TREADING ON DREAMS – ACT IV

 

“Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths…

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”

 

                                    -- William Butler Yeats

 

Through a kaleidoscope of color, the Dickerson burst into the black light of deep space. On the edge of long range sensors, the shining dot of the Middle Kingdom’s Tanto military resupply station glimmered like a jewel. 

Weather’s unblinking blue eyes bore into the speck of light.  “FMS, Hargrave?” he asked.

“Footprint Magnification System alive and screaming…sir,” Ensign Hargrave said timidly.  He’d never seen his captain like this… ever.  “For all they can tell, we’re an Akagi-class cruiser.”

“Mm,” Weather’s nodded, focused on the station.  “Palmers?” He never shifted his glace.    

“Sir?”

“You know the drill.  If anything should happen to me—“

“I’ll take over.” She said firmly, then after a pause, “Are you sure you want to –“

“Yes.” Weathers answered.  Unswerving.  Focused.  Obsessed.

            His XO dropped her voice to a whisper. “A military station, sir?  It’s not too late to call this off… every MK station must have the Dickerson’s specs by now… if they even think we’re—“

            “Leave that to me.”  His eyes shifted briefly to meet hers.  “If something should happen to me… will you carry out my orders, Palmers?”

A pause. “Aye, sir.”

“See that you do,” Weathers said firmly, signaling the conversation was over.  With that, he opened his mind.  No, not opened… pointed.  At that dot of light.  At their sensors.  Were an Akagi-class Middle Kingdom cruiser. You’re expecting us.  Every neuron in his brain screamed it.

“Sir?” his comm. officer chirped, “The station is asking us for identification.”

“Send the pirated codes.  They’ll believe it.”  Weather’s voice left no room for discussion.

A slight pause.  “They’ve cleared us to dock for fuel, sir,” Aurelius said.

Of course they did.  “Maintain course.  Notify me when we’re in docking range.”  Weathers made no move to leave the bridge.

“Uh… sir?” comm. officer Aurelius asked after a few minutes, “It’ll be at least an hour—“

“I’m aware of that,” Weathers snapped.  White-knuckled fingers dug into the arms of the captain’s chair.  “Maintain course.  I’m staying here.”

 

A tense hour later, the Dickerson made it’s final approach to the Tanto station.

“Approaching final run,” Helmsman Andolini said.  “Normally, we’d slow down for docking… your orders, sir?”

“Launch the Stones.” Weathers said feverishly.  “Maintain velocity.  Be ready to punch it.”

“Sir?” his comm officer spoke up shrilly, “They’re asking about the Stones!“

“Just fighters on routine maneuvers,” Weathers barked,  “They’ll believe it!”

Sweat on his brow, Weathers’ nails tore into the padded arms of the captain’s chair as he doubled his efforts.  His mind reached beyond mere sensors to the minds of men watching them.  Minds of the men I’ll kill… Weathers pushed the distracting thought from his mind and focused…

“They… seem to be believing it, sir!” Lieutenant Aurelius called out, almost in disbelief.

“Fire the Stones!” Weathers said shrilly.  “Change bearing to escape vector!  Maximum burn!”  The Dickerson lurched beneath him as maneuvering thrusters dramatically shifted direction, then slammed back in his chair as the ion drive hit full burn… just a distraction – FOCUS!!  

The deadly asteroid-bombs bore down on the refueling station as the Dickerson sped away from the impending carnage – yet the slant officers watching believed it was business as usual.  The first Stone ripped into the refueling station in an explosion of shrapnel and atmosphere.  Anguished screams of dying souls poured into Weathers’ mind like cold fire… but he couldn’t break the connection… not yet…

We’re an Akagi-class MK cruiser, David projected.  We’re heading for the digital gate…

“Captain!  Tanto station is firing on us!” tactical officer Schultz yelled,

Weather’s fingers found the intercom and signaled engineering while his eyes fixated on Tanto station.  “Bodovsky!  Is that “fusion drive” ready to go!?”

“On your order, sir!”

“GO!!”

The Dickerson’s fusion cannons launched nuclear shells that converged and exploded directly in front of the Dickerson’s flight path, ripping a hole in the fabric of space…

 “Direct grav laser hit on our port ion drive, sir!” Lieutenant Schultz yelled.

 The bridge shook as the Dickerson shuddered from secondary explosion in the port engines.  The ship lurched off course. Weathers’s concentration shattered.  He struggled to regain the psychic link as his ship spun lopsidedly toward the brief, swirling orange gate.  The disguise illusion hopelessly gone, he fought to throw off the enemy’s targeting sensors instead …

We’re… an Akagi-class MK cruiser, and... we’re heading for the digital gate… not here…

He saw a bright explosion, and his world dissolved into stars.

 

“Kill the thrusters!  NOW!”  Weathers bellowed, sitting bolt upright.

A firm hand pushed him back down into the infirmary pallet.  “The battle’s over, Captain Weathers,” Doc Cody said firmly.  “We won.  Now rest.”

“Its... over?” David Weathers looked around groggily.  Worried faces looked down at him - Doc Cody, Commander Palmers, Lieutenant Schultz…  “Okay…” he said, “what happened?”

“You passed out on the bridge,” Palmers answered, “right after Tanto station exploded.” 

“Right when everyone died,” Weathers nodded.  Now the memory came flooding back to him - hundreds of screaming voices in his head.  A chill washed over him and he shuddered.

“Sir?”

“Nothing,” Weathers waved her off and shook his head to clear it. 

“A Stone must have hit one of the fuel tanks or something,” Palmers continued.  “The whole place just went up at once.  Before you did it, I’d have said it couldn’t be done, sir, but – praise God! – the station was completely destroyed and we escaped.”

“Casualties?”  Weathers asked.  The world was coming into focus again.

“Some injuries, but no KIA,” Palmers smiled.

“Damage report?’

“One of our port ion drives is down,” Palmer answered, more seriously.  “Bodovsky tells me the damage is mostly superficial, but…” she paused.  “A few parts are beyond repair.  And we don’t have any spares.”

“Mm.” Weathers nodded as he climbed off the bed.  “That could be a problem… do we have the right equipment back at Gamma Base?”

“No sir,” Palmers answered.  “We’ll have to get some new ones.  The Yazuka black market, perhaps.  Or the K’Nes Tor… they’ll sell to anyone with enough crowns… either way, it looks like we’re out for the fight for while.”

“Uh-uh,” Weathers grunted.  “We’ll raid a slant repair base, take what we need, and detonate the rest behind us on the way out.”  He made his way to the door amid stunned silence.

“Dismissed!” Palmers barked at the rest of the crew, then hurried to catch up with her captain.  “Can I have a word with you, sir?” she asked him in a low voice.

“No.” Weathers said, heading for his quarters.  He needed to research MK repair bases.

Palmers ignored him.  “Attacking another Kingdom station?’” she asked, “Alone?  With a crippled drive?  Don’t you think we’re pushing our luck?  Someday it’s going to run out…”

“They blew up an inhabited planet, Teresa!”  Weathers turned to face her suddenly, body tense, anger darkening his face. “If we back down now, that will become their standard solution for everything - the magic bullet that cows enemies into submission.  The next time someone fights back, they’ll blow up another planet!  Resistance cell?  Blow up the planet!  Student protest?  Blow up the planet!  Overdue library book?  Blow up the planet!” 

Teresa took an involuntary step backward, caught of guard by his intensity.  Weathers suddenly realized he was yelling.  He took a deep breath, calmed himself, then continued.

“No, Teresa,” he shook his head.  “We have to fight back even harder now.  We have to show that destroying Chapman’s Folly did more damage to them then us.  Only then – maybe – will they think twice before doing it again.”

 

“Incoming call, captain!”

“On screen,” ordered Captain Jae Young Park, of His Imperial Majesty’s newly-repaired reconnaissance frigate Minami Tori Shima.

“it’s.. uh… not for you, sir,” the ensign shot a nervous glance at the Imperial Regulator.

Captain Park tried to hide is irritation as he turned to the pasty blonde hung mao invading his bridge.  “Are you expecting a call, Regulator Beatrix?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm. 

“I don’t need to be,” she answered coldly.  “Confidential, I assume, Ensign?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll take it elsewhere, then.  Your ready room will do just fine, Captain.”

Park merely nodded curtly once, not opening his mouth for fear of what might come out.  He glared at Beatrix as she swept off his bridge.  The last time he’d played babysitter to this bitch, she had caused him to loose half his crew and nearly his ship.  When he had been assigned to escort her again, his ship barely out of dry dock, he had done everything in his power to prevent it – and failed.  Now he just wanted to finish the mission as fast as possible and get rid of her.  He wanted Beatrix off his boat.  The bitch was bad luck.

 

“Weathers struck again.”  Lord High Regulator Il-Jan wasted no time with pleasantries.

“When?”

“Twelve hours ago. Tanto refueling station was completely destroyed.  But communication satellites in near orbit had enough sensor data in their buffers for us to determine it was the Dickerson.  I’m sending you those readings now.”

“Any idea where they might be heading now?” Beatrix asked eagerly.

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to that!” Il-Jan snapped irritably.  “We believe the Dickerson took some damage to their engines before escaping.  Weather’s next move will most likely be repairs.  In one of the border states, most likely.  Focus your search there.  All border pickets have been given the Dickerson’s description.  We’ll let you know if there are any sightings.”

“Have you thought of tracking any merchant who deals in obsolete Fed-era ship parts?”

Il-Jan glared at her in silence and drummed his fingers.  “Of course we have.”

“Of course, sir.  How stupid of me,” Beatrix replied, bowing her head.

“If we find anything, we’ll inform you.  And Major?”  Beatirx looked up.  “Remember… if you find Weathers, do not follow him, do not engage him.  Just find him, report, and get out.”

“Yes, si-“ but Il-Jan had already cut the connection.

Cynthia Beatrix studied the intelligence reports for hours.  The Dickerson’s engines were damaged, alright… but she disagreed with Il-Jan that Weathers would seek repairs in one of the border nations.  It was too risky, not to mention expensive.  Most of all, she couldn’t see him staying out of action that long.  No, she thought, you’d steal it for from the Middle Kingdom, wouldn’t you?  And not a commercial station, either… not if you want to stay on the people’s good side… you’d raid a military repair dock, that’s what you’d do, isn’t it?  But… could he actually pull that off, with just a lone crippled ship?  Was he that good?  Was he that insane?

She knew the answer to both questions. Cynthia began searching for any repair dock that carried equipment compatible with old Federation ships.  Then she chose the best military target. In a fast reconnaissance vessel -- with all its engines working – she was sure to get there first.

 

The pressure door to the control center blew open in a blast of smoke and shrapnel.  A hailstorm of plasma bolts poured through the door and pelted the room.  The few frightened defenders ducked behind any and everything to escape the suppressing fire.  Power armored marines sprinted through the door and jumped from cover to cover, firing at anything that moved, outflanking the defenders quickly.  Most surrendered instantly; the rest were gunned down.  In less then a minute, it was over.

“Sanchez to the Marm!”

“This is Captain Lyle – go ahead, Sergeant.”

“The command center on Vesuvius station is secured. Bravo team has secured the cargo bays.  Charlie’s still working on the habitation ring.”

“That was fast work!”

“Hell, sir, wasn’t much resistance!” Sanchez boomed heartily.  “Slants don’t waste marines on backwater rustbuckets like this.  Couple security guards with small arms - that’s all.”

“Excellent, Sergeant.  Once the prisoners are secured, load up every shuttle you can find with loot and get back to the Marm.  Just weapons, rations, and water, Sanchez - leave the spare parts to the engineering crew, they’ll know what worth taking.  And be fast. Lyle out.”

 

“Captain Weathers?” comm. officer Aurelius said.  “The Marm just checked in.  They’ve taken the administrative station of the shipyards and have stated loading supplies.”

“The Trojan Horse trick worked, then?”  Weathers asked.

“Apparently.” Aurelius shrugged.  “The Marm’s a converted freighter, so it was believable, I guess.  I’m just surprised they didn’t find an unscheduled supply delivery a little bit suspicious…”

Weathers wasn’t.  It was he who had eased their minds into believing it, after all.

“Dispatch our shuttles to help with the looting.  Still no ships in sensor range, Hargrave?”

“Nothing new, Captain,” his sensor officer replied with a sigh.  It was the third time the Captain had asked.  “Just that Daikyu-class destroyer in dry dock, and it’s still powered down.”

“Sergeant Akbar and his marines are securing that dock as we speak,” Aurelius piped up.  “Hell, if that destroyer, hasn’t launched or fired by now, it’s not gonna!”

“If we’re lucky, we can fly it out of here and add it to our little fleet,” Lt. Schultz, the Dickerson’s tactical officer, added.  “Hey, three ships!  We’ve almost got a quarter of a squadron!”

“Mm,” Weathers mused skeptically.  Something’s not right.  This is too easy.

“Did Vesuvius station have time to send a distress call?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Aurelius said.  “I tried scrambling it, but we better expect company anyway.”

“Alright, bring us around Mars, Andolini.  I want a clear line of fire if the Marm needs cover in a hurry,” Weathers ordered.  “Hargrave, switch to active scans.  There should be some sort of picket out there – a patrol corvette, at least. Keep scanning.”  And I’ll do scans of my own.

David Weathers opened his mind and extended his senses in all directions across the emptiness of space, searching for… what am I looking for?  He didn’t know, exactly - but something was wrong.  He knew that for sure.  The last time he felt this uneasy he had been walking into an ambush.  That, combined with the absence of any enemy ships, convinced him that something was hiding out there.  Palmers was right… their luck couldn’t last forever.

He sensed the dozen or so free-floating docks of the Vulcan ship yards, the Vesuvius administrative station at its center, and all the minds on each.  Once, the Vulcan shipyards had been the beating heart of the Federation’s vast navy.  Now it was ancient and horribly obsolete, its dozens of docks depleted to a handful by losses in the Vin Shiak and Bloc Alliance wars.  As a final indignity, its new Asian overlords had downgraded it to a mere backwater repair station. 

Weathers was here to destroy it, of course.  Yet he felt no guilt – only the sad responsibility of a mercy killing, like putting down an old sick dog rather than let it live and suf—

Captain Weathers?

“Wha--?!” David recognized that voice, that presence - and a moment later, the image of the blond woman that appeared in his mind’s eye.  “YOU!!” David yelled.  His crew turned to look at him, startled.  “Red alert!  Launch fighters!  Notify the Marm!  Something’s out there!”

“But sir!”  Hargrave protested, “I’m not ready any-“

“DO IT!”  Weathers commanded, then turned his attention back to blond bitch in his head.  He focused his shock and anger into a weapon and blasted his way into her mind – which, he found to his surprise, was completely undefended.  Where are you, bitch?!  Show yourself!!

I’m in a reconnaissance frigate, hiding in the sensor shadow of Mars’ larger moon.

Weathers blinked.  He paused in his mental assault, caught off guard.  Never breaking his concentration, he pointed at Hargrave.  “Scan Phobos for any sign of a ship – a frigate!”

Seconds ticked by.  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m just not – wait a minute…”

“Yes?”

“The moon’s mass is off… by about fifty thousand tons… might just be a sensor glitch…”

Satisfied?

Why are you telling me this?  Weathers asked suspiciously.

You told me to seek out the history of our ancestors; I have.  You told me this empire is a cancer; you were right.  After Chapman’s Folly, I couldn’t sit back and watch anymore. 

Oh, I see!  So you’ve seen the light and been born again, glory halleluiah!  Right?  And now you want to join me and my band of merry men and stick it to the man.  Is that it?

Well… yeah.

Bullshit.  You lie.  You’re a liar and this is a trap.

Why else would I give you the location of my ship?

And where’s the rest of the picket?

I… don’t know.  They were gone when we got here.

You lie.

For several seconds, only silence.  Don’t be a fool, Weathers!  the ice had returned to her voice.  Think of the information I have.  Think of what I can do for your cause. Think of what I can do for you!

Oh, really?  And what’s that?

Your magick is powerful, Captain Weathers… but you don’t know what you’re doing.

I knew enough to kick your ass, didn’t I?

Think how much more powerful you could be with a little training.

Oh, so you’re my mentor now?

I could be.  If you let me.  You can’t afford not to believe me, Weathers.  Trust me, and I’ll tell you how to defeat my ship.

A pause.  I’m listening.

Amami o Shima-class frigates’ capital weapons hare in fixed mounts, facing forward.  All they have in back are point-defense weapons.  Send your fighters to engage from the front, then bring the Dickerson behind the moon and disable our engines from behind.

Why not just destroy it?

Because I’m on board, you idiot!  Critically disable our engines, force us to abandon ship, and then pick up my escape pod later!  After that, you can blow it out of the sky for all I care!  This captain is a racist, sexist pig and I couldn’ t care—

But David didn’t care about shipboard politics.  “Hargrave, you reading any ships out there?”

Hargrave feverishly worked the controls.  “No sir… but I missed something before, so –“

“Send fighters to intercept from the starboard side of the moon, then bring us around the port side!”   If you’re lying, I’ll make your painful death the last thing I do…

What the—Jesus Christ, what do I have to do to convince you I’m on you’re side?  Wear sackcloth and ashes??

There was something in that arrogant, annoyed exasperation Weathers could trust.  His fighters engaged the half-squadron of fighters the Minami launched while the Dickerson, even sporting just half its thruster speed, handily swung around Phobos for a clear shot at the enemy frigate’s engines.  Weathers and his new-found ally confused the Asian pilot’s minds long enough for the Dickerson’s fighters to blow them out of the sky.  Weathers destroyed the frigate’s engines, dismissing the Dickerson’s lance torpedoes in favor of the more precise grav lasers (much to the annoyance of tactical Lieutenant Schultz) and – sure enough – the Minami launched escape pods minutes later.

The battle, at that point, was a forgone conclusion.  The Dickerson’s fighters shot down all escape pods (except one which, by captain’s orders, they captured instead).  And – wonders never cease – no enemy ships suddenly appeared the ambush Weathers’ crippled cruiser. Not long after, the Marm, the Dickerson, and their new Daikyu destroyer winked out of the system, towing a new ion drive, and leaving behind them only wrecked shipyards that, one by one, blossomed into flowers of nuclear light, signaling nothing less than the rebirth of the Technical Infantry into this new world of conflict.

It’s official, Weathers though as his little fleet, crammed full of loot and holding an invaluable prisoner in the brig, sped to safety though hyperspace.  I’m the luckiest sumbitch ever.

 

Millions of kilometers away, hidden in the debris field of a planet once known as Earth, an Imperial Regular stealth corvette watched the brilliant flashes from the Vulcan shipyards ripple across the darkness.  Aboard the craft, a communication channel was opened to Lord High Regulator Il-Jan on Wilkes’ Star.

“Everything went according to plan, sai.  Your sleeper agent is aboard the Dickerson.”

 

* * *

 

            Cho Yamazaki sat on the floor of her sanctum, her dojo, in the full lotus position; eyes closed, back straight, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees, meditating… and waiting.  Waiting for her ancestors to speak to her.  They had spoken to her – been downright chatty – that night in the dumpster. But since then - nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Zip.  Maru.

            Was it just a dream?  Another hallucination?  Cho wondered. If so, what do I do now?

            She wasn’t going to run.  She was going to fight.  It was all she knew how to do.  She had risen from petty byordokudan to master wu jen of yakuyza-Tanzhi, and no gaijin nigger was going to take that from her now.

But to fight, she needed the one thing she didn’t have: a plan.  Who was she going to fight?  And how?  Where?  She didn’t even know where to being.  She had gone over the facts a million times in her head, but nothing made sense.  Why would an oyabun risk killing her personally when he could send an assassin to do it?  How did he get in and out of Tanzhi headquarters so easily?  Did he have help on the inside?  How did he get the Earl of New Tokyo to help spike her opium?   Why was she so important to kill?… or was she just being vain?  A dozen conspiracy theories had raced through her head while she meditated on the puzzle, each more outlandish than the last.  She would fight, yes… but she didn’t know to win   So she sought guidance from her adopted ancestors, the Tanzhi… but they were silent. 

            Cho broke her meditation with a sigh, picked up her hookah pipe and sucked down a long toke of marijuana.  Drugs helped her reach clarity.  But no dust – not yet.

“What the sch do I do?”  she wondered aloud.  But there was no answer.

            Cho resumed meditating.  Her head drooped.  Her arms fell.  She was drifting to sleep…

            You are one of us; you are family; you are Tanzhi; you will save us from the gaijin.

            Cho’s eyes snapped open.  “What the fuck does that mean?!” she asked the empty room.

            No answer.  Another dream? 

            You can not win this battle alone.  You need allies.  Your kobun.

            Cho blinked.  Clear as day – it was no dream.

            Well, if it was her students she needed, she knew where to start. Toku Tanzhi would expect it, of course – he would have shatei watching for her every step of the way – but she could handle them.  Sleepers never understood the full power of wu jen.  She headed for the door.

            But as she donned her leather jacket, they spoke once more.

            They must choose to follow you… or they will betray you.

 

Cho knocked on the door of #24 Iyokudu Plaza.  The door opened a few centimeters and the hardened face of a yakuza shatei peered out at her across a steel security chain.  “Yeah?”

“Uh…” Cho looked down at a datapad, faking mild confusion.  “Apartment 24?  Got a problem with your Imperial Network connection, right?”

“It’s about time you got here!” Cho’s fat hacker apprentice Yoko exclaimed, bursting into view in the background.  “My ImpNet connection’s been down for almost a full hour!” 

Neither of them seemed to recognize her.  Disguise must be working, Cho thought.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take a look at it,” Cho said, trying to make her voice sound politely bored. 

Yoko yapped an impatient plea at her Yakuza bodyguard. The door closed; Cho head the clink of the security chain being unlatched, then the door opened wide.

“I can ping the other ‘puters in the ‘partment an’ that’s okay so it must be the ImpNet connections so I reinstalled the protocols an—“ Yoko yammered at her as Cho stepped inside the apartment and looked around discreetly.  Only one bodyguard.  Good.

            “You the tenant?” Cho asked the Yakuza shatei, turning to him.

            “… so I tried a loopback address for my home ‘net an’ got a 582 error so I know it must be a problem with your connection so I...” Yoko babbled endlessly.

            “Naw, she is,” the Yakuza thug said.  “I’m just—“

            Suddenly Cho slapped a palm against his forehead.  Sleep, she commanded.  He slumped to the floor. Cho spun around and slammed the door shut .  Yoko’s endless technobabble stopped abruptly.  She stared at her helpless bodyguard and blinked, not understanding what had just happened.

            “Bo yun jian ri,” Cho ran curled fingers across her face, and her own features returned.  Yoko looked at her and blinked again.  Cho stood perfectly still, gauging Yoko’ s reaction.

            “Cho?” Yoko asked bewildered.  Cho detected no fear or panic in her voice, only puzzlement.  It was a good sign… but there was only one way to be sure…

             “What are you doing he--“

Without warning, Cho seized the fat girl by the neck and heaved.  The 300 pound girl flew backward onto her sofa with a dull thud.  Cho pounced on the helpless fat girl, one hand choking off any questions with a tight grip around her throat, the other hand seeking out acupressure points on her face to force a psychic link.  “Someone betrayed me,” Cho growled, “Was it you, fatso?  Zhan shi bu ke gao ren…  ” Cho chanted as she tore open Yoko’s mind.

Yoko struggled weakly and whimpered as Cho dug into her thoughts, memories, and secrets.  Cho swept through Yoko’s emotions – fear, panic, confusion… but no guilt.  Cho skimmed her surface thoughts… Yoko would have told Cho anything… but she didn’t understand what Cho wanted.  Betray you?  What do you mean?  Yoko thought.  We let you smoke too much?  I dunno… maybe we did..?  Enough of this bullshit; Cho sent a single word booming through Yoko’s mind – CORNELIUS – but she sensed no recognition; Yoko didn’t know what it meant.  Yoko squealed in pain as Cho pushed deeper into her mind.  Cho broke through Yoko’s barriers of denial and navigated mazes of rationalization to where Yoko’s deepest of secrets lay, faded by time and cloaked with shame – and then Cho knew everything.  She knew the insult other girls called Yoko in school.  She knew which tests Yoko had cheated on.  She knew where she hid her soft-core romance novels, how much money she embezzled from the Yakuza, and the passwords to all her secret files.  Yet Cho only touched each memory for a second and moved on, searching for evidence – any evidence – of betrayal… but found nothing.  Slowly Cho released her, physically and psychically, and stood up.  Yoko sagged into the sofa, tears in her eyes, gripping her aching head. 

            “Wh- what do you want, Cho?” Yoko asked fearfully, curling into a ball.  “Money?  Dust?  Take it!  Just don’t hurt me!  Please!”

            “Calm down…” Cho said soothingly.  “That’s not why I’m here.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

            “Yes you are!”

            “Well, okay, yeah, the mind probe,” Cho shrugged, “But I had to do that, Yoko.  I had to know if you were the one who betrayed me.  But now that I-“

            “But it hurt!”  Yoko sniffed.

            “I – I know!  Look, I’m… I’m sorry, okay?  If there were any other way, I woulda done it, but there wasn’t, y’know?  So I had to.  But I’m not gonna hurt you any more, so quit bitching.”

            For a moment, Yoko just stared at Cho, blinking, stunned and a little afraid.  Cho didn’t want to admit it… but she knew why.  Cho never apologized for anything… and Yoko knew it.

“Well… then… why are you here?”  Yoko finally asked suspiciously.

            “Because I need your help.”

            “My help?” Yoko said doubtfully.

            “Yeah.  I need information,” Cho explained.  “You’re the best hacker I know.  And the only one I would trust further than I could spit on.”

“So… just information?  That’s all?  Then you’ll leave me alone?” the chubby girl asked.

“Yes.  I promise.”  It was pointless; Yoko knew what Cho’s promises were worth.

“Well… uh... what do you need to know?” Yoko said hesitantly, obviously stalling. 

“Well, for right now,” Cho answered, “just find out where Usha, Nhut, and Hung are… but I’ll need a lot more later.”

“uh… more… later?”  Yoko asked, confused and obviously uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Cho nodded gravely.  She pulled up Yoko’s coffee table and sat down on it, facing the frightened young girl.  “I’m on the run Yoko.  Everyone and their dog is after my ass.  But I didn’t do it, Yoko… I was poisoned… it’s fucked up, I haven’t got time to explain it all right now, so you just gotta trust me.  I need you to come with me and help me clear my name.” 

“Go with you?”  Yoko stammered, “Go where?”

“Don’t know yet” Cho shrugged.  “I need you to help me figure that out too.   Now hurry up and get online, we’re wastin’ time.”

“Uhhh…” Yoko looked over at her computer… but didn’t move.  “I’m… not really supposed to, Cho,” she said in a low voice, almost a whisper.  “You’ve been disowned by the family… I could get in a lot of trouble… y’know?”

A burst of anger seized Cho - she couldn’t stand it when her students argued with her!  She felt her hand curl into a fist.  She wanted to deal with Yoko’s analytical, questioning attitude they way she always had – by beating her into obedience.  But—

            They must choose to follow you… or they will betray you.

            Cho uncurled her fist.  She tried to push back the anger and calm down.  With trembling hands she pulled out a pack of Nirvana Marijuana cigarettes and lit one.  Yoko watched her with wide frightened eyes.  Cho took a long drag.  It helped.  Yeah, they’re probably right, Cho thought as she exhaled.  If I force the fat bitch to come, she’ll just run the first chance she gets…

“Okay, Yoko, you’re right.  I’m askin’ a lot,” Cho said.  “So name your price.”

 “Um... what?!”  Yoko blinked, caught off guard.

            “What do you want, Yoko?” Cho asked.  “Name it, and it’s yours if you help me.”

            “Uh… well… I dunno…” Yoko stammered, obviously unprepared for the question.  “I … uh… a million crowns?  And a new Kwonsi motherboard?”

“Gosa!”  Cho scoffed.  “I know what you really want!”  Cho stared Yoko dead in the eye as she took another hit off her joint.  “You want to be thin, don’t you?”

Yoko said nothing.  She looked away.

“You want to be thin like Shoko,” Cho pressed.  “You want to be as sexy as Usha.”

Yoko was silent.

“And you’re horny for Miasu Kyoso. Everyone know it.”

“Cho!” Yoko gasped, shocked and embarrassed, as her face turned red.

“You want him to look at you and say, ‘Gol-RAM, who’s that piaoliang?  I’d sure like a piece of THAT Tanzhi ass!’… don’t you?”

Yoko just giggled nervously and blushed harder, and hid her face in hands.

“Too bad he things you’re a fat pig,” Cho shrugged.  Yoko abruptly stopped giggling.  “They all do, you know.  Probably ‘cause it’s true.”

“Cho…. Yoko whined.

“You don’t like how all those prissy yakuza bitch-whores in their dumbass schoolgirl outfits treat you like crap just ‘cuz ya got an ass the size of China… do you?  And you hate being called Yocow Tonzhi.”

“Chooooo,” Yoko moaned, “stop… please… just stop…”

“Help me clear my name,” Cho said fiercely, “And I’ll make you thin!”

“How?!” demanded Yoko skeptically.

“Magick,” Cho answered simply as she conjured a ball of fire in palm.  “Spells.  Potions.  Hell, diet and exercise if I have to!  But if you help me, Yoko, I will find a way!  En katame itto on waga zinghi!”  Yoko knew the Yakuza oath: I swear it on my honor.  Even Cho would take that oath seriously... somewhat.  Cho paused to smoke her joint, studying Yoko’s face.  She could tell the fat young girl was tempted.  Just a little more…

“You’ll be in trouble with yakuza-Tanzhi for a while, yeah… and you’re uncle Toku’ll be pissed as hell…” Cho continued, “but as soon as I clear my name, it won’t matter.”

“And… if I say no?”  Yoko asked.

Cho took a long drag off her joint as she fought down another surge of anger and violence.  “Then I leave,” Cho answered, clearly to Yoko’s surprise.  “I’ll have to wipe your memory, of course,” Cho shrugged, “but if you don’t fight me it won’t hurt.  Well, not too much…”

“Will you be able to clear your name?”  Yoko asked.  “How long will it take?”

“Shouldn’t be too tough,” Cho shrugged.  “Someone poisoned my Khymer Rouge to make sure I’d blow the hit.  The time I was here… when I got sick an’ passed out… I dropped my pipe,” Cho said.  “Any idea what happened to it?”

            “Yeah.  It broke,” Yoko answered, pointing to an overflowing wastebasket next to her computer terminal.  “I threw away the pieces.”

            “How long ago was that?  How long was I out?”

            Yoko looked at her.  “You don’t know?”  Cho shook her head. “Three weeks.”

            “Three weeks… hell, a month by now…Buddha, I’ve lost a lot of time!”  Cho muttered to herself, before turning back to Yoko.  “Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t throw out the trash yet.  Am I right?”

            “Um… well… yeah,” Yoko admitted, looking embarrassed.

“KICKASS!!  I knew it!” Cho yelled and she jumped in triumph and victory-danced her way over the wastebasket while a dumbfounded Yoko looked on.  “Thank Buddha you’re a slob, Yoko!” Cho said, then kicked the basket over, spilling the contents over the carpet.

“Hey!” Yoko protested… but gave up as Cho digged franticly through the garbage.

“Got it!” Cho yelled, grinning as she held up the broken pipe bowl.  “How close am I to clearing my name?  A hell of a lot closer now!  Hell, if I can get this analyzed and prove the dust was spiked, that might all I need!”

“Cho…” Yoko said hesitantly, “I… I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.  I mean, I smoked some of that Khymer Rouge… and I didn’t get sick…”

            Cho rolled her eyes.  “Of course not!  How much did you have?  One toke?  Two?  I smoked three bowls, Yoko, almost back to back!  I smoke like a chimney, got the tolerance of an elephant, and everyone knows it!”

            “That’s… possible…” Yoko conceded, “but how did you know it was—“

            “I’ll explain later!” Cho cut her off, carefully putting the broken pipe pieces in her pocket.  “Every second I’m here, the yakuza could catch me - I gotta keep on the move!” Cho explained urgently.  “Look, I need an answer, Yoko – now.  You got two choices, kid… you can come with me, go on an adventure, and end up being a thin sexy wu jen, or you can stay here and be a fat ugly lonely hacker working casino tech support.  Now are you going to help me or not?”

            Yoko blinked.  She looked scared.  For a second, she was silent…but then she nodded.

            “Hai, sensei.”

            One down, Cho thought, three to go.

 

* * *

 

“ETA to Beacon five minutes!”  Edward Ramsey’s voice shrieked over the intercom.

James bolted out of his bed; scrambled to the metal rack against the wall of his quarters, and pulled on some pants and a pair of the felt boots most of the crew wore around this ship.  He paused at the door for a moment while he recovered from the shock of standing up too fast.  He tore open the door and fairly ran to the control center of his freighter, the Resolve.  Less than a minute had passed since the alert woke him.

“Status?”

Crewmen and women crowded into the chaotic bridge, strapping down at their respective stations.  Ramsey called out without looking up from his terminal, “Just crossed the five-thousand klick mark; all systems running hot.  Three minutes…”

James had an acceleration chair installed on the starboard side between the pilots’ station and the signals terminal complex.  He sat down and buckled the four-point belts together.  He’d just registered the final click when Pritesh Patel stumbled into the command center at last, clutching his head.  “We’re coming in today?!” he groaned.

Ed glanced over his shoulder now, “Yeah, and you’d better get your ass over here, we’re coming up on a thousand klicks.”

The Chief Astrogator groaned, but moved to his seat a couple meters away from James, strapping himself in with one hand.  “Uh…all right, Horadrim…” he ran his hand through his hair, straining to clear his head.  “Yeah, we’re going to want to drop in pretty tight, say half a klick from the beacon.”  He turned toward James, “And you’re going to want to have our authorization codes ready, the devils have a reputation for itchy trigger fingers.”

James pulled up the files from his console, and transferred them to a datapad.  Ed Ramsey looked up from his instruments again, “Okay, we’ve hit that threshold; you want to try this gizmo out, Nik?”

Senator Samothrace had not been joking when he said this mission was high priority.  From New Paris to Augustus system, the Resolve had been cleared through the digital gate system.  Hyperspace cut travel time between systems hundreds of light years apart from lifetimes down to days, but even that miracle of transportation was outdated technology.  Digital Gates, incredible feats of macro-engineering which broke down matter passing the threshold, and transmitted it via near-instantaneous tachyon signals to identical gates in the next system, where travelers were reassembled; with no apparent lapse of time.  One of the few good deeds that James credited to the Middle Kingdom was the massive expansion of the digital gate complex from the tiny, experimental system of the Federation.  Even so, a single digital hop could cost a captain one hundred thousand crowns, depending on the size of his vessel; meaning the system was only used by the most important of government VIPs, the military, and the largest shipping conglomerates.  This was the second time in his life that James got to ride the system for free.

There was, however, no digital gate connection between the Middle Kingdom and the Horadrim Empire.  There was not even a commercial hypergate in operation linking the two nations, though James had heard rumors that the Western Reserve was constructing one of its own.  All routes in or out of the Empire were controlled by the military, and for a commercial shipper that could be seen as an even higher barrier than digital gate fees.  At the hyperspace beacon marking the Augustus system, an Imperial Fleet destroyer had blown open a temporary entrance to hyperspace, through which the Resolve had passed.  The devices needed to do that could only be found on military vessels, since they required enormous amounts of power and involved some highly classified equipment used primarily in large weapon systems.  But no military ship followed the Resolve, nor was one waiting at the Istoral beacon to allow James and his crew back into the normal universe.  They were instead relying on one of the many near-magical Horadrim technologies, a beacon which would automatically open a tear itself when given the proper military authorization.  And in fact, the system marker appeared wildly different from the ones James had seen in the human systems.  But he didn’t have time for a closer examination of the bulbous, not-quite-metal monolith.  Nikola Tesla sent whatever signal he’d had prepared and, a short burst of light later, the Resolve was crossing back into familiar space, and the opening into hyperspace whirled closed behind.

“Hailing, military and emergency tags!”  The comm officer, Laura Matheson spun around in her chair.

“Let’s hear it.”

There was a short burst of static from the ship’s speakers, and then a vaguely electronic voice, “Imperial Horadrim Fleet Cruiser Shhhaaaaaaaaaaasssss of Istoral System Defenses to unidentified freighter entering from Augustus System.  The Emperor Vin Dane commands you to identify yourself and give proper authorization and activity parameters.  Failure to comply will result in immediate destruction.  Message repeats once.  Imperial Horadrim…”

James hesitated a moment before reading the prepared script.

“Independent Civilian Ship Resolve of the Middle Kingdom, Captain James Welthammer.  Here for minor trading in goods and routine business transactions.  Authorization code follows: M-K-I-F- two-two-seven-two-point-five-point-one-eight-point-seven-zero-three-nine, repeat: MKIF2271.5.18.7039, authorization code ends.”

There was silence for a moment, and James hoped they weren’t all about to blasted into oblivion.

“Resolve, declare all cargo and passengers to be exchanged.”

James realized he’d been holding his breath; he let it out and responded.  “We are carrying no non-permanent passengers and a cargo of heavy metals, approximately a hundred kilos.”  That was James’ emergency fund of platinum, but he thought it best to say he was trading something.”

“Welcome to Istoral System, Resolve.  You are reminded that this is sovereign territory of the Horadrim Empire, and Imperial Horadrim law is to be obeyed at all times.  You may access a visitors’ summary of regulations via the system navigational beacon.  Discom.”  The signal broke.

“Friendly devils, aren’t they?”  Nik Tesla had unstrapped from his seat and was stretching, “But I guess they did let us through.”

 

The Horadrim Empire had once covered nearly as many worlds as the Middle Kingdom did now.  Or at least, the Horadrim had told the writers’ of James’s history texts it did; and considering what James had seen of Horadrim technology, he believed it.  But, not long before Humanity’s first contact with the Horadrim, war with the Caal had destroyed that empire, and nearly exterminated the entire Horadrim species.

Since that time, the world toward which the James was descending had been a barren wasteland of a Bug world, known as M7.  But, with the aid of the Middle Kingdom, the Horadrim and the Western Reserve had been prosecuting an eerily successful offensive against the Bugs, cutting the Quarantine Zone to a fraction of its pre-VS War size; providing room for the Horadrim to expand, and a near-endless supply of warriors for the MK exobiology labs.

The change in the planet was unbelievable.  Like most of its planets, the Bugs had turned M7 into a rocky desert, their extensive underground nests, and the waste they produced making the surface hostile to the development and survival of its native life.  But Horadrim terraforming was hardly short of miraculous; legions of nanoscale robots had bulldozed and revitalized the planet in under a decade.  Istoral was not New Paris, to be certain; most of the mountainous terrain was covered by scrub and brush; but there were recognizable belts of green along the ocean shores.

Istoral was the third most populous of the Horadrim worlds, after Hodraida itself and the two planets of the Safava system.  Even at that, Horadrim on the planet numbered under ten million; the species was still recovering from its near-extinction centuries ago.  Most of the Horadrim’s administration offices were located on Hodraida, which made James wonder about what this spy was spying on.  The only thing James could think of was that the MK was trying to steal some of the Horadrim’s super-advanced technology; Istoral was home to one of the race’s primary bioengineering plants.

“Captain?”  Tanya Kaul’s voice cut through his daydream.

James shook his head clear, “Eh?  Sorry, I was wool-gathering.”

Tanya gave him a look, “Right, well we’re coming up on the spaceport; they’ve already got us cleared for a pad.”

It was a midsized spaceport of rather unremarkable construction, after all the Horadrim wonders James found himself a bit disappointed.  A spaceport was a spaceport, and James guessed that all that fancy technology would be money wasted on an otherwise simple design.

What James did find remarkable was the number of K’Nes ships occupying the fungicrete berths.  James estimated that the large, outdated cargo shuttles occupied about three out of every four landing pads.  Tanya put the pinnace down in one of the smaller bays, which was only just large enough for the military landing craft.

James undid the crash belts, “Okay, I’ll be back in an hour or two, I don’t expect this guy wants to hang around for too long.”

Tanya adjusted the pilot’s chair to its maximum recline setting, “Wake me then.”

 

James was even more astonished once he got out of the spaceport.  The cat-like K’Nes outnumbered the Horadrim nearly five-to-one on the streets.  He knew the Horadrim were still struggling to get their numbers back up, and the traders were out in force in every port city; but this was insane.  James’s brain grappled with the oddness as he wandered through the city with the unpronounceable Horadrim name (James hadn’t even bothered to read all of the lengthy yan-giz transliteration) looking for the café where he was supposed to meet his passenger.

Eventually he found the place, recognizing it by the Horadrim symbols he’d copied onto a piece of paper; again he didn’t bother to read through the too-long transliteration.  The café was open to the outside air, which was pleasantly cool, though James suspected there were invisible protections to maintain sanitary conditions.  Most of the people inside were humans in business suits, representatives of trading corporations no doubt, and there was also a scattering of Horadrim and K’Nes, James assumed it must be break time in the city businesses, it was just after noon local time.

James didn’t know who his contact was; Ian had said the spy would find James himself, so the spacer headed for the service counter.  James found himself in an unusually adventurous mood, so he ordered a drink made from some Horadrim fruit, carbonated and with a mild sedative; it was good, but the price meant it would probably be the only one he’d ever have.  He found a chair at a small table and sat down, sipping the drink.

A hand clamped onto James’s shoulder, “Why, Manuel Garrett, you’re just on time, how are you today?”  James hesitated before he remembered the name he would be identified by.  He turned around to face his charge.  The spy was a short, round Caucasian man with thin grey hair combed across his bald head.  James smiled and shook his hand.

“I see you’ve started without me,” the spy indicated the glass in James’s hand, “if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll be right back.”  James watched as the man sauntered up to the counter and ordered some black coffee, he returned grinning.

The jolly man sat down across from James, “I’m Page, by the way, Theodore Page, call me Ted.”  Without any noticeable lapse in his jovial disposition, Ted reached across the table, grabbed James’s drink, pulled a small capsule from inside his jacket, and cracked it over the glass, allowing a white powder to fall into the liquid.  Still smiling, he shook the glass slightly, and handed it back to James.

“Drink this.”

James stared at the drink, stupefied.

“Drink it now; it won’t hurt you, all right then.”  James picked up the glass, his mind still several steps behind, and took a big swallow from the glass, clenching his teeth against the lingering carbonation.

            “Wha—?“

            “The Horadrim have the amazing ability to sort of read a person’s emotions; that will help regulate your state of mind, sort of a chemical disguise.”

            James nodded, still completely lost.

            Still cheerful, the plump man leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee, “So you’ve got a ship have you?”

            James nodded.

            “Right, well I’m eager to get out of here, if you know what I mean.  I trust you’ll be able to get by the authorities all right then?”

            James had a sudden feeling of déjà vu, but he shook the feeling from his head.

            “Yeah, it’s all cleared and legal.  We can ship off as soon as you’re ready.”

            The man kept sipping from the foam cup, “Well, we’d better stick around here for a while longer, best not to look like we’re in too much of a hurry.”

            James nodded again.  Several moments of silence passed between them.

            “So…you’ve got all the information?”

            The spy smiled, set down his cup, and pulled a standard datapad from his jacket, “All the accounts right here, looks like they really were fudging on their books.”

            James played along, “Well, they certainly won’t be having a good time once we publish the audit.”

            Theodore laughed, “No they certainly won’t be.”  James had another sip of his drink; he was beginning to think it might be worth the price.

           Without warning, the spy took a big gulp from the coffee cup, then slammed it onto the table.  “Well, we’d better be going; home office doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

            James wasn’t sure he liked the sudden change in Ted’s behavior, but he didn’t argue, he finished off the last dregs of the Horadrim drink, then followed the spy out of the café.

           Ted pointed, “Spaceport’s this way, right?”  James agreed, and they set off at a good walk, fast but not noticeably hurried.

            Still speaking in cheerful tones, Ted made a gesture as if he was telling a fishing story, “There’s a Horadrim following us, about three meters behind and to our right, I’ve seen him a couple too many times in the past weeks.”

            James laughed in response, and hoped he didn’t seem too nervous.

            But they reached bay where the pinnace was resting without incident.  James woke Tanya, and they were soon powered up and prepared to lift.

            James directed the spy to the rows of crash seats lining the walls of the pinnaces rear compartment, and told him they would be rejoining the Resolve in about half an hour.

            “Good,” the man snorted as he strapped in, his laughing façade gone, “the sooner the better.  I don’t think you need to be told how dangerous the Horadrim can be.”

 

            Forty-five minutes later, the pinnace was docked, and James had introduced Theodore to some of the senior crew members who were on hand plus Major Shrak, and was now directing the spy to the ship’s receiving room.

           “Welcome to the Resolve, M. Page.  I’ve told my Astrogator to ship out, and we should be out of system in a few minutes.  Can I get you anything?”

            The spy stretched his hands over his head, “No thank you, Captain Welthammer,” James had told the man his real name on the flight up to the ship.  “Did you call this a yacht?  It looks more like a freighter to me.”

            “No sir, the ICS Resolve is my own personal pleasure yacht; cargo haulers require trade licenses and are subject to tariffs and commercial shipping fees.”

            The fat man chuckled, “I see.  You’re lucky I’m not in Customs, or I might have to report you.”

            “How are the clandestine services in the Senatorial Police?”

            This laugh was darker, “Well, if you believe the recruiting ads, like me, it’s a cakewalk.  I don’t call having to control your very thoughts a cakewalk, though.”

            James shook his head in sympathy.  “Heh, what were you spying on anyway?  Isn’t all the government on Hodraida?”

            This question brought on another laugh, louder, “Oh, if only you knew…”  The spy smirked at James.  Then he paused.

           “Actually…”  The balding man pulled the datapad from his jacket again, and turned it over in his fingers, “Ah, what the hell.  The SP can kiss my ass after that assignment, and it’ll be all over the news in a week anyway; Treschi’s not stupid.”

            James blinked, “What’s that?”

            Ted laughed again, “Captain, it’s your lucky day; this spy doesn’t give a shit anymore.”

            James leaned forward intently.  The spy continued to twirl the datapad through his fingers, “Well, it basically comes down to Vin Dane abusing Imperial Security, he’s pretty much turned the whole bureaucracy into a puppet, keeping the MK down so that he can build up his own Empire out here.”

            James frowned, “Hell, Ted, I didn’t know that was a secret, isn’t it obvious?”

            The spy snorted, “You probably noticed the big plant outside of town.  It’s a bioengineering site, makes a lot of the biological components that go into Horadrim tech, named after one of their scientists whose name isn’t worth taking the trouble to say.  Anyway, this plant’s been retooling recently, they’re not making as much of the same stuff they used to be.”

            “So?’

            “So, the Horadrim don’t really make this kind of dramatic change.  Their technology is so great, that any advancements they make are incremental, minutiae.  Something big is going down.”  He paused for a moment, “We really didn’t suspect anything, much less notice the change until a couple months ago.  The Senate Chairman on the Science and Progress Committee comes to us, and says Jai Nalwa from ImpSec has been bugging him about some research project out on New Madrid, wants to upgrade the project status, move it over to the bureaucracy’s jurisdiction.  Anyway, it’s some kind of study into behavioral therapy methods, cure addictions, that kind of thing; so the Chairman can’t figure out what ImpSec has to do with it, and he asks Samothrace to get Nalwa off his back. 

“Well, about that time, this Horadrim biotech company puts in a huge order for some of the early products from the corporation sponsoring this project.  That’s the point where they send me in.  I’m down there for a couple weeks, and let me tell you, you can’t get anything out of those devils.  I talked to some of the K’Nes traders bringing the stuff in, they don’t know anything.  Corporate literature doesn’t give us anything we don’t already know either.  It’s just some compounds, hormones to help regulate mood swings, emotions.  Hell, like that stuff I put in your drink, not anything unusual.

“So I’m about to call the whole thing off, say there’s nothing down here to find, just some overcurious Horadrim scientists; when the lead scientist in charge of the research project gets his lab burned down and disappears.  Well the Imps go nuts, put out a manhunt, lock down the entire New Madrid system looking for this guy.  Of course I can’t leave then, now headquarters is really curious.”

James was reeling; he couldn’t help himself, “This scientist, a Doctor Hicks?”

The spy nodded, “Yeah, guess you saw the news, Imps were on a real wild goose chase.  Anyway, I keep digging of course, getting nothing as usual, until last Thursday.  I’ve got the break I need, one of those Human/Horadrim hybrids they’ve got running around, works at the plant, anyway he agrees to get me the real story for some cash, says he can’t reject his humanity.  Of course, the money’s not a problem, so two days later he comes to me with this.”  He held up the datapad.  “And let me tell you, Captain, you only thought you knew the score.”

 

 

END OF ACT IV