Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382
07/22/2183
An authentic punk leather jacket is not easy to come by! Keren thought ruefully as she tossed her old garments into a waste bin. Sheren wore a cheap baseball cap with a small stuffed panda sitting atop the brim, a blouse covered in a bamboo print, a green skirt and bamboo cross-stitched platform sandals. Keren wore black leggings, red knee-high boots, a red t-shirt and a silken headscarf embroidered with a red Chinese dragon wrapped around her hair and shoulders. None of their new clothes were high quality or nicely made. Flimsy, mass-produced tourist trash was all they could afford anyway.
Looking like teenagers with cheap taste, the pair approached a small open plaza. On the far side, surrounded by a low wall with vertical, angling beams was the shuttle port. There were two gaps in the wall. One marked for arrivals and one for departures, though no one actually seemed to care which one they used. Plexiglas panels were riveted to the beams up to the ceiling for several meters as it angled from the perimeter of the stations hull higher into the shadows above the great expanse of the market. Many of these panels were busted out and missing. Some of those that remained were streaked with graffiti and scattered over with cheap synthetic paper fliers or posters.
Sounds of electronic slot machines bleeped, jangled and dinged from the open door of a gambling parlor interspersed with murmured coughs and curses of its patrons. Here on the fringes of the street market the crowd was a mix of the usual station population and the more colorful shop keepers and traditionalists who resided in the market. This particular area of the station was not claimed nor protected by the Red Triad, thus allowing other sorts of scum, hustlers, thugs and pickpockets to linger and loiter among the crowds.
At first glance for Keren, it all seemed like business as usual. Shuttles departed from this port every couple hours. Business on Ashkelon station carried on around the clock, though the later hours had rather less shuttle traffic and less attentive staff. According to the light board displaying an arrivals/departure schedule they had time to spare to catch the last shuttle for the day which launched close to midnight.
Spread around the plaza were four old, beat up shuttle ticket kiosks. Keren led them towards one closest to a coffee bar. Using the Kiosk was a risk of course. It required whoever purchased the ticket to insert their ID card. Keren wasn't sure if these machines were connected to Executor or not. There was no way of knowing what would happen if they tried to use it.
Sheren purchased two coffees as Keren took a long careful look inside the shuttle port from across the plaza. She had a clear enough view through the gaps in the wall to get a sense of how many people were inside. Most orbital shuttles carried about fifty metric tons of cargo and fifty or so passengers. Rows of plastic seats outside the boarding gate could accommodate at least twice that number, yet Keren estimated there were barely two dozen waiting to board the shuttle at this time. The boarding gate wasn't much of an actual barrier. The real gate was the massive double air lock separating the interior of the station from the shuttle bay.
Two station security officers stood beside the boarding gate checking identification while other staff were busy taking tickets, baggage, and helping the elderly or those with disabilities. None of them looked particularly on edge or nervous. More predictably, they appeared bored and tired.
Sheren followed Keren's gaze as she handed her a coffee, “Look they're checking ID's, we'll never make it,” Sheren sighed.
“You'll make it,” Keren said reassuringly, “You just need a distraction.” she added with a fierce look in her eye.
Sheren glared at her older sister, “No! You're not weaseling out on me! We promised to stick together!”
Keren let out a frustrated breath. She had made that promise. Sheren refused to share what she read from Guo's letter otherwise. “We don't even know if we can purchase tickets yet. Boarding the shuttle may be the least of our problems.”
Sheren made a face.
“I can get you on that shuttle,” a strangers voice said matter-of-factly.
Both sisters turned towards a man in his late twenties standing a few feet away. Short and plain looking he was clean shaven with a buzzed haircut, baggy pants, white sneakers and an over sized hoodie.
He was sitting at the coffee bar a few moments ago, Keren realized. She was about to tell him to mind his own business when Sheren spoke up.
“How?”
“Easy,” he said taking one step closer, lowering his voice. “I know the flight crew for the shuttle. They don't board through the same gate. No ID checks, if you catch my drift.”
Keren regarded him dubiously, but she also knew the shuttle ports were laxer than the space port about manifests and procedures. Some shuttle crews were rumored to ignore regulations for a price. Illegal goods or a few extra passengers could be smuggled on or off the station in exchange for bribes. So long as enough staff were cut in on the action it wasn't so hard to get away with. For now. Eventually the ICC intended to keep officers posted at every shuttle port and open a second base of operations planet side. Yet so long as they had such limited staff, focusing on the space port was the best they could do.
“How much?” Sheren asked eagerly.
“How much you got?” The stranger asked softly, reaching into his hoodie to remove a pack of smokes. Cheap smokes Keren noted.
Sheren looked up at her sister in dismay. There was no way they had enough.
As they hesitated, the stranger eyeballed Sheren from the corner of his eye, looking her over up and down while also avoiding eye contact with her big sister. Keren didn't like that.
Politely, he gestured with the smokes, making an offering. He was relaxed and easy-going. No sudden moves. Friendly in tone of voice and casual in manner. Keren recognized his type; a hustler, practiced at feigned disinterest. Beyond that she couldn't guess much about him. Was he carrying a weapon under that hoodie? He didn't look particularly dangerous, but Keren was in no state of mind to let her guard down.
“We've got a couple hundred bucks in cash. Get us on board and I can get you more down on Temple.”
The stranger regarded Keren with placid brown eyes showing no hint of reaction. His awkward silence and stillness made her uncomfortable.
Sheren quickly grabbed one of his cigarettes as if it would keep him from walking away. Keren hated that. Father would never show weakness.
The stranger seemed pleased with Sheren. He lit her smoke in a very calm, kindly, deliberate way as if he had all the time in the world. Keren felt her blood pressure rising. We don't have time for this!
“Two hundred bucks is not the usual rate,” he stated dispassionately, tapping up a smoke for himself.
“Ok whatever!” Keren bitched starting to turn away. We'll just take our chances with the kiosk, she thought.
“...but...” the stranger added as an afterthought, “we can work something out if you don't mind working off what you owe.”
Keren felt her skin crawl imagining what he might have in mind. “FUCK OFF!” she hissed.
The stranger lit his cigarette pensively, “It's your call?” He shrugged. “I can introduce you to some nice people. There's plenty of work down there for a motivated pair of hands. Bars, clubs, shops, salons, factories, etc. Perfectly legal work.”
Keren scoffed inwardly. Plenty of work my ass! Temple was a wealthy world to be sure, yet little enough of that prosperity belonged to its people. Every parcel of land and all its resources were claimed by large corporations back in the CSC and even the core systems. Temple was known best for ranching, but also hard labor, dangerous mining or mindless factory work. Most of those jobs went to off-world contractors brought in by the companies. Either that prison labor, which was often preferable being the cheapest sort of labor around.
What remained to spread around was too scarce to employ the locals, many of whom were forced to provide for an entire extended family. It wasn't always that way though. The first colonists on Temple had many more rights to claim whatever they found. Early settlers prospered, prospecting for the corporations, or else, starting new business of their own. For a time GL382, as it was originally labeled, was the best new hope in the outer rim. A rare world with a breathable atmosphere capable of supporting life with minimal terraforming.
Keren remembered learning about the history of Ashkelon Station and its final construction from school lessons and her oldest relatives. Back then it symbolized a bright future for the fledgling Independent Core Systems Colonies and Temple's colonists. A new gateway for commerce and exploration that would bring the outer rim into the forefront of interstellar economics. Old posters showed the colonists holding hands, reaching for the stars, with the builders of Ashkelon Station reaching down and smiling benevolently.
Such was not to be. Despite all the promise and potential, Ashkelon Station failed to establish itself as the most popular port of call. Other stations, larger and grander, such as Sevastopol and Anchorpoint, took away those honors despite the fact they were not the first. Most importantly they were not governed by the CSC, which was infamously destabilized by inter-corporate rivalries, mismanagement, corruption and lack of reliable funding.
Following the wane of Ashkelon Station, competition for the resources of GL382 as a means to recoup costly investments was fierce. Local landowners and settlements were bought out one by one. A few generations later, descendants of the original settlers owned little indeed of their original birthright. Were it otherwise, Keren, her sister, and so many others would likely not be on Ashkelon Station in the first place. Yet now, as ever, it seemed like the only place they could go offering higher wages. Keren had no patience with this creep and his false promises. Sheren however was clearly lured in.
“I'm a waitress,” Sheren chirped.
“Ok great,” he smiled. It was not a handsome smile. “That's easy to arrange.”
“How do you know we're not criminals?” Keren heard herself ask out of curiosity. “Maybe we want to keep a low profile?”
“No problem," he answered with barely a pause. “Whatever you are comfortable with.”
“We'll do it!” Sheren said happily as if his proposal were the answer to all their prayers.
Keren glared at her and pulled her aside. “This is a bad idea!” she whispered hotly.
“So is using the kiosk!” Sheren replied smartly.
Keren couldn't deny that. There was risk either way. Much as she hated to admit it, this chance to get off the station as stowaways was the better bad idea. “Promise me that you will run if things get weird.”
“We promised to stick together. If I run, you need to run too!”
“Fine,” Keren said, as equally irritated as she was worried. When they turned around again the stranger was starting to walk away.
“Wait!” Sheren called out, stepping quickly to his side. “We're coming!”
He nodded once, glancing over his shoulder a few times nonchalantly as he crossed the plaza towards a staff service door set into the wall beside the shuttle bay. There was a camera panning above it. However, its lens was cracked and of no use anymore. Beside the door was a security keypad and a small waste bin. He put out his smoke on the lid as he spoke again, “If you want to come any further, I'll need that two hundred bucks.”
Begrudgingly Keren presented the bills in her hand, balling it into a fist as he reached for them.
“What's your name?” she asked.
“Simon.”
“Ok Simon. Try anything, and I'll be the first to punch your teeth down your throat. Got it?”
Simon nodded. She placed the money in his hand. He slipped it into his pocket before swiping an ID card and swiftly tapping digits into the keypad. Neither of the sisters had a chance to glimpse what code he used.
The service door opened into a short hallway before a security gate. The door shut immediately behind them as they entered. To their left was a small security officers control room. Keren felt her heartbeat race as an ICSC security officer sat before a bank of monitors overlooking the shuttle bay. A few were malfunctioning, showing only static, but there were enough left to show a clear view of the boarding gate and the interior of the shuttle bay.
The officer sitting within was overweight, probably in his early forties with messy brown hair. The name badge on his chest said D. Randal. Beside a steaming mug of coffee snack wrappers littered his workstation. D. Randal lifted his eyes towards them through a bulletproof window.
“Hey Doug,” Simon said. ”I've got a couple new recruits here for training. Management wants me to make sure they come down on this next shuttle.”
Doug frowned reaching for a datapad, “I didn't see anything about any extra passengers?” he said wiping crumbs off his face.
“They probably confused which day it was. No big deal. I'll speak to Ron. Don't worry, they'll be closely supervised and strapped in tight. Just this once ok?”
Doug paused, fingers touching the datapad but not lifting it up. Some unspoken message seemed to pass between them. Simon removed a candy bar from his pocket and held it up to the glass. “Oh hey, this is your favorite right?”
Doug leaned forward and slid open a drawer under the window. Simon placed the candy bar inside along with Keren's two hundred dollars. Doug palmed the cash as he grabbed the candy bar, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth.
Simon waited patiently as he took a large bite, chewing hungrily. Doug never raised his eyes further to get a better look at the new recruits. Perhaps he didn't want too? Keren surmised. A moment later Doug buzzed open the security gate.
“Lets go!” Simon said leading them into a locker room, “Change into these boots and flight suits. We don't have much time.” He gestured to a rack of pale blue uniforms with the lettering TRAINEE stenciled across the back of the shoulders. “You can bring your other clothes with you in a duffle bag.”
Both sisters exchanged a glance. Simon stepped back and crossed his arms.
“A little privacy?” Keren suggested.
“No can do. I gotta watch to be sure you aren't hiding anything you shouldn't be. Unless you'd prefer a pat-down and a strip search instead?”
“Asshole!” Keren muttered, but did as she was bid.
Simon circled around them as they undressed. Keren felt his eyes roaming over her. Get a good look creep, she thought.
A few minutes later they were both booted up and zipped into the flight suits.
“Wait here a minute,” Simon said moving over to a comm terminal in the corner. About a minute passed as he had a hasty conversation with someone in hushed tones. In the meantime Keren looked around for anything she could use as a weapon.
All the lockers were shut with anything useful locked inside, but she did spot a tool of some sort placed atop one of the lockers. She was tall enough to retrieve it easily. It was a Weinshelbaum K99 maintenance jack. Old and dinged up from decades of hard use, yet still fully functional. Sturdy and well made it carried enough heft to come in handy as a makeshift club. Keren realized Simon probably had no idea how well she could handle such tools. I'm not just some dumb bitch, she asserted to herself as she slipped the K99 into her duffle bag.
Finished with his call Simon handed each of them hard hats. “Put these on and follow me,” Simon said, leading them down another corridor. A few flight officers passed by chuckling to each other. Keren thought she heard them say something about Sheren but she couldn't be certain. Men were always ogling over her younger sister.
They reached a stairwell leading up to a control room overlooking the shuttle bay. Though small in size compared to space dock, the shuttle bay was still massive enough to dock two shuttles at the same time. One would unload and disembark to give the crew a break while the other took on cargo and passengers before it prepped for launch. Looking through view ports beside the stairwell Keren could see techs and dock workers swarming around the heavy craft, busy at their tasks. Part of her felt sad at the thought of leaving the station and the work that occupied so much of her time. I still don't know who we are running from exactly! she realized angrily.
Their shuttle being prepared for launch was an older design, roughly rectangular and blocky with heavy lift engines on each corner. Due to the constant heat and abuse of repeated atmospheric reentry; its hull was blackened and heavily pitted. The cockpit and passenger deck was placed high and above the upsweeping lower hull. Keren spotted a cute cartoon image of a robot boy with rockets for feet painted on the singular vertical stabilizer between the main engines. The name, ASTRO BOY, was painted on the nose cone. Beneath the control room was a small platform with an airlock to a crew gangway that led directly to another airlock behind the shuttles cockpit.
“This is where the flight crew will be boarding,” Simon said.
“Are you coming with us?” Sheren asked.
“No, but I'll introduce you to Ron. You'll be going down with him in the hold. Not up on the passenger deck.”
Simon moved past the airlock to a vertical lift and gestured for them to enter. They took the lift back down to ground level where a larger double air lock was all that stood between them and the shuttle bay. Simon stood there and let them take a good look through the view ports. The shuttle loomed even larger from this perspective.
“Almost time to leave,” Simon said taking a glance at the launch counter beside the airlock which read T-Minus 20 Minutes. We are so close to escape! Keren thought. Simon turned away from the airlock and led them to an office door with the words LOADMASTER stamped on a placard.
Inside was a big, rough-looking man leaning over a desk stacked with cargo manifests and shipping labels. His flight suit was orange instead of blue. It read LOADMASTER across the shoulders. His name tag said R. Jeffrey. Another man and a woman stood close by chatting with each other. However as soon as Simon entered they all turn towards them.
“Cutting it close this time Simon?” R. Jeffrey grunted, looking up as they entered. This must be Ronf, Keren surmised.
“You can make it work,” Simon stated.
Ron gestured to a pair of seats before his desk, “Take a seat ladies.”
The sisters obliged, but Keren was careful to place her duffle bag close by her feet not fully zipped up. All she had to do was lean down and she would have the heavy multi tool in hand.
Ron looked to be in his late thirties, a rough wiry beard growing from his cheeks and jaw. His eyes were cool blue and no-nonsense, piercing in the way he stared, especially towards Sheren who immediately shy'd away from his gaze,“I don't have time to explain everything to you so I'll keep it simple. If anyone besides us in this room speaks with you, don't answer any questions. Also, just as important, don't ask any questions. Keep your mouths shut and do exactly as we say at all times! Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Sheren answered. Keren only nodded.
“Good. The standard fee for this trip is two thousand dollars. Each!”
Sheren flinched. Keren did not react.
“Simon says you say your good for it once we land?” Ron continued, moving around the desk to lean back against it, crossing his arms as he loomed over them.
“We can work it off,” Sheren said. “I'm a waitress.”
Ron nodded, “That's fine. Just so you know, I collect my fee once we land regardless. Think of me as your kindly chauffeur.” He grinned casually. “However the people who pay me, the same people you owe, won't like troublemakers and they don't tolerate liars. You would do well to remember that!”
Keren wasn't intimidated. Sure, they were looking to be stowaways, but they weren't selling themselves into servitude. No matter what they were running from, they didn't have to give up their rights and freedoms. If it came to it she could get everyone in this room in a lot of trouble. Keep grinning asshole! she thought to herself looking up at Ron defiantly.
“Don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe.” The women added offering a reassuring smile. At least ten years younger than Ron, she had slightly bloodshot eyes and a tight, hollow, pinched look to her cheeks that made her look older than she was. Drug Use? Keren guessed. Her name tag said A. Cowie. She introduced herself as Aida. There was a cheap perm to her carrot-colored hair which grossly matched her orange flight suit.
The third man was the smallest, closest to Simons age and build. He wore glasses, kept a poorly trimmed goatee and a bad haircut with uneven bangs. His eyes were small and downcast, as if he was too shy or nervous to look at them. A small curl to his lips indicated he was amused or excited about something. His name tag said. E. Fisher. He introduced himself as Eli.
“So what's next?” Keren asked eager to get to her feet again and get this over with.
Ron focused on her for a long moment. Keren did not flinch away from his eyes.
“Ok lets go!” he stated finally
As the group of them filed out of Ron's office, Simon took his leave with little more than a nod of farewell to the others.
Shuttle Launch in T-Minus 15 Minutes The voice of Shuttle Bay Control squawked over the loudspeakers. As they approached the massive double-air lock Ron slid his ID card through the reader and punched in his code. This time Keren was able to glimpse the code he used. Of course, so far as she knew, her own ID card should probably work to open these airlocks the same as those of the space port. Silent yellow flashing lights signaled the airlock was in use as the massive heavy doors opened before them with the deep thrum of heavy hydraulics.
The air within the docking bay was quite a bit colder, sending the usual tingling goosebumps across Keren's skin as they entered inside. Sheren noticeably shivered and bit her lip. All around Astro Boy, Shuttle bay techs rushed to retract hoses and cables from the shuttles service and equipment access ports; hopping on low-slung service carts with heavy magnetized wheels.
Spouts of steam and vent gasses leaked from the shuttles engines and cooling ports as the flight crew started systems checks on board. All of this was nothing new to Keren, who spent as much time crawling in and around spacecraft than anywhere else. She could almost visualize which controls and buttons they were pushing as different parts of the shuttle, started moving, hissing or groaning. Keren wasn't a pilot herself but she fancied she could manage it. Knowing exactly how all the parts and systems worked had to count for something in order to fly it properly.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Before them, the massive cargo bay doors and loading ramp for the shuttle's lower deck beckoned. The thumping footfalls of a Caterpillar P-5000 Power Loader emerged from within the shuttles yawning cargo bay. The battered yellow machine stomped down the ramp, it's operational warning light flashing above the protective steel rollover cage that surrounded the driver.
“That's the last one!” the driver shouted towards Ron who raised a hand back in acknowledgment. As the loader moved away, Ron led the way up the ramp. Inside the cavernous cargo hold, many metric tons worth of goods, containers and crates were strapped down and stored as securely as possible. Ron quickly moved over to the final group of crates left by the loader placing a heavy cargo net over it. Eli helped him secure the load as Aida gestured to a group of jump seats on either side of the cargo door to Keren and her sister. “Strap in girls, we're almost ready to launch!”
T-Minus 10 Minutes until shuttle launch. All personnel exit docking bay. Repeat. All personnel exit docking bay.
Another voice crackled over the ships intercom, “Loadmaster, why isn't my cargo bay door closed?”
Keren knew that would be the shuttle captain speaking.
Cursing, Ron moved over to the intercom panel, “On it captain! Standby.”
Keren helped her sister into the seat harness, adjusting the straps for her small form and yanking them down tight after she secured the clasp.
“Ow!” Sheren grunted, punching her older sister in the arm. Keren ignored her and stowed away their duffel bags beneath the seats in a foot locker.
Aida and Eli moved around the bay doing a quick double-check on the cargo. There was one particular group of containers for livestock, patterned with holes to let them breath that they seemed particularly fussy over. Keren could see them talking in low voices, but she couldn't make out what they were saying over the hum and whine of the shuttles engines and other systems. Meanwhile, Ron was at the cargo bay door controls. They closed quite slowly with a shudder and a groan as the cargo ramp lifted a short distance further aft. Keren cringed at the sound. Astro Boy was an old ship. Hopefully squeaky hinges and old hydraulics were the worst of their worries.
“We're gonna make it!” Sheren whispered with a grin reaching over to grab Keren's hand. The gesture surprised Keren. It had been several years since Sheren last had the habit of doing that. Keren felt herself smile.
“Aww, so sweet!” Aida commented.
T-Minus 5 Minutes until shuttle launch. Seal all airlocks and prepare shuttle bay for decompression. Warning, repeat. Seal all airlocks and prepare shuttle bay for decompression.
“Double check their harnesses!” Run grunted towards Aida and Eli as he moved towards the ships intercom again. “Captain, cargo bay door is closed. Cargo is secure. We are go for launch down here.”
“Copy loadmaster. Confirmed we are go for launch. Next time, be quicker with your checks!” the captain added hoarsely.
Keren watched Aida step towards her with annoyance. Keren was quite capable of fitting her own harness properly. But whatever, there was no point arguing. She was just relieved that they were about to get off this station.
“Lets see how snug we are shall we?” Aida stated pleasantly, reaching for her straps just as Eli did the same for Sheren. Keren watched him from the corner of her eye. He seemed to take his time tugging down on the straps across her chest causing Sheren to flinch and look away. Keren clenched her jaw angrily as Eli reached into his pocket, removing something tucked inside. A syringe?!
“NO!” Keren shouted just as Eli plunged the needle into the side of Sheren's neck. She gasped and started to scream as Eli pressed his hand across her mouth.
Instinctively, Keren raised her hand to block the syringe she knew was coming for her own neck. The needle punctured through her hand instead. Keren felt no pain, only rage and a surge of adrenaline. Aida cursed and tried to jump back as Keren kicked savagely at the side of Aida's knee. Her heavy boot crunched against bone and sinew, sending her toppling over in agony.
“SHIT!” Ron stated as Aida writhed on the deck, tears squirting from her eyes shouting, “YOU BITCH!”
Keren released the clasp of her harness to free herself and pulled the syringe free from her hand in a squirt of blood; balling it into a fist to help contain the bleeding. Ron watched Keren with nervous eyes as she stared back at him stepping into a fighting stance. The man still had at least 50 lbs on her, but he wasn't particularly brave. “Eli!” He grunted, stepping slowly around to cut off her access to the rest of the cargo deck. From one of his pockets he removed a box-cutter. Eli took his hand off Sherens mouth and dropped the syringe, reaching down to pull a dagger from his boot.
Sheren's eyes were struggling to stay open and her efforts to scream had turned to a soft moan. Keren wasted no time stepping over to squirming Aida who tried to kick at her feebly with her other leg while she was dragging herself away, “Stop it! Stay back!” She blubbered.
“FUCK YOU!” Keren hissed, grabbing her by her perm with her left hand stabbing the syringe through her right eye. Aida's piercing scream echoed through the cargo deck as Keren pressed hard down on the plunger, jetting the drug directly into her brain. Aida's scream whimpered into a gurgle as her body went limp.
T-Minus One Minute for shuttle bay decompression.
Ron and Eli rushed at her, converging from opposite directions. The smaller man was quicker with the deadlier weapon so she focused on him. Keren's reach with her legs was longer than his arm so she sent a whirling fast spinning side kick up against the side of his head. The dagger never even came near here, and the weak fool had none of the training to anticipate or dodge her kick. Immediately he dropped, knocked senseless and sprawling, his eye glasses broken and shattered in the process.
In the same moment, Ron bowled into her knocking all the air from her lungs in a whoof. Keren didn't care about breathing, or even thinking. She only saw red. She only felt rage. Having successfully tackled her to the ground, Ron started slashing at her with his box cutter, trying to hold and pin her down with his other arm to get a clear cut at her eyes. Her face. Her neck. Pain ripped across her skin as the razor cut through her flight suit across her arms and shoulders.
Keren sucked in a gasping breath. Big as he was, Ron overestimated his ability to overpower her. She sent elbows into his ribs, knees into his groin, knuckles and palm strikes into his face. The harder he struggled to hold her the harder she fought back. A contest of strength quickly faded into a contest of tenacity and stamina. The box cutter wasn't an ideal weapon in a grapple. It wasn't deadly enough to wound her easily and it kept him off balance and frustrated as they rolled and crawled across the deck. Keren managed to catch his arm momentarily in an arm lock and bit down into his hand with her teeth.
“OWWW!” He roared, shoving her away, slashing across her scalp with the box cutter as she rolled away from him. Still prone, Keren pulled her knee up and sent a lightning quick side-kick into his chest. He grunted with pain so she kicked him again, even harder in the same spot. This time she heard the crunch of cracking ribs.
Blood matted down her hair and spread down her forehead as she rolled away again. Ron was groaning, unable to breath and catch his breath. Keren felt Eli's unconscious form beside her. The dagger! Quick as a snake she snatched it from his hand, springing back up unto the balls of her feet.
“Ok wait! ugghhh... WAIT!” Ron grunted, holding up his hands as he slowly sat up on his knees, “We can talk about this!"
Keren had no interest in talking as she stared at him with the deadly stare of a killer, all the while ignoring the blood dripping into her eyes.
Beneath her feet she felt the ships engines roaring. Any second now the docking bay would depressurize the exterior station bay doors would open. If she didn't finish him off and strap in the force of the launch would bounce her off the hulls interior and probably kill her. She took a menacing step towards him.
Ron lurched back and grasped for Sheren's leg. NO! Keren screamed inwardly throwing herself towards him.
“STOP!” Ron gasped, holding the box cutter against Sheren's throat.
Keren paused mid-stride, still two steps too far away. Anguish and terror for the life of her little sister caused her to growl and grind her teeth, “Your a dead man!” she spat.
“We can both walk away from this!” he argued desperately. “Forget about the money! When we land you're both free to go!”
Keren wasn't nearly so foolish as to believe that. But what choice did she have? Suddenly she felt hands grabbing around her ankle, pulling her off her feet. She landed hard as Eli threw himself on top of her grasping desperately for her hand with the dagger.
“You killed Aida!” he complained hatefully. Keren was at a serious disadvantage this time as Ron moved over to aid Eli, kicking at her head and her sides. She was grateful he was too hurt with his injured ribs to do much else. Keren stabbed the dagger into the side of Eli's thigh with all her strength. Plunging it through muscle and flesh all the way to the hilt. His scream was the last thing she heard before the shuttle lurched as the main rocket engines fired, launching the cumbersome craft into open space with the force of several G's.
As the only man presently standing, Ron tumbled head over heals to crunch against the rear docking bay doors like a rag doll. Keren and Eli both slid across the deck violently but as the one on the bottom Keren had the chance to clutch to the deck. Grasping the steel under such high G-forces sent spikes of pain through her wrists and fingers. Yet she refused to let go.
Eli lost his grip. Unable to match her strength he screamed once more tumbling through the air to collide with the roof, the walls, and the crates while the shuttle continuously banked and dived towards the planet below. His screams softened with each successive ricochet and impact. A fine mist of blood splattered across the interior of the cargo bay from so many of his bleeding wounds.
After a minute the G-forces lessened as the shuttle leveled off streaking towards the planets atmosphere, pulled down by its own gravity. Keren crawled her way across the floor towards Sheren. Blinking through the pain and wiping away the blood around her eyes, Keren checked here little sisters pulse, relieved to feel she was still alive and merely unconscious. Gently she shook her shoulder and pinched her cheek, trying to wake her up. It was no use.
“Sorry sis,” Keren grimaced as she unbuckled Sheren's harness and dragged her across the blood-streaked deck. As she suspected, one of the livestock crates was open and unoccupied, merely filled with straw. This is where you intended to hide us after you drugged us! Keren cursed. She laid Sheren down in the straw and moved back over to the ships intercom. Taking in a deep breath she did her best to imitate Aida's voice as she started shouting. “CAPTAIN! RON'S GONE CRAZY! HE'S KILLING US! HE'S TRYING TO OPEN THE DOORS! GO BACK! GO BACK!”
The response was immediate and breathless with surprise and disbelief, “WHAT?!” Say again?! Say again dammit! What's happening down there?!”
Keren ignored the voices and moved quickly to the cargo bay door controls. Ron's corpse was collapsed in a heap nearby. Broken, bleeding and deathly still. Any attempt to open these doors while the ship was flying through space would never work. The ships computer would override automatically. Yet the emergency manual override should still work.
Keren retrieved her and Sheren's duffle bags from the footlockers under their seats and removed the Weinshelbaum K99 maintenance jack. The bright red access cover for the emergency manual override was locked in place by sturdy tamper proof pins and seals. The K99 tool made short work of those. As soon as the cover flipped open, emergency red flashing lights and a piercing alarm sounded throughout the shuttle.
“DEAR GOD! Stop what you're doing! We are returning to the station!” the captains panicked voice shouted once more from the ships intercom. Keren braced herself as the shuttle's engines roared even louder, fighting against Temple's gravity as the cumbersome craft banked away from the upper atmosphere. Keren had no doubt the captain would send members of the flight crew down here, probably armed. It's exactly what she would do. As soon as the ships course steadied enough to move again Keren leaned down to put the K99 into one of Ron's hands and returned to the livestock crate with both duffle bags, as well as a water bottle and a first aid kit.
You're next Simon, I'm coming for you! Was the last thought Keren had before she passed out in the straw next to Sheren.
_ _ _
Storen Bull approached the doorway to Reese Castle's quarters purposefully, yet casually, carrying a tool bag in his right hand. Just another station tech going about his usual business. He'd already walked past the door twice, just to be sure no one was around watching the place. With all the drama and tragedy that struck the station within the last few hours, Storen had a hundred different things on his mind. This favor to Ze'ev would not normally be of priority in such times as these, but something he read in the official records of the USCSS Casimir could not be ignored. Now he lifted a 'borrowed' station security badge to the electronic door lock. A light blinked as it beeped obediently, but did not click open. Storen frowned. I should have guessed! he grumbled inwardly. Strike one!
Somehow, the electronic RFID lock had been bypassed. Yes the door sensor had detected the security code but it was disconnected from the lock mechanism itself. Something else was required to unlock the door. The question was what exactly? It was possible a second lock sensor had been installed (in addition to the first) which had not been programmed to open to a security badge. This would require an unregistered ID card to open the lock. Of course, Storen had no idea what this new RFID code might be?
Towards that end, Storen removed a compact wireless RFID code-breaker from his inner jacket pocket. This device was designed to transmit several thousand RFID code variations in a matter of moments. Of course, it only transmitted at an extremely limited range so there was no chance of it opening every door in the corridor in the process.
Storen activated the transmitter. A small LCD screen scrolled through codes in a blur, much faster than his eyes could keep track of. The door did not open, it merely beeped again as it randomly generated the existing RFID code all over again. Strike two! he muttered.
Now it was time to get serious. The possibility remained that the door lock might still require a wireless RFID code of a more complex type than the standard door sensor normally used. High end safes and military-grade codes were easily beyond the capability of his handheld device however.
The other possibility was that the lock was triggered by something else entirely? Sometimes going simple instead of complex was just as effective as a deterrent. There might be a hidden button or switch somewhere nearby? It could also be rigged to an audio input or a vibration pickup. Storen didn't know Reese or Wade very well, but he doubted they were so cheesy as to rig their door lock to open at the words Open Sesame. In any event, he didn't have time to waste figuring out such a puzzle. Reese and Wade were still at the hospital but he could not be sure for how long? He would have to try a more direct tactic.
So far as he could tell the original door lock was still intact and that was a relatively simple design of a heavy duty electromagnetic solenoid operating a security bolt. All he had to do was feed power to that solenoid and it would open of its own accord. Storen unzipped the small duffle bag of tools hanging off his shoulder and moved to open the wiring access panel beside the door. A physical key was required to access all such panels, which any station tech carried with them.
Though he wished to waste no time, Storen did not open the panel in a hurry. After placing the tool bag on the deck he very slowly, and very carefully, turned the key feeling for any abnormal resistance in the lock mechanism. Feeling none, he started to open the panel and realized it was stuck fast. Frustrated, he removed a small flashlight from his right side jacket pocket and examined the panel door up close. Several small spot welds were made between the gaps of the panel and its casing. So you want to play games eh? Storen mused reaching back into his tool bag to remove the portable cutting torch and welding goggles he kept inside.
Glancing once more to make sure he wasn't being watched he very quickly, and very expertly, melted through the spot welds in just a few minutes. That done, he opened the panel with the upmost caution, peering through the gap with the flashlight as he did so. Suddenly he froze spotting an old fashioned fragmentation grenade rigged to explode if the panel was opened more than a centimeter. Son of a bitch! he cursed inwardly.
Carefully, Storen examined the explosive. The only way to disarm the grenade was to reinsert its safety pin, which of course was missing. Locking the panel once more temporarily, to keep pressure on the grenade safety lever, Storen reached into his tool bag removing a small spool of stiff utility wire, along with pliers and a wire cutter. Trimming off a length of wire about three inches long, Storen opened the panel open again, just a crack, and inserted the wire into the hole where the safety pin normally fitted into the grenade with his pliers.
Holding his breath, ready to bolt and dive for the deck at a moments notice, Storen opened the panel. The safety wire worked. The grenade safety lever did not spring off triggering the fuse. Slowly, Storen reached inside and grasped the grenade pulling it free. For extra insurance he twisted the ends of the wire around the handle so there was no chance his new safety pin would loosen or wiggle free. Disgustedly, he dropped the grenade into his tool bag. Nice try! he smirked. That done, he removed the standard maintenance jack used to divert power to and from electrical junction boxes.
Locating the proper wire for the lock solenoid, he hesitated again, checking carefully for any signs of tampering with the wiring. Seeing none, he applied power to the wire. The door lock clicked open audibly. Storen once again used his security badge on the door sensor to put the door into an open condition before he pulled it open, just in case. He didn't want any silent alarms being triggered for station security by Executor.
Glancing over his shoulder one more time Storen stepped inside shutting the door behind him. Dim lighting from the cramped kitchen and a small hallway light above the door were the only illumination available. Storen pulled on a set of gloves, letting his eyes adjust to te darkness as he strained his other senses. The quarters smelled vaguely like cigarettes, cigars and beer. Somewhere past the kitchen in the shadowy living area an old fan rattled inside the upper ventilation ducts.
A pair of heavy steel-toed boots were next to the door. These must belong to Reese, Storen thought noting their great size compared to his own boots. Next he reached into his left jacket pocket where he kept a fat snub nose revolver loaded with five twelve-gauge shotgun shells. Cautiously, Storen aimed the flashlight in his right hand, first above his head and into the other corners of the hall looking for cameras and/or motion sensors. Seeing none he stepped forward, flashing the light into the kitchen. Flies hovered above a stack of soiled dishes. The counter surfaces were plain stainless steel, as was the sink. Old linoleum lined the floor, both pitted and stained, curling up at the edges.
Storen took another step towards the living area, careful to make no sound as his boots threatened to scuff against the tough industrial carpeting. Placing his back against the hallway wall, painted dull green, he leaned forward for a better vantage point around the corner as he panned his light around. There was a low recliner and a couch in the middle of the room with a coffee table in between them. The surface of this coffee table was a mess of empty beer cans, bottles, and half-eaten cartons of Chinese food.
Storen was familiar with every size and configuration of living quarters on Ashkelon Station. These quarters were small, but not the smallest. Reese and Wade bunked in partitioned sleeping areas on either side of the living area. Wades partition was left open, revealing a bunk piled with clothes, magazines and other assorted belongings. Reese's however, was shut and locked.
According to station records, Reese and Wade were the only occupants of these quarters. Storen shouldn't have had need for concern about anyone else hiding inside, but housing on the station was as expensive as it was scarce. Unregistered tenancies were a common problem and he wasn't going to take any chances.
Next he checked the single bathroom, ready to draw out his revolver at the first sign of trouble. It was barely large enough to walk inside. Briefly he wondered how someone the size of Reese could even squeeze inside that cramped shower, but that was not why he was here.
Reese Castle was listed as the Casimir's former captain less than a year ago. Wade Barrett was also listed as a crew member. Storen didn't believe in coincidences. He still had no idea what Ze'ev was so interested to find in the ships records, but the fact two former crew members of the Casimir were living and working on this station beggared investigation. As much for his own curiosity as it was a fact-finding mission for the stations administrator.
Slowly, Storen moved towards Reese's closed partition. Each of these were made of thin, yet sturdy metal walls with a flimsy privacy door and an open window of sorts covered by a flexible set of blinds set into tracks. These blinds were sturdy slats of interlinked composite plastics. The door was made of a similar material with a locking latch. One strong kick should break the door, but Storen thought better of it remembering the booby trap he just disarmed. Instead, he made use of a lock picking tool. Then slowly, very slowly, he opened the partition door. Another booby trap was connected to the trigger of a double-barreled sawed off shotgun aimed right at his head. Storen sucked in a breath. Out came the wire cutters.
Reese's belongings were kept much more tidy within than Wades. Shelves, drawers and storage cabinets were all neatly organized. Where to start? Storen wondered, flashing his light around the confined area. Within minutes he found three more firearms including a 9MM VP8 semi-automatic pistol under his pillow, a pump action shotgun taped under the desk and an old school bull-pup F90 assault rifle in the closet. Besides those weapons, various contraband goods were cleverly concealed within his mattress, as well as behind an air vent, and within the light fixture. 'Suspicions of smuggling' were not exaggerated, Storen mused recalling the comments in Reese's official record.
Some of these items would catch a very heavy fine, even on Ashkelon Station. There were several types of pharmaceuticals, pills mostly, some of which he recognized and a few he would have to analyze to identify. One was a powerful stimulant popular among techs and other station workers to help keep them sharp working double shifts and overtime. Storen frowned on such things of course, but he didn't go out of his way to put an end to it entirely. So long as accidents were at a minimum and efficiency kept up with his high standards, he was willing to look the other way.
There were also a few Halfin AW15 datapads. Forty years ago these were top of the line. Despite their age, they held popularity in the underground for their hacking/programming capabilities. He didn't need to activate one to know that these were data-cracked, unregistered and untraceable. Storen smirked. Back in the day he relied on these to help him establish a reputation as an 'espionage specialist'. That's how he got started, but his role now was much more than that. In the beginning Ze'ev used to call him a 'fixer', but Storen preferred the term 'silent partner'. Powerful corporate execs almost always had men like him working for them behind the scenes.
Storen had no illusions about who and what he was. As a professional criminal, Storen didn't truly trust anyone, but nor did he distrust everyone. Men like Reese had much in common with him, and he didn't fault them for it. The reality was a great many made their livelihoods with an extra competitive advantage. Wherever, and however they could. This was never going to change.
Modern interstellar mega corps set the standard for taking advantage of the laws as much as possible. Their methods for establishing monopolies, patenting new technology and spreading colonies that were governments in all but name, was war by capitalism on a galactic scale. At the same time, much of their profits came from betraying those same laws they relied on to protect their intellectual property and corporate assets.
Efforts and claims to promote law and order were undermined with sabotage and theft from the competition. The truth was, at their core, corporations were nothing more than well-funded, well organized gangs of white-collar thugs. The only difference between them and men like Storen, ,was how they managed exposure to risk. Using men like him isolated them from such risk, But it also made them vulnerable to men like him.
Storen wasn't here to pass judgment on Reese for hiding a small arsenal and smuggling contraband. He was here to discover what ulterior motives he might have to be on Ashkelon Station. He was also curious if he and Wade still held some connection to the Casimir.
After several more minutes of searching Storen found something tangible. Hanging in Reese's closet was a well worn Weyland Yutani issue spacers-crew jacket. Each shoulder had a patch with a stylized CM-88 Bison freighter flying over Jupiter and its many moons. Across the back in a blocky bold font was CASIMIR. Bingo! He thought to himself. But there was more.
Underneath his mattress, Storen found a photo album. Images of Reese, Wade, and the rest of his old crew were organized neatly inside. There were also many pictures of an Asian family back on Jupiter's Moons. All the pictures were dated, some of which were over a decade old. Storen couldn't quite figure out who's family they were until he saw the letters and cards, thanking Reese for supporting them. Then he understood. Reese had adopted this family as his own.
Strange as it seemed, for a professional space-trucker that was not unheard of. Some of these crews spent decades of their lives in hyper sleep. Those who already had families could not hope to maintain a close relationship with their spouses or children over such long periods and great distances. Most eventually gave up trying, but some still craved having a family somewhere. A connection to invest in and keep tabs on. So much the better therefor to sponsor a family who were appreciative of your earnings, and your support, without being too attached and resentful of your absence.
Though he did not bother to read every letter, Storen got the distinct impression Reese was very attentive and generous with these people. He cared for them as if they were his own flesh and blood. Having no family of his own, Storen envied him that, but he could see now this was also a point of weakness for Reese. Tucked in the back of the photo album among these letters were the official documents and notices of dismissal, repossession and 'breach of contract' by Weyland Yutani for the USCSS Casimir and his Captains License.
There were also reports from the ICC regarding an investigation of embezzlement filed by Reese against his own investment bankers. Storen wasn't an accountant, but even he could put enough dots together, glancing through the bank statements to know what happened. Reese lost an entire investment portfolio. Roughly the equivalent value of several hundred thousand dollars. This occured shortly before The Company repossessed his ship about a year ago. So that's whats this is about... Storen realized. It's not just about the money. You're obsessed with getting your ship back! You need that ship back to look after this other family the way you always have.
Storen didn't quite understand how Reese could imagine reacquiring the Casimir. He certainly didn't have the money or connections to renew his contract with Weyland Yutani. Especially while working here on Ashkelon Station. Techs did not make nearly the same wages as licensed ships captain did. Is he going to steal it back? he wondered.
Theft of a space ship of any kind was no easy or trifling thing. Commandeering a huge M-Class freighter, with a standard crew of seven, did not make that prospect any more feasible. Just the two of them would not be enough. Even assuming they could board the ship without any crew on board, they would still need access codes and command over the AI to power up the ship. But maybe that's not so crazy if you were Reese, and this was your former ship? he realized.
Some of the records about the Casimir's repairs and systems refits over the years were quite unusual. Reese seemed to have a talent for modification. His technical knowledge was easily among the best on the station. Storen knew that much just observing his work in space dock. Some of the repairs he managed to patch up on older equipment, lacking parts that were near impossible to find, were quite impressive. He had to give the man credit.
Still, they would need help to pull this off. From what he could already see by the weapons and contraband hidden around his sleeping area, Storen guessed where most of that help might lie. He must have contacts within the Red Triad. It was not out of the question that some of the other techs might be in on his plan also.
Keren Ho-Stern sprung to mind. She was something of a quiet loner, like Reese, and just as odd albeit in different ways. The fact station security and an entire company of bloodthirsty CSC commando's were still looking for her certainly eluded to the notion that she was dangerous and capable of anything.
Storen shook his head putting that line of reasoning aside. He still couldn't believe what happened. Callous and phlegmatic as he might be, Storen didn't want his colleagues and neighbors gunned down in cold blood. Neither did Ze'ev. This errand was merely a precursor to whatever orders the station administrator might have for him next. And he already had a good idea what those orders might be. Nevermind that, focus on what you're doing! he chided himself. The stress of recent events and lack of sleep were starting to have an effect on his concentration. Storen refocused his efforts for a complete search of the sleeping area.
Underneath the hamper of soiled clothes, wrapped in an undershirt, was a strange book entitled 'Space Beast' by Robert Morse. It was a cheaply manufactured hardcover, roughly worn around the edges as if it was passed around by dozens of hands despite the fact it was barely a year in print. Something about this book reminded him of something. He couldn't remember what it was, and that was highly unusual for him. His memory was near-eidetic. Storen immediately flipped through the book at random looking for anything hidden in the pages. There was nothing, just a scrap of paper Reese was using as a bookmark. Storen read the marked page.
He told her how we all had taken a vow of celibacy, implying that she'd be raped if she didn't hide herself away from Lags and Junior for sure. Him and a few others tried to have a go with Ripley in the pit until Dillon reeducated them with a pipe. Even after a close call with junior she was still walking around like she had nothing to lose. Murphy was the first to find what Ripley was looking for, what she had brought with her.
Everyone thought he was daft enough to fall into a ventilation fan while cleaning the tunnel, and he was too, but that's not what happened. It didn't make sense. Everyone knew it didn't make sense, but nobody was willing to say. We'd all done that job and suddenly Murphy forgets that nine foot fan twenty paces away that would paint the walls with your innards if you fall into it. Un-fucking-likely.
Boggs and Rains were next. They went into the tunnels with Golic. Only Golic came back. Golic was always mental and now he was covered with blood raving about a dragon. Poor bastards mind finally went completely under. Even after Dillon talked to him Golic insisted it was a dragon that got Boggs and Rains. He wasn't wrong though, was he? Dragon? Xenomorph?
Storen blinked. Now he remembered how he heard about this book before. Due to the highly sensitive nature of its material regarding the Work Correctional Unit on Fiorina 161 (and the subsequent tragedy mentioned herein) this book was banned by The Company immediately after it was published. Since then this book was hard to find and especially sought after on the black market.
Curious... Storen thought, halfway tempted to keep it for himself. Crudely written though it was, the material was intriguing. No way, remember the rules! Storen reminded himself wrapping the book back up in the undershirt and placing it back at the bottom of the hamper. Breaking and entering in pursuit of his investigation was one thing. Pilfering something that struck his fancy, while conducting that investigation, went against his ethics. Though not a religious or idealistic man, Storen had a credo that he lived by. Don't get carried away.
Satisfied that he found everything there was to find here, he moved back out into the living quarters. In the corner was a vid screen. Storen examined that, it held no surprises. Next he pulled up the cushions on the couch. Nothing there but ossified noodles, snack wrappers and a few socks. The cushions on the recliner however, did hold a significant surprise. Well, well, well... Storen thought smirking to himself. This is how you intend to steal back the Casimir!