He woke to the sound of interns removing the stopper. Groggily he looked up. They lowered hooks. He grabbed hold and they lifted him.
Major Orlov brooded at the bottom of the platform. Red-uniformed PHC thugs stood beside her.
“This is highly unusual,” the doctor told her.
Major Orlov glared at him. The doctor fidgeted with his clipboard
An intern draped a tunic over Marten. The thugs each grabbed an arm and marched him out of the auditorium and down a hall. Marten could barely walk. The muscles in his back, shoulders and arms had frozen. The thugs deposited him in the interrogation room with the bench. This time, however, Stick wasn’t there. The two held him up. Otherwise, he’d simply have fallen over.
“Your time runs short, Mr. Kluge.”
Marten wasn’t sure, but Major Orlov sounded desperate. A spark of something bade him keep his mouth shut.
“Give me your agonizer.”
Incredibly, the thug seemed reluctant. But at this point, Marten couldn’t be sure about anything.
Major Orlov twisted the setting and touched the agonizer to his chest. Marten bellowed and fell backward.
“I have decided to accelerate the process,” said the major.
The two thugs picked Marten off the floor and set him back on the bench. Smiles twitched across their lips.
Major Orlov lowered the agonizer for another touch. Marten squirmed as they held him tight.
“Well, Mr. Kluge?”
Marten stared at the agonizer. It moved closer, closer—
The door opened, and a guard said, “You’re needed, Major.”
Major Orlov hesitated. Then she tossed the agonizer to a thug. She glared at Marten and hurried out of the room.
After several moments, the red-uniformed PHC men moved to the door. They whispered urgently together. Somewhere outside a klaxon blared. Marten lay down on the bench. They didn’t say anything about it. So he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
9.
Months away from Earth in terms of space travel time—Tanaka Station orbited blue Neptune. Vast cargo ships circled this commercial clearinghouse. In the distance, a fat ice-skimmer worked its way up from the blue mass of the gas giant.
The Ice Hauler Cartel, which owned much of the Neptune System, also owed Tanaka Station. The habitat was run on strict capitalist lines. The general principle of the Solar System seemed to be that the farther one left the Inner Planets behind the purer became the capitalism. Unfortunately, for a first class-rated space pilot from Jupiter, this “pureness” came as a shock.
Osadar Di huddled miserably in a bar close to the docking bay where she’d berthed her ship. The owner of the vessel had just departed, leaving her in a dim cubicle. She held onto a beer, but she hadn’t sipped it. Around her in the packed bar mingled pilots, dockworkers, sex objects and gamblers. It was different from the Jupiter Confederation where she’d been born and raised, and only recently fled. The bar was like a caricature of an Old Asteroid Mining vid she’d watched as a child. The pilots and gamblers played cards, cheating, drinking and getting into fistfights. In other cubicles, shady deals were being hatched and nefarious plots conceived.
Osadar Di had short dark hair, dark worried eyes and an unremarkable nose. On the tallish side, she had long shapely legs in a tan jumpsuit. Along with her excellent piloting skills, she’d developed a deep-seated paranoia. Beginning at the orphanage, life had been out to get her. Now she was certain her bad luck had run out—from now on she’d have miserable luck.
Her friends had died in the Second Battle of Deep Mars Orbit. She remembered that time. The Jupiter Confederation had recognized Martian independence, and the rulers had sent a massive expeditionary fleet to the Red Planet. Social Unity had outfitted a reinforcing fleet, and the First Battle of Deep Mars Orbit had surprised everyone. The allied vessels of Mars and Jupiter won an annihilating victory. Back then, Osadar had wondered if she’d made a mistake, as she’d already fled the Jupiter system to escape service. Social Unity had outfitted a huge retaliatory fleet and sent it to Mars. The next battle with its grisly results had proven her wisdom. Ever since then, the Jupiter Confederation had scrambled to rebuild its fleet and had scoured everywhere for pilots.
Two months ago on a seedy hab in the Saturn system—still much too near Jupiter and its extradition treaties—Osadar Di had hired out to a disreputable ship owner who wished to travel to Neptune. Presently, Neptune orbited farther away from the Sun than even icy-dark Pluto with its eccentric orbital path. Now she waited for the ship owner to return from selling his cargo so he could come and pay her.
Osadar stared at the beer. What was the point of being alive anyway? She’d just suffer more. Maybe she’d be better off dead with her friends than sitting in this dump waiting for some sleaze ball who would probably run off with her wages anyway.”
“Osadar Di?”
Startled, she looked up. A beefy man wearing an armored vest and a visored helmet stared down at her. He held a computer slate and seemed to be studying it. A massive stunner rode on his hip.
“W-Who are you?” she stammered.
“Tanaka Station Security. Are you Osadar Di?”
“Yes. But how do you know me?”
He hooked the computer slate to his belt and drew the stunner. “Come with me, please.”
“What did I do?”
“Do you refuse to comply?”
“No, I—”
He waved the stunner. “Stand up and come with me.”
A dejected relief filled her. Here it was—the worst she’d been expecting. All her friends were long dead: space debris still floating around Mars. Why should it be any different for her? Only… she set her face into a grim mask as she marched out of the bar and into a tiny bubble-built vehicle on the street. She had to place her hands into the dash restraints and then they were off. Despite her paranoia, there was a spark within her, a willingness to resist. She was going to go down to some dark fate—she knew that with certainty—but that didn’t mean she had to like or accept it.
“Can you at least tell me what I’ve done?” she asked.
Upon entering the vehicle, he’d punched in the destination code and now watched the various pedestrians, centering upon the slinky women in outrageously revealing costumes. He glanced at her with his dark visor long enough to ask, “You were the pilot, right?”
“What do you mean?”
He snorted and went back to examining the skimpily-clad women who accosted the various dock and office workers along the street.
“Did… Did someone turn me in? Is that it?”
“Save it for the judge,” he said.
Thankfully, the ride was short. By the time they jerked to a halt in front of a squat gray building, Osadar was certain the ship owner had done something illegal, been caught and then spilled his guts in an effort to wriggle out of whatever he was in. In other words, he’d probably sold her out.
The security man released her from the dash restraints and marched her inside. A knot of security people stood to the side by a water dispenser. Other people in outlandishly long suits with enormous collars held onto computer folios and bantered together. Two men wore long red robes that reached the tiled floor. They wore large hats with three sprouting prongs and seemed older and graver than anyone else. Several burly-shouldered, combat-armored protectors hovered at their elbows. Everyone showed deference to the two robed men.
“In here,” said her security man, pointing to a door that had just swished up.
Osadar followed him into a tiny room—it seemed more like a closet—and sat down beside a bored old woman at a computer terminal. She wore a loose orange dress and wore silver bangles on her wrists that clashed as she typed on the keyboard.