Chapter 1.

We humans are defined by the space we occupy; we are, with one known exception, in the world and of the world. Our perceptions of the spaces that we occupy, and which define us, are often encoded in light, no-light, and the various shades in between. And while not all of us have the visual senses to determine this light, we also echo locate through sonic presence – usually passive, but often enough through auto-generated tones. Bilateral symmetry has given us the ability to better locate the zones in our immediate environment; depth perception in both audio and visual stimuli. The multiple sensing organs in our bodies, the skin with temperature sensitivity, pressure sensitivity; the nose and palate for determining odors, their strength and significance; and the internal gravity and motion sensors, primarily in the inner ear, have given us unique spatial management and control. All of these sensory apparatuses are managed by the brain.

In humans this kilogram or so of gray matter is far less controlled by genetic predisposition, unlike the beasts of the field which have, in essence, predisposition to particular behaviors, which make them predictable, and easy to hunt and manipulate. Bears and wolves have much more highly attuned senses of their environments. Their sensory apparatus is far more sensitive than humans, and their intelligence for achieving their goals using that array of senses is at least as good as humans, but their goals are still genetically predetermined.

They do not long for the stars. They have little use for amusement. They are predispositioned for their own roles in nature.

Humans share this genetic predisposition – they, like their non-human terrestrial animals, have territorial imperatives, they too need to compete for mates, for resources, for position within a limited hierarchy. Where the human mind redefines its goals, it superimposes its genetic goals with the more advanced goals that it created, or its society created. So a person wishing for high office in the society will take the fixed, if imaginary, point of desire – the elected office – and use its animal cunning and skill and resources to effect that goal.

The billions of humans now living on the planet Earth all share, to some degree or other, a level of this animal intelligence, this genetic pre-wiring. But like the lower animals (those whose lives are entirely determined by genetic predisposition,) these humans are easily tracked, easily controlled, easily manipulated.

Throughout the ages of human domination of the planet, this has been recognized by leaders and rulers, and laws and moral guidelines have been imposed to manage the animal behavior in humans. Still, in the last few centuries self-centeredness has become a method wherein some humans could rise above the rest, creating new levels of society. A society of alpha wolves, almost. And through agency of their dominance, created laws that others must follow, while they enjoy fewer limits of their own behavior.

These truths are easily recognized and it bothers many humans, who have wished for a better, more moral, less off-balanced life. When society became technically advanced enough, many of Earth's humans found the wherewithal to journey to the regions of space in their solar system, primarily the asteroid belt, creating their own society, creating their own habitats, rules and behaviors that may have violated old Earth rules, but are more in tune with their pioneer spirit.

Jeffery Sokolov pondered these things as he piloted his runabout back toward the processing ship he'd parked near a relatively rich cluster of ore-bearing asteroids. Spacer society was far looser than gravity-bound Earthers. On Earth there was always someone to tell you what to do, what you couldn't do and what the consequences of doing it were.

Among the asteroid miners there was little need for government. If you could manage your own affairs with any level of competence, and not annoy your neighbors to the breaking point, then all was well.

True, there were those who thought they could handle it only to find they couldn't. Often these turned to piracy and other criminal behaviors. When a call went out about pirates, everyone in the sector joined in a coordinated defense and rescue operation. You dropped what you were doing (put markers on your ores to keep others from hijacking your load,) and high-tailed it toward the source of the distress call.

Jeffery was returning from such a call, puzzling out why nobody else in the sector had responded. The Ng family were all dead by the time Jeffery arrived, cast out the airlock unceremoniously. Jeffrey gathered the corpses with his runabout's external manipulators, stowed them in his storage hold, and inspected them. Space does nasty things to unprotected humans; it boils your blood, it freezes your flesh, and gives you a serious case of death in a very short time. Not short enough for the Ng family – the horror of watching your family members floating away from you before the fluid in your eyes froze solid is not one to recommend.

The odd thing here was Jeffery was the only miner in the region to respond to the distress call. True, Bok Ng was a piece of work, a hard negotiator, and a drunk, so he wasn't popular with the other miners that often congregated at the regional station, but he had been a hard worker and successful. His wife was more popular, and often went around apologizing after her husband insulted or otherwise treated their neighbors poorly. The kids were innocent, though. Nobody should mess with kids, and this left a sour taste in Jeffrey's mouth.

Before Jeffrey docked in the processing ship – he called it Elizabeth after his late wife – he ran a security scan. One could never be too careful. That was when he caught the anomaly. The oxygen sensors reported a considerable drain on the oxygen generators. As if the airlock had been cycled frequently in his absence. He saw no other ship nearby.

His ship, The Elizabeth was shaped like an old bullet cartridge – two sections, a long bullet-shaped living and control area, and the cartridge or shell shaped aft section for engines, holds, ore-processing and shuttle hanger bay. The fore area rotated, providing an artificial gravity for the crew. The aft end did not rotate.

The jumpsuit he wore was a good protection for short space hops, it had adequate insulation and heating and cooling coils integrated into the fabric, it had a seal for helmet and gloves and boots. But it didn't offer adequate protection for cosmic radiation. For that, and armor against micro-meteors he donned his more rigid – hard wear space suit. Of course he wore his jumpsuit underneath. One could not be too careful. He armed himself with a powerful hand-held laser, hid away a flechette-projecting handgun in the hidden inner thigh pocket of his suit. He also attached a similar device to his utility belt along with a prospector's hammer and a very sharp steel knife.

His blood pressure and pulse were elevated as he maneuvered the runabout to the main docking port. What are the things that could transpire in the next five minutes, he asked himself. While still five meters from the forward docking port he paused the runabout's momentum, hovering in place – matching the rotation of the ship, while he programmed a few instructions into the autopilot, then brought the runabout to nestle against the dock. He activated the static-attract lock rather than the more secure physical clamps to hold the runabout in place.

After cycling the airlock, he entered the first level hallway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the runabout leaving the dock. That's done, he thought to himself. Now to get to the secondary command console hidden away in the vacant cabin next to his quarters. He began to move carefully in the nearly one – g corridor, leaving his helmet on.

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As he approached the first spoke ladder that would bring him toward the center of the processing ship, two decks in, he saw a suited figure he thought he recognized, following him. True enough, it was Pauli Flegand, of the Sigmund mining consortium. They had met frequently in the past year, and while not especially friendly, at least Pauli wasn't known to be hostile. What was he doing on my ship, Jeffrey asked himself. He turned and faced Flegand.

Flegand opened the outer plate on his helmet's mask and motioned for Jeffrey to open his mask. Jeffrey, feeling a little more secure and comfortable now that he recognized the intruder, opened the mask to talk to his visitor. He noticed the air was cold, not quite cold enough to cloud his breath, but definitely cooler than he liked. He also noticed a sweet odor in the air. That's when he realized that Flegand hadn't actually opened his breathing mask, only the outer plate.

He knew he was in trouble when he saw sparks in his vision, and the field of view in his eyes became narrower. He cursed himself for trusting Flegand before he dropped to the ground rapidly losing consciousness, feeling a tingling in his arms and legs before going completely black.

He awakened in his cabin, the hard-wear spacesuit had been removed and sat in a pile in a corner. The utility belt was missing with the weapons he had secured on it. His hands were loosely connected to the utility rings on the bulkhead by metal straps. He had a small amount of play in his motion, but not much. Flegand and two other Sigmund Mining Consortium spacers wearing their signature ochre-colored hard shell suits were in the room, helmets off. The odor was gone. It seemed he was subjected to an anesthetic gas localized to the corridor. The gas had been filtered out by the air scrubbers.

“What the hell's going on, Pauli?” he asked. “You turning pirate?”

Pauli looked a little abashed, but answered quietly, “The consortium has just failed. Bankrupt.” He sat down, continued to look a bit crestfallen. “We took a ship and escaped before we were left with nothing. But Jeffrey, you know how these things work – if we don't turn pirate or we turn slave or we die. We have no interest in slaving or dying.

“So first, let's make things clear. You have no options. I have your ship. And I have you.” He looked Jeffrey in the eye and said, “We may make you an offer in a couple of days. Until then, you are my prisoner. You will remain confined to your cabin, strapped to the bulkhead. Cooperate with us and you won't get hurt, but don't, and...” Here, the two other goons repositioned their face masks, as did Flegand, who produced a small gas cylinder and opened the stopcock, and Jeffrey smelled the same sweet smell, and dropped back unconscious.

The newly made pirates left Jeffrey in the cabin, and walked toward the bridge. They removed their masks and the shorter of the two goons said, “how are we going to get secure access to the ship's systems? He seems to have had it tied up in multiple layers of security.”

Flegand said, “just leave that to me. We need to keep him alive long enough to get the controls released, and once we have the master passwords we can do what we want.”

The other goon chimed in, “And what do you mean you'll make him an offer in a few days? I thought we were going to space him.”

Flegand put his arm on the goon's shoulder and said, “That's the difference between you and me. We offer him something that gives him the incentive to cooperate. What we do after that is entirely our choice.”

The goon looked at Flegand and said, “Yeah, that makes sense – I'd have just shot him.

“I think a few hours of sitting in his cabin hungry, thirsty – that anesthetic gas dries you up good – and afraid for his life, he'll think really hard about being on our side.,” Flegand continued. “So don't let on that we don't have any control over this bucket. We need him to think that all his options are spent.” Flegand turned to the taller goon. “Rascal, go into his runabout – inventory what he's got there. We'll need more supplies than I saw in the hold.”

“But boss,” the goon Rascal said, “the runabout drifted away when he came aboard.”

“What?” Flegand yelped. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“We were busy with Captain Sokolov, boss.”

Flegand thought for a moment, then said, “Our ship won't return for another few hours, but when it does, use the radar to try to locate it. It cannot have drifted far.”

“Okay, boss.” They continued to the bridge.

Captain Jeffrey Sokolov woke again with a headache he recognized as an oxygen deprivation migraine. “Elizabeth,” he said clearly to the center of the cabin. A screen appeared on the bulkhead displaying an image of his late wife, now an avatar for the ship's systems.

“YES, JEFFREY?” the avatar queried.

“Elizabeth, EMERGENCY,” he articulated. “The ship has been boarded by pirates and you and I are in danger. My hands and feet are tied to cargo rings on the bulkhead. The pirates used anesthetic gas to disable me.” He thought for a few seconds, then commanded. “Elizabeth, increase oxygen level in my cabin and the secondary control room, and reduce Oh-two levels throughout the rest of the ship to half normal. And get me some remotes to remove the metal bands tying me to the bulkhead.”

The ship's avatar replied, “EFFORTING”

“Elizabeth, “ he continued, “override any locks the pirates have put on the systems – I want to deny them access to anything. Monitor their lifesigns and positions on the ship. If you can identify them let me know.”

Elizabeth again replied “EFFORTING”. Jeffrey had been somewhat tired of the generic term 'working' whenever he issued a command, so changed the standard replies to something more personal. He couldn't remember where he had heard the term before, but thought it was marginally better than the pre-programmed replies the computer system came with.

After a couple of minutes, a section of the wall on the side opposite that of the door detached itself and re-formed itself into a kitten-sized mobile remote robot, followed by five more or less identical remotes. They swarmed the cabin, two taking positions on the inner bulkhead on either side of the door. Jeffrey noticed they had been outfitted with small cutting lasers.

Two others climbed to the ceiling and settled on the corner of bulkhead and ceiling, folding their spider-like appendages in such a way that they appeared to be normal parts of the cabin – sensors, projectors, or other innocuous devices.

The last two moved to the rings securing Jeffrey, gripped the metal ties holding him in place, extruded a small cutting laser and cut through the ties. They repeated the procedure on the ties holding his hands in place and shortly afterward he was free. Remnants of the ties fell to the deck, and the remotes gathered them up and took them to the section of bulkhead they had originally appeared from and while one disappeared into the hole in the bulkhead, the other re-formed itself into the bulkhead to cover the space.

“Elizabeth, open access to the secondary control cabin from my cabin, and after I access it, re-seal the entry to ensure it stays concealed.”

“EFFORTING”.

A section of the bulkhead separated to form an entry to the adjacent cabin which had been re-purposed from crew quarters to a backup control room. This was where Elizabeth's primary computer was physically located, which gave Jeffrey access to all the systems of the ship. Jeffrey gathered his hardened space suit and carried it to the secondary control room. He removed the flechette projecting handgun from the inner-thigh pocket, and set the suit against an interior wall. He hooked up the electric and chemical connectors to recharge the suit, clean up wastes, and prepared it for further emergency use.

“Elizabeth,” Jeffrey said, “ display where the intruders are.” A section of bulkhead changed from the flat gray to a colored display of a ship's layout. Four amber dots flashed indicating the locations of the intruders, and a green dot showing Jeffrey's location. The amber dots were concentrated in and around the bridge.

“Elizabeth, what are they doing?”

Elizabeth replied in his late wife's voice, “THEY ARE ATTEMPTING TO GAIN ACCESS TO MY SYSTEMS.”

“Elizabeth, how are they doing? Are we secure?”

“THEY ARE UNABLE TO BREAK SECURITY.. SO FAR THEY HAVE ATTEMPTED TO REBOOT THE SYSTEM SEVERAL TIMES. I HAVE MIMICKED A REBOOT EACH TIME, AND IT DOESN'T APPEAR THEY UNDERSTAND HOW THE SYSTEM WORKS. ONE APPEARS TO HAVE STATIONED OUTSIDE THE BRIDGE. BEST GUESS HE APPEARS TO BE SET THERE FOR SECURITY.”

“Elizabeth, display radar and passive exterior sensors.” A section of bulkhead re-formed itself to an external view, showing active radar, solar wind, radio location and other communication radiations in the vicinity. The display placed Elizabeth in the center of a spherical view, with the runabout showing as broadcasting its pre-set emergency message, moving back toward Elizabeth in a slight elliptical orbit. The display also showed another unidentified ship in the area red-shifted to indicate it was heading this way.

“Elizabeth, block communications to and from us and the unknown vessel approaching us.”

“EFFORTING”

“Elizabeth, monitor and report any communication from anywhere relating to us.”

“EFFORTING”

“CAPTAIN, THE TARGET SHIP IS ATTEMPTING TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE PIRATES ON BOARD ME. ALSO THREE MINING SHIPS ARE RELAYING THE RUNABOUT'S MESSAGE.”

“Elizabeth, we are going to need to defend ourselves against the target ship. Calculate a rotation that will allow us to throw ore in the likely trajectories of the target ship. Also prepare the engines for an extended burn towards the target ship.

“EFFORTING”

“Elizabeth, if I become disabled or unresponsive, do what you can to protect me.”

“OF COURSE, CAPTAIN.”