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The explosion blew him through the flimsy wooden fence and tumbling down the concrete wall of the dry riverbed. Concussion grenade, not shrapnel; were they trying to take prisoners? He managed to twist around and land more or less on his feet, sliding in the sand deposited by a flash flood last spring. He couldn’t hear any pursuit, but with his ears ringing that meant little. He could hear himself gasping for breath, and tried to at least quiet that. He eyed the lip of the tamed, channelized ‘river’; would it be more effective to climb up closer to the house, or come up behind the attackers? Closer, he decided, and staggered off to his right at the best pace he could maintain, still catching his breath, hoping for more speed later. His body armor had protected him from the bullets of the…police? Army? Whoever. Humans. He was shaken and exhausted, but still functional. Still with a mission. Drive off the attackers so the leaders and the scientists could be evacuated. They’d had barely a few minutes notice from the orbital facility, when that was attacked. Enough time to throw out a screen of soldiers and start the evacuation.
As the youngest of the soldiers, Ivan had been placed far out as a spotter, but neither distance nor his youth and inexperience were insufficient to conceal the truth from himself. We’re not driving them off, and none of our vehicles have gotten past them. I need to close in. I can’t help, way out here. He didn’t let himself think about how many of the cadre must have already been killed. The nighttime clouds brightened abruptly as the full moon found a thin spot at the edge of the cloud cover. He was going to be very visible, very soon. He threw himself at the wall, the slanted but smooth concrete refused to give him a grip for a moment, but his toes in the tough glove-like shoes caught and he started up. As the moon shone out brightly, he rolled over the lip and sprinted toward the nearest patch of darkness.
There was no alarm. His ears had recovered enough that he could hear the usual city background buzz now. No local noise. No more shots. Am I the only one left? He was still outside the three block area of apparently unconnected buildings that made up the Cadres’ Headquarters. His orders had been to stay well out, but the absence of resistance was ominous. Moving cautiously toward the nearest warehouse, he thought about his brother soldiers. Surrendering was not possible, they were genetically engineered beyond the parameters of human. The humans would kill them without compunction.
He flinched back and threw himself flat as the searing blue white flash was chased by a blast front, then squeezed his eyes shut, jamming his fingers in his ears and opening his mouth to exhale as low pressure followed overpressure. We didn’t have any thermobaric bombs. Damn them! If the scientists had gotten down to the blast shelter…but they had been moving to the vehicles. Maybe they had gotten out the other side; as poorly connected to obvious escape routes as it was, it may have gotten thinner enemy coverage. He rolled back to his feet and this time ran away from the maze of warehouses and offices that had been his home for most of his short life. He could hear near sobs in his heavy breathing. Anyone that had not escaped was dead. If he could work his way out of the city and north into the hills, to the safe house they’d dubbed the hill fort, he’d have a chance. Anyone that escaped would rendezvous there.
Two miles from Headquarters he hit the limit of his energy and endurance. He managed to crawl in between two parked cars, more or less out of sight before he collapsed altogether. For a while he lay still letting the pain wash through him as his body labored to catch up with the waste products of metabolic overdrive, then with shaking fingers he started peeling off the body armor. From here out he’d have to pretend to be one of the humans’ slaves, one of the ‘improved’ chimpanzees. Fortunately the SoCal Metro area had the highest population density of the ‘ichimps’ on Earth. Bunch of rich humans wanting a high status servant. Demeaning, but with a higher life expectancy than the ichimps doing orbital construction. Unfortunately, since the orbital construction companies had realized that ichimps could handle the work, but weren’t subject to OSHA or Workmen’s Compensation regulations and didn’t get salaries or retirement plans, and weren’t allowed to sue, the price of ichimps had skyrocketed and their use as servants was becoming a bit rare down here.
With an angry grimace he felt for the chip under the skin of his upper arm, and with a hard pinch, activated it. The possibility of the soldiers operating undercover as ichimp slaves had always been a possibility. At twelve years of age, he had reached his full adult height, but not yet filled out; he looked much like the slave race. The programmable chip in his arm was highly illegal, but undetectable from the real thing by any means short of surgical removal.
He didn’t have any of the usual garb of either servant or orbital construction worker, but if he bundled the armor into the camouflaged quilted jacket he’d worn over it, his pants and the silky undershirt would pass muster; no one much looked at ichimps anyway. If the Cadre was dead and gone, he’d be able to infiltrate ichimp society while he thought about what to do. For the rest of his life. Alone. He started walking.
Chapter One
Two walls of the Brigadier General’s office were the total blank of switched off vid walls. Chuck Woods had always wondered if the General had south sea paradise scenes to play when the underground existence of the Lunar Base got too claustrophobic. Now he’d never find out.
“…going to miss you sorely, but good luck in your new assignment.” The General wound up his parting speech. Chuck snapped a salute, about faced and marched out. In the outer office he slumped. Criminal Investigation! What the hell had he ever done that was so bad he deserved this!
His worldly possessions, such as they were, were already containerized and loaded. He scooped up his traveling kit and headed for the railhead. Some of his fellow officers had shaken off enough of the effects of last night’s party to show up and send him off with a few jokes about newly minted Majors being a step down in the world, but all too soon he was cramped into a shuttle seat and headed for the L4 station.
The prime space orbits of L4 and L5 held the biggest of the rotating space habitats. L5 had been monopolized by Oleg Ori Orbitals since early in the history space exploration. L4 was government owned and operated, but burgeoning growth of the commercial sector had reduced the actual government offices to a minuscule part of the entire chaotic complex. As the shuttle approached, Chuck studied the mess with growing horror. There were two wheeled habitats counter-rotating; from their mutual axel sprouted a quarter of the industrial capacity of space. And sprouted was a good term. Nothing comprehensively planned could produce anything like this.
The transfer shuttle slid slowly between one of the (mostly automated) micro gravity manufacturing complexes and one of the wheels, docking gently. The passengers swam easily out of the hatch, mostly retuning workers with lots of experience, they used the magnetic boots and metallic strip that marked the ‘official’ down direction only to push off, flying until they reached the hub of the wheels and the elevators.
The L4 Criminal Investigations headquarters were on a business level of the oldest wheel; he’d never actually been here, but everything was well labeled and he found the right elevator with no trouble. The first six levels of the torus were restricted entry; engineering spaces and residential areas, probably. The last two levels were also restricted, more engineering. The twelve other levels were all public access, and he got out on the top floor.
It bore a striking resemblance to a multilevel shopping mall, open atriums to lower floors, decorative plants and benches spotted around a central corridor lined with shops, restaurants and businesses. He strolled more or less aimlessly, gradually working his way downward. Not all the housing was in the restricted levels he realized, spotting the gated courtyards of apartment clumps, and rows of townhouses. He intercepted a good number of curious glances, but most of them focused on his uniform, not his physique or face. Enough spacers were tall, fat or muscular that he didn’t stand out as huge. The abnormalities of his broad shoulders, barrel chest, hard musculature and rigid slabs of his face usually didn’t register immediately.
Inevitably he worked his way down to the lowest level where the government offices seem to have gravitated. No use putting it off any longer. He’d heard all about rank creep in the ‘non military’ branches. He’d been a HQ Captain, to his disappointment, but if rumor was to be believed, the newly promoted Major was going to have fewer soldiers under him than he’d had as a Marine Lieutenant in the field. Hopefully more responsibilities. Hopefully involving skills he already possessed or could pick up quickly. He spotted the Space Division’s Crescent-and-Comet Symbol and walked in.
The pretty Corporal at the reception desk stood and saluted, much to his relief. Still run like military unit, he thought thankfully.
He returned the salute, “I’m Major Woods…”
“Oh yes, sir!” She jumped in enthusiastically, and with much apparent relief. His stomach knotted. “We’ve been expecting you, let me buzz Private Wolfe.” Private Wolfe? He wondered, nodding permission. If I’ve missed the outgoing Major, shouldn’t I at least have a Captain?
The corporal busied herself with her board and after a brief wait the door to the right slid open and a figure tripped over some unknown and unseen object and staggered into a salute, "Major Woods, Private Sergio Wolfe, sir!"
Woods returned the salute woodenly, "Private Wolfe." He looked over the thin gangly figure. "Why don't you escort me to my office." I do have an office all my own don’t I? He managed to not ask it out loud.
"Yes, sir, this way sir!" Wolfe dived for his grip, and marched off. He
seemed to be trying to overcome the unfortunate impression his entrance
had just made. As he watched the private bounce off the doorframe,
Chuck rather thought it was a wasted effort.
Wolfe's briefing started enroute, as they passed bustling well staffed offices. "Security Battalion has stationed an entire company here, because of all the traffic. They take everything from Luna as soon as Lunar control hands it off and monitor it until it's taken by L5, L1, one of the LEO's or Johnson on Earth. And vice versa, of course. Everything coming here they keep handling, of course." They passed closed and air sealed doors down a side corridor, "And MB has a small unit here."
"Missile Battalion? They have missiles here?" Woods asked.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that, sir, mainly 'cause, like, they just
sorta' like look at you when you ask, you know?"
Woods nodded, not trusting himself to speak as Wolfe turned into an
echoingly empty suite of offices.
Wolfe marched straight back to a spacious well appointed office with,
of course, utterly blank walls. Chuck looked around hopelessly.
"Wolfe, have I got a staff? Have I got anything?"
Private Wolfe pulled himself upright and tried to radiate...something.
Then he gave up and collapsed. "Me. At the moment," he added hastily, “there’s a couple of other grunts out on medical leave, I told them, like, they ought get well really quick now.”
The new minted Major sagged into the big posh chair behind the desk,
and pointed to another chair. "Sit. What is going on here?"
Wolfe squirmed a bit then started cautiously. "Major Stevens had
relationship difficulties. She, umm, wasn't really well qualified for this
position?" he offered tentatively.
"Go on."
"Well, after there were so many grunts getting section 15's or
requesting transfers or not re-upping, Batt OK'd the hiring of civilian
contractors, but they never stayed past the expiration of the contracts.
“Then there was the problem with Lieutenant Fonseca, even though the
court marshal cleared him, they transferred him out, and then Captain
Trinity got married and requested transfer over the Major's objections
and it got way unmellow and, well…she transferred. And then I guess Batt finally figured out maybe there was one problem person, not dozens and yanked the Major's butt back to Earth."
"Leaving one private holding the bag?" Chuck asked quietly.
"Yeah, well, see, it's only been a week, they knew you were on the way and didn’t figure actually talking to Major Stevens would help. There's a lot of reports on your computer, and a briefing and such." He said helpfully. Apparently he could either read Woods' immobile face or maybe he was just making an easy guess, "This isn't a real hot bed of crime, you know. There's a civilian police department for this station that's, like, pretty good for ordinary stuff, and L5 is one hundred percent Oh Oh Oh, uh, you know? Oleg Ori Orbitals?” at the major’s nod, Wolfe continued, “they’ve got their own security department. We just watch a few grody types on the hot list that live here, respond to crimes off the station and co-ordinate with the civ's. The only fun stuff is the industrial espionage and sometimes sabotage."
"Fun stuff?"
"Yeah," a wistful note entered his voice, "I, like, you know, really like
undercover stuff."
"Is that why you keep forgetting and start talking like a refugee from, like, the Pacific Rim California fad?"
"Oh, yeah, like, you know, it's tough to change speech patterns and
not make mistakes, so like, even when I'm not undercover, you know, I
keep talking like, you know, this."
"So, why aren't you infiltrating the Malibu Bangers?"
"Oh, like, I did that last year, and, you know, until my face change is,
like, totally done, man, I, like, gotta not show it anywhere." Sergio looked
innocently at him, "It was worth the surgery to trace the makers of all
those ripoff rejuve drugs. That stuff kills people." Grin. "Like, you know.” Wolfe eyed him curiously, “Umm, Sir? May I ask where you’re from?”
Noticed something did you? “I’m from the Federal Research Laboratories, Roanoke, Virginia. I don’t know if I’m the only kid the UEG took out of there that’s still alive, I haven’t been encouraged to research the matter,” he finished dryly.
“Oh,” Wolfe was blank and silent, but not for long, “So, like, what do you think about the reports that the Chimpanzee Liberation Front is led by a,” he squirmed, apparently starting to doubt the diplomacy of the subject.
“By a Killer-Super-Chimpanzee?” the Killer-Super-Semi-Human finished for him. “It’s been over fifty years and there’s been only one incident that might mean that some of the killer chimps escaped.” He shrugged, “I don’t think it’s possible.” Given the bloody takeover of the old United States’ tangle of espionage and security departments by the UEG military after the ratification of the United Earth Treaty, it was nearly miraculous that the Roanoke infants hadn’t been killed on sight. On the other side of the continent, the illegal militia’s superchimps, fully grown, trained and armed, hadn’t had a chance.
Wolfe nodded, looking relieved, and grabbed a new subject, “Hey, Sir? We got time, like, you know, to eat? I'm hungry. I know this, like, great place, like, on level B. There's this, like really gorgeous server there and I've got, you know, good vibes, like she might kind of, like, you know, like me, too. And I was, like, wondering..." He looked like a man who knew he shouldn't be saying what was coming out of his mouth. "How much wood . . . "
"Stop right there," Chuck interrupted, "Let's go eat. Then I need to find a place to live."
Chapter Two
"Tuck us in right beside his ship," Richard Beringar scanned the surface of the fast approaching station. "That way he can't shoot at us from the station without hitting his own ship, or from the ship without hitting Spiderworks station itself." He grimaced, "Not that I would put anything past him."
The pilot murmured a vaguely acquiescent noise, fully engaged with the approach. Her wrap around virtual goggles gave her an oddly blind look as her fingers danced across the keyboard. They were coming in rather. . . fast.
"There, that little emergency hatch is perfect." He pointed.
"Tight fit." The pilot mentioned offhand as she slid the pod between the bulge of the docked ship and the station, increasing deceleration abruptly.
"Top hatch, mag clamp only."
Beringar nodded, although she couldn't see. He fitted and sealed his helmet as he swung out and up to the designated hatch. The mag clamp lights were red. The pod jolted as it made contact and the lights flashed green. He hit the hatch controls and studied the station airlock from two feet away. It appeared to be an old manually operated one-man egress.
Ms. Stick joined him before the hatch. After a moment’s silent study of both it and the sensor readouts on her helmet visor, she gently placed three passive sensors against the hull, away from the hatch.
Their helmet comps interpreted the faint vibrations transmitted through the structure of the station, deducing density changes from the time delays among the sensors, and overlaying the data on the dim lines of the holographic display of the 3D blueprint of the station.
"Normal atmospheric pressure inside, room's a four meter cube, closed hatch opposite us." Ms. Stick murmured aloud, her voice clear, with just a little background static on the comm, " Ah, liquids, here, and here. Foamers, most likely." They were silent for a moment longer as the database built up and the interpretation became more detailed. "High density points all over . Diamond anchors for monomolecular fibers." She shook her head slightly, "Now I believe Gimpy Steve about what he found in the regular airlocks."
"At least we're not detecting any Gamma sources," growled Beringar, "The NSU report said he'd had to sell them to pay for his legal defense."
"It's a pity that it's his worker 'bots that are out for repair, instead of those security 'bots." Ms Stick, frowned at her visor display, "He has wall mounted weapons just the other side of the far door. Lasers, most likely. I can't see the Spider using stun. It just doesn't seem to be his style."
Beringar blew out a breath. "I wanted to avoid damaging the station, but it looks like we'd better go in through a wall. Unless. . ." He thought a moment. "Let's try this first." Opening the cupboard behind them, he reached through and removed the indispensable sledgehammer from the repair rack. Ms Stick gave it one alarmed look, and retreated through the hatch, frowning at her readouts. Bracing himself in the hatchway with a hand and two feet, Beringar swung the sledge against the emergency airlock. It rang like a bell.
Ms Stick's laugh rang out with it, "You've set off foamers twenty meters into the station, and that's set off the wall mounted lasers. Tsk, tsk, Boss, you've just made an awful mess."
"The lasers seem to overheating and shutting down, " Beringar smirked. "Now, we can cut a path in with the diamond saws, taking the molyfils out with the chunks of plastic." He rotated the locking wheel, his eyes on his helmet readouts. No changes. The hatch swung easily open, exposing a solid sheet of foamed plastic.
Ms. Stick silently produced a thin blade with a glittering crystal edge. She sank the blade it entire length in the stiff foam. The monomolecular fibers were not very strong, but being only one molecule thick, they could easily cut anything that encountered it at any speed above dead slow. Even with the diamond edged saw, they had to be touched gently and pressure applied gradually to snap the fibers.
"There's a fiber." She pressed gingerly downward on the resistance she felt, until it snapped suddenly. She cut around an oval path large enough for Beringar to fit through, then grasping the edges of the cut, wiggled it until it broke loose.
"I hope the foam doesn't go very far," Beringar commented, as he took the chunk and shoved it to the back of the pod. "Where are we going to put it all?"
Six chunks later they were clear of the first room, and found the lasers had melted - vaporized, actually - the plastic around the booby-trapped doorway. After slapping a strip of duct tape across the lasers' optical sensors, just in case, they filled the holes with foam chunks, extending their tunnel down a long hallway before reaching unfoamed space.
"I'm not detecting anymore density points, " stated Ms. Stick. She had a sensor on a meter long probe stuck through the last of the foam taking readings from the wall beside her. "And no other discontinuities, an eighty-five percent certainty for thirty meters." The corridor curved out of sight about ten meters ahead, smooth plastic walls unmarked, one wall metalized for magnetic adhesion.
"OK, even the Spider can't have trapped his entire station." Beringar pushed himself gently out of the tunnel they'd dug through the foam. While there was no gravity, the station was not stabilized. Its slight rotation produced a tendency to drift in one direction, enough to perhaps call that direction 'down', unfortunately it wasn’t the same down the original designers had had in mind. The metalized ‘floor’ was overhead. "But I don't think we should use the electromag shoes. They could set off traps." Beringar pushed off the wall and floated down the hall.
Ms. Stick paused long enough to touch her sensor to the wall and update her comp's ongoing analysis. " According to the schematics NSU lifted from Ori's spy network, we need to cut left, well, that way," she gestured, "to reach the control room."
Looking at his own map display, Beringar replied, "I'd rather be a bit round about, where this fruitcake is concerned. If we move further up," he waved toward one wall, roughly over his head as he floated, a few inches above the 'floor', "We should be able to approach from his workrooms. It might be safer." He finished rather dubiously.
Around the curve, the corridor ended in a T intersection. “Movement.” Ms. Stick warned. “Bots to your left.”
Beringar carefully released a bit of bright yellow fluff into the air. It drifted forward, away from them. “Excellent! I always wanted to try this,” He said, taking a one liter plastic bottle out of his belt pouch. He shook it vigorously, brown liquid sloshing behind a swirled red and white label. Aiming carefully, he bounced it around the corner. A flash of light, a whoosh and an expanding brown cloud from around the corner proved that the bots were armed. “Coke Plus has twice the carbonation, three times the sugar and four times the caffeine as most soft drinks,” He mentioned casually. “It should never be opened in micro gravity.”
“That’s why it’s illegal in most space habitats. How on earth did you smuggle it up?”
“Smuggle? Don’t be absurd, Ms. Stick. I’m not a common smuggler. I simply bought it. It’s a hot black market item.” The brown fog dissipated quickly as the ventilation system detected the foreign substance and increased circulation.
“And it seems to have done the trick.” They floated around the corner, minimizing contact with the sticky walls. Six Mark XXVII Security Robots stood frozen against the wall, their optical and motion sensors coated with a sticky opaqueness. They all had red lights lit all over their status panels. One managed to track them with its motion detectors, but its weapons systems stayed inactive as the invaders floated past.
Stick stopped and picked up more sensor readings. The corridor wall lurched over and bumped her. Or at least that was what it felt like. It still looked the same. The static on the comm increased. She floated, holding very still, holding the probe against the wall. "Beringar, do you read?" He was out of sight around the curving corridor. Static. The probe continued to collect data, but the interpretation now showed the vibrations normal to humans in space suits to be in two side-by-side corridors. "Drat," she muttered, as the details built up, "This section was moved sideways." The blip that was Beringar reversed, moved closer, then past her.
"Missed me, did you, Boss." No reply. She reached over and rapped the wall. No response. "Insulated? God, that nut is thorough." She shrugged, Beringar would just have to work it out himself. She shoved off and floated down the curving hall.
***
Beringar halted and pulled a sensor out of his belt. His comp immediately began overlaying info on the schematic already displayed on his visor. "What the hell are you doing over there?" He muttered, no longer expecting a reply. Ms. Stick seemed to moving off on a diverging course. "So are you walking into a trap, or am I." He sighed. "Silly question. We both are."
****
Ms. Stick approached the door cautiously. Her sensors detected nothing out of the ordinary about the door, but there was a large moving signature on the other side. Several. Most seemed to be of moderate size, a few smallish. She stopped again for data. Was that a human, just on the other side of the door? A little small, but from the infrared signature, definitely alive. The door slid open with deliberate slowness and a theatrical screech.
The. . . thing, a dog? wolf? was obviously used to the environment of the station. It allowed its front paws, were those electromags built into its feet? to float down to the 'floor', yes, electromags, it stalked forward confidently. One eye was obviously cybernetic. Metallic spikes radiated out from its throat and down its spine. Steel teeth gleamed as an unaltered canine snarl drew its lips back.
Ms. Stick moved smoothly and without hurry, reaching for a belt pouch. The small spray bottle she extracted, she turned on herself, spritzing the surface of her suit. With a clench of her toes, she turned on her own electromags, clicking down onto the 'floor' with a sense of relief. As the cyberwolf approached, she drew her stunner, wondering if perhaps the shocker might be more effective, in this case.
At three meters, the cyberwolf froze, then its nose rose as it scented the air. Then the tenseness eased, and it opened its mouth in a doggy grin.
"Good Dog!" said Ms. Stick, in a firm tone of voice. "Sit." The cyberwolfs hindquarters thudded to the deck. Ms. Stick walked up and petted its head, carefully examining the additions to its anatomy. The creature melted as only a dog can, slumping down against her and rolling over on its back, floating off the deck.
She petted the few unarmored parts of its, his, chest and frowned at the open door. There seemed to be several cyber thing moving in there. Coming out of there. "Time to go, I think." She said, and firmly, "Heel." The cyberwolf leaped to its feet, bounced off the ceiling, and bounded down the hallway. "Why don't people ever train their dogs?" muttered Ms. Stick, as she clicked down the hallway after him.
****
Beringar hovered in the hallway, studying his helmet readouts. High-density points. He sighed. Monomolecular fibers made such a nasty trap. And those tiny discontinuities running the length of the corridor. The channels beneath them. Moving monomolecular fibers. Why the HELL did the Spider have to be the best, by far, zerograv vacuum builder?
He removed a small tube from his belt, and with exquisite care reached half a meter down one of the tiny scratches on the wall and delicately squeezed a drop onto the scratch. The liquid sank into the scratch. Nothing happened. He moved to the next scratch and left another drop of superglue. Eyeing the symmetry of the scratches, he treated one of each pair. He floated well back, and tossed his sledgehammer down the corridor. A faint hissing was all that marked the movement of the fibers, that and the way the hammer suddenly spun away in two pieces. Four. Lots. And the faint snapping sounds as the threads parted, stretched beyond their tolerances by the sudden stop of one anchor point encountering the glue. Loose, the fibers were not nearly as dangerous as they were tight, none the less, Beringar stayed well out of their way as he floated by, and deeper into the station. He could hear something, now, a voice? He tracked it carefully, not neglecting to stop for periodic scan updates.
"Come out here with that little piece of polite logic! Dirtsucker! How 'bout the two years my attorneys spent in Court in Manhattan! And all the bullshit about ‘if Mr. Spider cannot appear in person..’ IN PERSON! I was born out of a fuckin' gravity well! How the HELL Was I supposed to appear in a court in MANHATTAN? As a puddle of blood and shit?!!! Oh, oh, ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! I'm too OLD for this Shit you little malformed SHRIMP! Go to hell! No, go to someplace that has wider horizons you agoraphobic BASTARD !"
Beringar started grinning, recognizing SpiderJohnny's voice. Another voice crackled through a poor quality comm connection. He couldn't make out any words, but bet he could put a name to those purring oily cadences.
"WHAT? OH BULLSHIT! F--kin' dirtsucker! Oh, bad Words, bad Words, bad Words!!!!" A crash was followed by silence.
"I see I'm not the only one you hang up on, Spider." He said, slipping through the door. The latest model Olympus Autofocus Laser was in his hand. He aimed it straight up a large, but surprisingly human nose. " And I for one, really hate it."
Born in microgravity, SpiderJohnny did not start. The cyber limb, an arm? It looked more like a boy scout knife gone bad, that was anchoring SpiderJohnny in front of the comm, clamped on tighter, as he twisted like a pretzel and brought his enhanced eye into play. One eye studied Beringar while the other watched the laser. "You! What the fuck are you doing on my station!" his organic fists knotted, while his other three cyber arms started unfolding. Then stuck.
"Don't try to move, Mr. Spider," said a prim female voice from behind him. "This microwave vibrator is harmless to organic tissue, but it has an unfortunate effect on the sorts of hardened plastic used for friction reduction in mechanical joints. If you try to force your," she sniffed disdainfully, "arms to move, you will just deform the friction pads. They're a bit soft, just now."
SpiderJohnny rolled one eye over to the woman, and frowned at the cyberwolf leaning on her leg. "What the hell did you do to Norman!"
She didn't look the least amused. "Norman seems to be susceptible to pheromone mimics."
"Love potions!" Spider started edging away from her.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of using it on you." Distaste colored her voice.
"What's'a matter, honey, don't you like spiders?" Reversing his direction, Spider gave her his best leer.
Ms. Stick simply pulled a small shocker from her belt and shot his third arm on the right side. The tiny laser ionized the air, enabling an electrical charge to leap the gap. His whole body jerked from the shock, and as he drew breath to speak, she calmly stated, "No, I don't like spiders. Or human mutants that look like spiders."
Spider hissed a little as he let his breath out, and edged a little further away from her.
"Spider," Beringar stepped in, "I need you to do a little job for me."
The woman dropped from Spider's attention, as he rounded on Beringar. "Well, I'll tell you this Dirt Boy! I got frosted by that bastard Ori ONCE! The next dirtsucker that tries to fuck around with the Spider is getting' a nine foot ovipositor where the sun don't shine! Yeah? You think I'm kidding? What the hell do you think that bulge around the middle of my ship knits is? HUH? Some sort of weird LIFEBELT! HUH! Just let me get that Ori bastard alone for two seconds! I'll give him ‘Failure to register completion in a timely manner!’ Every goddamn shipment ahead of schedule! SIX SIGMA TOLERANCE LEVELS! And what do I get?! LESS THAN THE GODDAMN COSTS!"
Beringar was unfazed by the tirade. "My ramscoop needs a few alterations before it gets to Venus." He started.
"Your scoop! You've changed the plans! Shouldn't you have done that BEFORE you sent it off to Venus? What kind of an IDIOT are you? There's NO WAY I'm going to Venus to fix your fucking stupid toy! I don't care what that furry genius of yours says, your stupid terraforming project ain't gunna work, and I ain't gunna be associated with it!"
"Now Spider, you and I both know how much you need the money."
"Dirteating Fuckers! You and your hairy bastard cousins! And their goddamn lawyer programs! You wan' SPIDERWORK you're gonna have to FRONT the money, Earther! Mr. Purist! I got plenty of work on the Belt. I don't need you dirtsucking bastards! We got power! We got water! We got organics! What the hell do we need with a goddamn planet?! HUH? HUH?"
Beringar dipped into his belt pouch and pulled out four cards. "One, a chit for the amount you owe your lawyers. If you pay them quickly, they can halt the sale of your property. Two, a chit for Columbus Robofix, in the amount you owe them for your worker bot repairs. Three, a chit for what you owe Bailey’s Hydrogen, with enough left over to fuel up for this job. Four, a chit just for you, for the remainder of the first HALF of what I'll pay you for this job."
Spider stared at the chits, "I hate your guts, you miserable fanatic." His decibel level was noticeably lower. "I could rendezvous with the scoop in, um, four weeks.
Chapter Three
Adele Stuben flowed through the last movements of the kata and stood poised for a long moment of stillness. She relaxed, allowing the world to catch up to her, or so she had always thought of it. She breathed deeply, clearing the few anaerobic waste products from her system as she checked her appearance in the mirror, tall, not slender really, more like voluptuous over very fit muscles. Short curly hair making a black frame around a whitened face, black lips, silvered eye inserts. All as it should be.
She stripped and showered, high enough in the station hierarchy to ignore water conservation measures. Her black skinsuit contrasted with the white intradermal UV protection. She extended the theme with boots and short jacket of black leather with silver conchos and diamond studs. She eyed her appearance in the mirror with satisfaction. Today was going to be a challenge. She left her apartment on the lowest, high G, level and took the lift up to the secured office level. The identification routines in the security system automatically cleared her through 3 airseal doors as she approached them.
The CEO of Oleg Ori Orbitals was seated at his desk, dictating a letter to a rather irate sub-contractor, while watching the full wall monitor beyond his desk. He nodded to her as she entered, but returned his eyes to the monitor.
"Computer, record message for delayed posting to Mr. Spider Johnny, the usual email delivery point." Oleg watched as the two people on the monitor moved casually down one of the back corridors of the Administration section of the huge space station of Oleg Ori Orbitals Space Construction Division.
"Message begins. 'Mr. Spider, We here at Oleg Ori Orbitals take great pride in the way we deal with all of our sub-contractors, and our customers. We feel that if we deal fairly with them they will do their best to meet or beat any deadline that we have set. I am sorry to say that the Department Head of our Finance Department as well as the Head of our Legal Department have proven that they don't wish to follow the company credo. After an in depth and thorough investigation of your allegations I am sorry to report that you are not the only one to have been ‘shortchanged’ by this company.”
Still watching the wall monitor Oleg pressed a button on the arm of his chair and watched the two people react as the emergency bulkheads slammed across the corridor. "'I have authorized the transfer of the amount still owed to you by this company into your account along with a sizable interest payment. I hope this will satisfy you as to the sincerity of my earlier message to you.' End of message append my signature to it and put it in the queue for delivery late tomorrow."
The two people in the corridor started to beat on the emergency doors. Pressing a second button, Oleg drawled. "I really hate it when people steal from me." On the monitor the two people jerked back, looking at the camera near the overhead. "I especially hate it when it affects the reputation of my company. Did you two morons really think that I would be so dumb as to ignore the complaints of sub-contractors? My whole company is built on my dealings with sub-contractors. They are what keeps this company in business. If not for them we wouldn't be able to build teapots let alone spacecraft." Oleg watched as the woman noticed the airlock in the wall with the highly visible warning signs. "You both are rather stupid if you think I will let you go to a nice comfortable prison cell after the damage you have done to my company and to me personally. Don't bother to talk this is a one way voice channel. Oh, and by the way your nice healthy bank accounts have been seized by the United Earth Government after they got a tip from an anonymous source. Taxes should have been paid on that money, I didn't want you to worry about how your relatives would explain it to the government tax office when they inherit." Touching another button Oleg watched the inner door of the airlock open. A high pitched whistle in the background indicated a leak in the outer seals. "I've noticed that you both prefer to ignore company safety standards and don't wear skin-suits under your work clothes. A pity really, you both could have survived the accident you are going to have in a moment.”
Touching the last button, Oleg watched as Mark Feldman, Head of Legal Affairs and Mary Leachinbakle, Head of the Finance Department finally realized the full extent of the danger their greed had put them in. "I would say you have less than a minute before the defective seals on the outer door give way. Try not to repeat your errors in Hell."
Now, thought Adele. She sauntered over to the desk, placing a folded bundle of sunburst yellow coveralls in front of the small desk screen. She leaned on the desk and placed a booted foot on Ori's seat, but said nothing. Her left hand slipped a data card into the read slot behind her.
On the large wall screen, the executive's abandoned briefcases started sliding toward the airlock. One sprung open, creating a brief snowstorm of paper that whipped out of sight, into the airlock. Oblivious to their bleeding noses, the doomed pair of conspirators fought to force open the emergency door. The woman lost her grip and slid screaming across the deck. She grabbed a handle at the edge of the airlock hatch with torn and bleeding fingers. The man lost his grip and staggered toward the airlock, a terrified ricus frozen on his face. As the woman’s fingers started slipping, Oleg pressed a button. The whistling shriek of escaping air cut off. The man hit the floor with an audible thud as the relentless wind released him. The woman stood up, edging nervously away from the airlock, without releasing her grip.
“You have five minutes to catch the 0900 shuttle.” Oleg watched in satisfaction as they tried and failed to overcome their shock. “I highly recommend you not miss it.” The pair scrambled wildly for the door opening at the far end of the corridor. “Incidentally, you are both fired.”
Turning back to his desk as the decompression alarms started going off in the distance, Oleg picked up the hard copy of a contract from its surface and said. "Computer, erase the record of the last two days for L2-U5-S3 and place the cameras for that section on the repair schedule, on the same form as the door seals for the airlock. Send the accounting department the order to pay the delinquent moneys into the accounts of the sub-contractors I indicated in memo # 5698. Then get me a direct link with the security duty officer in one minute." Oleg sat back for a moment.
"Trying to have fun without me, Oleg?" Adele made her voice a throaty purr.
"I hated having to pay the Spider. Pity those fools didn't limit themselves to his account. "
"And I'm just certain you're brokenhearted about his company going into receivership, as well."
Ori smirked at that, running his fingers up the slick black surface of the skin suit covering her leg above the boot. "I just heard his main creditor has sold his construction station for pence on the credit."
"What a shame," She smiled, gleaming white teeth between black lips, "He'll never get it back, now."
"Security Duty Officer is online. Do you want video or voice only?" A softly seductive female voice came from his desk.
"Put her on the small monitor." Oleg said to the computer. Adele pushed her coveralls to the side, only a fold of cloth covering the lower left corner of the screen, as the face of the Security Duty Officer appeared in it.
"Yes Mr. Ori, how may I help you today?" The woman asked politely.
“I have just fired the Department Head of Legal Affairs, along with the Head of the Finance Department. They have been misdirecting company funds for their own use, I have dealt with the matter. Make sure they are aboard the 0900 shuttle, and that all their security and signatory authority is withdrawn.”
The woman looked startled for a moment then she replied. "That might explain the warrant that arrived a few moments ago from the UEG Tax Collectors office."
"No doubt. Please inform the Tax office of their flight schedule." Oleg replied with a frown. He pressed the disconnect button on the chair arm.
"My, you are generous today. Are you looking forward to the tour?" She noticed the sudden sheen of sweat on his forehead.
He stretched with an unconvincing ease, tension in his shoulders, leaking into his eyes. "I’ll want you there, Adele, to charm any of the representatives that get nosy about the money. And keep an eye on that 'Reverend' Vorp, he's a government agent, no matter how well he plays the part of slimy evangelical preacher."
"He's typecast, Oleg, no one can act that slimy. He must be worth a mint to the United Earth Government, his so called church has shut down or slowed down more private space initiatives than Parliament." She casually shifted the coveralls and glanced at the lower left corner of the screen. Three small dots, half done.
Ori was looking at the door, anxious to go, if he had to. "I suppose I should be in proper uniform." Adele murmured, unsnapping the diamond and silver studs of her leather jacket.
"Oh, no." He smirked standing up against her, “Your version of 'proper' makes everyone else look so dowdy." He ran his hands around her waist beneath the jacket. Only Ori, she thought, could find a skin suit more sexy than naked. He, himself, took his off only once a day. He took the fastest showers in space. She peeled the jacket off, glancing behind as she dropped it of the desk. One dot. She ran her strong fingers up Ori's arms. The stark white of her hands contrasted with the black fingernails, blunted, not pointed. Nothing that might threaten the integrity of his skin suit.
"Help me?" She purred, shaking out the folds of the sunburst yellow overalls. She raised her leg, rubbing it against his. Clear. Done. While he leaned down to assist, she ejected the card. When he stood again, her hand brushed his pocket. He took his time, snapping the front closure of her coveralls. Partway. If not for the skinsuit, she would have been showing a considerable amount of cleavage.
When the comp chimed and announced Ori's shuttle ready to leave, she tucked her hand under his arm and strolled with him, through no fewer than eight emergency doors in his very private exit route up to the non-rotating hub and out the extension to the nearest dock. She released him momentarily to float though the scan. It beeped for Ori, but the security man just nodded politely. When you own the station and the shuttle, you can carry on anything you desire. And Ori always did. She sat next to the window, but leaned over toward the aisle, blocking Ori's view. She could feel him, tense against her shoulder, fighting not to show the terror that beaded his face with sweat. "This will be nothing, compared to pandering to the President on his tour in two weeks. What a pain that will be." She pinched his ear, distracting him from his private phobia. "His Security objected to even the skeleton crew that has to be on board."
"Considering the size of his entourage, it's ridiculous. " Ori snapped. "My crew is hand picked. I can vouch for them all. "
Adele silently considered the recent problem with personnel, but didn't mention it. She was watching the ship they were approaching. The last five years had been so fun. What a shame it was almost at an end.
