“An investigation by a joint commission of Union and Gohhian legal AIs has been performed and found that your actions were within acceptable bounds of the law, Sergeant Kiseleva,” the drone told her.

“As a result, no negative marks will be added to your record, and your duty sidearm is being returned to you.”

Kiseleva accepted the drone’s words with a nod and the compartment on its underside opened, lowering her sidearm.

As soon as she had seen the drone approaching with the underslung cargo capsule, she had known this would be the result.

Strapping the sidearm back into place, and turning away from the drone, she saw Apollonia Nor land clumsily nearby, breathing hard.

Today, Kiseleva had her chasing a ball that bounced with its own volition around the zero-g dome.

“I got it!” Apollonia said, panting. Her face was covered in sweat and she was hunched slightly, but she was holding the ball. It still jerked left or right, attempting to escape.

“Good,” Kiseleva said.

This was child-level stuff, but she had been told that Apollonia Nor had very little in the way of formal education, no augments, and was not in the best of health.

She could truly see that, and on some level she wasn’t sure if she could whip this woman into shape in a timely fashion.

She made a notation to Apollonia’s system to change her diet slightly; increase her protein levels and calories, using a few proven additives to perhaps help her build some muscle mass.

Honestly, this Apollonia girl was something of a mystery to her. She knew that the girl had failed to report for duty during the battle out of cowardice – which wasn’t unforgivable, since it was her first battle and her role was non-vital. It was not good, but no one really knew how they’d first react in combat.

Jaya Yaepanaya clearly had very high hopes for her, Kai was going along with it, and that all meant something. So, Kiseleva had decided she was going to push the woman and see how she rose to this challenge.

Thus far, the girl had impressed her somewhat with her desire to perform, even if her actual skill or physical ability did not match. She at least wanted to do well, and was managing to keep her complaining under wraps. It was always there beneath the surface, Kiseleva could tell, but she had kept a lid on it.

As for her other qualities . . .

Thus far, Kiseleva had seen nothing of her stranger aspects. She did feel a certain weight to her presence, but she had long ago learned not to judge people based on something like this. In search and rescue as well as combat, few people gave good first impressions. All too often covered in blood or mud or burns to do much of that.

----------------------------------------

It had taken her an absurd amount of time to catch this stupid ball.

She could feel it struggling in her hands, and she felt an unhealthy amount of happiness that she’d outsmarted the bastard.

Because it was smart – it hadn’t just bounced, but it had changed direction, even predicted some of her more obvious moves and had controlled its own bounces to frustrate her.

“Go on, squirm you little jerk,” she muttered.

She felt almost dizzy from exertion, but Kiseleva had exhorted her on – and this seemed like something she could do. There was no real danger here, other than her own lack of coordination and strength as she had blundered around the arena. And sure, she’d smashed herself into the walls a bit, but oh well! She hadn’t gotten a concussion this time, so she was all good.

She looked back up at Kiseleva.

“What now?”

“Again,” Kiseleva said. “This time with more challenge.”

Apollonia felt her mouth open – to exclaim a shocked denial. She had just caught it!

But she stopped herself. Dark, no. No, no, no!

She was not going to start whining again, she could do better.

“Sure,” she said, her voice sounding more strained than she intended.

Kiseleva took the ball, and threw it with a casual ease – yet it rocketed off like a bullet, and Apollonia found herself disheartened thinking that she couldn’t have thrown it that hard if she had put everything into it.

Trying to remind herself that she had no augments, she crouched, knees protesting, muscles burning, and pushed off after it.

There were thick poles descending from the ceiling. They were padded, but added extra obstacles for her to get around, and surfaces for the ball to bounce off of.

Oh Dark, how was she ever going to catch the damn thing this time?

Grabbing a pole, she watched the ball bounce off a wall and fly away from her to ping off another pole and then at the wall again.

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Could she outsmart it again? Trap it somehow?

She felt too tired. She shoved off, in a poor attempt at intercepting it.

It evaded her easily, and she cursed as she hit the wall, shoving off hard at a pole, trying to take a different tact.

It went on; every few seconds she was pushing or kicking herself off a surface or pole, her lungs burning.

Stars seemed to be swimming in her vision suddenly.

She’d felt that before, at times, but she’d never experienced it like this.

The stars were not just floating aimlessly. They were in patterns. They lit up in sequences, first dark, then bright.

She had no idea just what she was seeing.

She hit the wall, but felt nothing. It felt like she was in slow motion.

And then suddenly Kiseleva was there, her face caught in concern, speaking, yet Apollonia heard nothing.

No voice, at least.

But she heard a dull roar, slowly growing more dim.

Then it was gone, and she felt wholly different.

Stronger. She was not looking at Kiseleva, but at a scrawny girl with dark hair who was covered in sweat and looked completely out of it.

Herself, she realized. She was seeing herself.

She could hear words now, but she did not understand them. They were in a language she did not know and nothing was translating them. Even without understanding the thoughts themselves, the orderliness of them began to come out; the thoughts of someone who had become extremely focused through long practice, extraneous thoughts pushed aside or smothered, focused on what mattered at the moment.

Perhaps that was the key, she thought. The meaning behind the thoughts began to come out.

. . . I overworked the girl, overestimated her health . . .

. . . pulse is thready, but the scans can find no cause . . .

. . . medical drones on their way . . .

She was seeing through Kiseleva. Hearing her mind.

The glowing lights, she realized, were thoughts. Neurons firing. A visualization her own mind had generated.

It felt strangely obvious.

Something hit her arm. Her actual arm, not . . . Not Kiseleva’s.

She gasped.

“Nor! Speak words,” Kiseleva was saying, her voice demanding, anxious.

“I’m fine,” Apollonia mumbled.

“Her pulse rate is elevated but stable,” a drone said. There was suddenly a swarm of them around her.

“What happened?” Kiseleva asked.

“I saw . . .” Fisc, how could she tell the woman she’d just heard her thoughts? How could she even accept that herself?

“I guess I just got lightheaded,” she said. “Noodle arms . . . ya know?”

Perhaps Kiseleva did not know, or more likely that was just not an answer she was going to accept.

“Come with me to the medical wing,” she ordered.

“Yeah . . .” Apollonia said, still feeling a little too odd to want to resist. “Take me to Dr. Y.”

----------------------------------------

“The restraint suit is operating normally,” Y said.

The two Response officers from Team Two nodded, their sidearms drawn all the same. When the door opened, if Jan Holdur had been freed, he could probably kill them both before they could get them out of their holsters.

Y still marvelled at the level of augments the man had taken on. They were hand-crafted, assembled with atomic perfection. None of it was revolutionary tech, not beyond the Sapient Union’s ability – in some ways less elegant and functional, such as having the platinum woven in. But the singular cost focused into one individual was equivalent to the productive wealth of entire worlds.

It was not about practicality. It was about sending a message. For one man to have so much effort put into him made him a monument to self-gratification.

Holdur was watching carefully, his eyes moving between them, gauging his ability to strike if given the chance. There was no sense that he viewed them as anything more than targets, which Y found an incredible feat of mental conditioning.

Y kept his attention focused on the suit. The man had been systematically testing it during his stay here. Y knew he could keep him under control, but there were weaknesses in any restraint suit, and it was possible that he could exploit those and break free if Y did not pay attention.

Behind him, Romon Xatier stood quietly, the man chosen by his class to observe Holdur’s transfer. The irony was not lost on either of them, and Romon was smiling smugly, not watching the officers and prisoner, but Y.

Y had scarcely acknowledged him.

“Opening door,” Y said.

There was no loud hiss or drama as the door opened. The two Response officers moved to flank it.

“Get up,” one said to Holdur.

The man smiled darkly. He rose. His motions were stiff, half-controlled by the suit.

As he came out of the cell, two drones came in, attaching to his arms, helping to move them behind his back and link them together.

The officers stepped in, checking the man, preparing him for moving.

“I insist that we remove the restraints,” Romon said. “He is not a common criminal, but a man of great wealth.”

“His wealth has no bearing here,” Y said.

Romon stepped closer, his voice a soft hiss. “Could it be you are afraid of what will happen, machine?”

Y knew he did not mean what would happen with Holdur.

He did not reply, focusing on his work.

“It still boggles the mind to think that your captain viewed those three women as equal in value to Jan Holdur.”

“Three to one seems a favorable exchange, if one were to erroneously believe it was a trade,” Y replied absently.

“There is no need to hide the truth. I cannot speak of this to others, or else it would break the privacy of our conversations – and you could speak freely. It serves us both no good to lie.”

Y was silent again, and Romon continued.

“There are billions of women like those three. But the Holdur Conglomerate has only two heirs. Such a silly waste, really. He’s a fool, but one day he’ll grow up and learn. I will help him on that path, you need not worry.”

Y turned. “Excuse me, Mr. Xatier, but you will have to step back. We are preparing to move the prisoner.”

“And what a dangerous one he is, if you are to be believed. If only I could have brought my guards in,” he said. “Ah, but I suppose they would be of no defense against one so terrifying as Jan Holdur.”

He said the last words almost affectionately, and loudly enough to be heard by the room. Y saw how Holdur perked up, almost puffing with pride.

The man had not been an intended puppet, Y knew. But he practically worshipped Romon Xatier, and now, with even a little praise and a smile, he was gleefully a pawn again.

But more than that, Y knew that everything Romon was saying was a pre-admission of guilt.

He would kill again. He would kill with his own hands.

“Women like those three die every day in Gohhi,” Romon said, his voice quieter again. “Sad, but true, wouldn’t you agree? They have chosen lives that are difficult, but it has to be someone’s lot, society argues.”

Y knew he was being goaded, and he decided he would rise to this bait. “To say they chose is erroneous, when the other choice is death. And only some societies normalize such things.”

Romon spoke again, the cold rage behind his eyes coming out for the first time. “There’s nothing more you can do, you know,” he whispered fiercely. “Whatever will happen will happen. Even if there is bloodshed. But do not be sorry, you have simply reached the edge of your abilities, Doctor.”

The two Response officers began to move Holdur. Y transferred his work to a tablet and prepared to follow them.

As the official liaison of the transfer, Romon followed. They trailed the man by three meters, reasoned a safe distance.

“I predict at least one whore will be murdered tonight. Perhaps many more – the anger against their kind has risen to a fever pitch after what those three did. It’s so sad, yet it is the natural result of their actions.”

His voice dropped lower still. “If only you, Doctor, were powerful enough to stop it.”

Powerful enough, Y knew he meant, to stop him.