. I'm just doing my best to cover the bases. Better to be safe than sorry. I didn't want any of your people getting antsy and doing anything foolish. The Marshals have been informed not to evacuate you until I can verify there is no dangerous contagion loose on the station such as the type I have as a sample; but it's up to you to keep your people in check if they try anyway. Do I have your word on that?”
“Of course!” She sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Nobody leaves until you give the all-clear.”
“Good!” Michael stated resolutely. “I'll arrive as quickly as I can! In the meantime it's probably best that no one else knows myself or the Marshals are on the way. We don't want to tip off Victor or the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation until we're in a position to put pressure on them. I expect that makes sense right?”
“My lips are sealed!” She promised.
“There's just one more thing Director Tyler?” Michael said before he ended the connection.
“Yes?”
“Since it would seem that Agent Roodt and the Chief sent this distress call without your knowledge or authorization, it would be best to reign them in and make sure they don't complicate this situation anymore than they already have. It would also be helpful if you could find out what they know, or at least what they think they know, and have a briefing ready for me when I arrive. Can I count on you to do that?”
“That's a done deal! He ain't got the good sense god gave a rock and she's slicker than pig snot on a radiator!” she spat back angrily.
"That's great! See you soon!" Michael smiled one last time as the screen went blank.
End Transmission