Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (2 page)

Hawks and his yellow tie faced me. “As his crimes against the Capital Galactic Investment Group supersede the others, as previously stated, he will be remanded to our custody pending judgment and assigned punishment by an appointed judiciary official.”

I could see the diplomat expected this. She looked at me even as I stared at Hawks. I knew she was hoping I had something planned other than assuring my own execution. I really despised that yellow tie, but
my emotions began to focus on the man behind it. I would try anything to get back at him.

“I acknowledge that as an independent, lacking a corporate sponsor, I cannot acquire legal counsel. Nor can I speak before a court with respect to the corporate code allegations, having divested myself of any corporate ties. However, it is also my understanding under the corporate code, any relevant evidence recorded prior to divestment indicating innocence of the accused, presented to the court by verifiable hard copy or a computer devoid of artificial intelligence programming, is permissible and may be submitted.”

Hawks snorted. “You have no such evidence.”

It was my turn to smile, but I didn’t. With a straight face I said, “I do. I only require a computer to retrieve it and display it to the court.”

He suspected something was behind my request. Now, I was the one who couldn’t allow him time to think.

The Umbelgarri diplomat cut in, “If you deny the accused his legal request, the Umbelgarri will deem the Capital Galactic Investment Group to be acting in violation of the Earth Alliance – Umbelgarri Treaty and will immediately grant political association to the individual.”

The two corporate lawyers began to confer. The diplomat apparently overheard. “This is pretrial. There is no appeal on this request. The Umbelgarri will grant immediate political association. You may appeal that if your corporation desires.”

The diplomat, for the first time, viewed the holographic recorder. She addressed the judge on the other end. “May the Umbelgarri grant political association to the accused?”

A moment passed. Just before the small indication light flashed green, Falshire Hawks stepped forward. “The request of the accused is deemed admissible and granted.”

All in the assembly looked relieved, except the diplomat, until I opened my mouth. “I request data retrieval and presentation via the Cranaltar IV.”

Chapter 2

The Cranaltar IV is a 4th generation A-Tech or advanced technology brain-scanning device. It is being developed by several of the larger corporations with substantial Umbelgarri support. Some people consider A-Tech to stand for alien technology, which is in essence true, as humans are currently considered to be I-Tech or at the intermediate stage of technological advancement. Mankind probably would not have yet reached I-Tech if it were not for the Umbelgarri intervention during the Silicate War.

The previous Cranaltar prototypes were less than stellar successes. Any human hooked up to one came out somewhat addled at best. The ultimate purpose of the device is unclear, but it is purported to have the ability to draw information from an individual’s memory and store it as any combination of audio, visual, or even text files. It has even been suggested that advancements in the Cranaltar Project could eventually lead to information retrieval from recently deceased individuals. It has been asserted that is how the Umbelgarri utilize their more advanced version of the device.

The Umbelgarri are amphibian and more cerebrally evolved. Their brain anatomy and chemistry differs substantially from a human’s. Thus, adaptation for use on humans, or any lesser primate, has proven to be a real stumbling block.

The device poses obvious ethical issues, even if the mentally destructive risks are ignored.

Falshire Hawks swept his computer clip
board from my lap and stalked back to his seat. The assistant hastily pecked at his screen, calling up information on the Cranaltar IV. It wasn’t a corporate or military black project. The Phibs are secretive, but general knowledge points to continued refusal in collaborative corporate black projects.

I watched as the diplomat attempted to suppress a smile. Hawks had never heard of the Cranaltar Project.

“Your request is out of order,” said Hawks, still reading from his assistant’s clip screen. “The device has not been proven. It is merely a prototype.” He continued to scan the data now appearing on his clip.

The admiral, general and CJO sat, braced on the edge of their seats. Something other than my fate was in play.

The diplomat glanced down at her clip. “That is inaccurate. The Cranaltar III was used in two cases to successfully obtain information from unwilling convicted criminals. The information retrieved was deemed admissible as evidence to be used against those convicted and their accomplices.”

Lawyer Hawks folded his arms. “But, Diplomat Silvre, it severely damaged the subjects’ brains, rendering both virtually brain dead. Only the most basic autonomic functions remained intact.”

“True, Mr. Hawks. However, vital information
was
obtained. Vital information in this case could also be obtained.”

“What information would that be? Even if Specialist Keesay were by some miracle able to cast minimal doubt on even one of the charges, he would be rendered entirely unable to serve the punishment for his crimes.”

“Your point is?” asked Diplomat Silvre, with eyebrows raised.

Hawks seemed puzzled or distracted by the continued, almost feverish activity of his assistant. Whatever it was, the information wasn’t being transferred to his superior.

Hawks stood, then walked past the military officers and stopped in front of the diplomat. “My point, Diplomat Silvre, is that the accused’s actions have resulted in substantial loss of life, capital, and future profits. Quite substantial in the view of the Capital Galactic Investment Group.”

The diplomat turned her clip over so that Hawks couldn’t view the screen’s contents. “If he is indeed guilty of the crimes suggested, as a relic tech security specialist, the accused would never be able to repay the financial debt. And in essence, he would be calling a form of capital punishment upon himself.”

“But over his lifetime the accused could repay some of the debt,” Hawks’ assistant stated as he made a final entry on his computer clipboard with a single thumb press.

A vicious glare from Hawks to his subordinate said it all.

Silvre leapt at the opening, re-engaging Hawks’s attention. “The Umbelgarri will reimburse any potential income which could have been generated by Specialist Keesay. Assuming he is disabled and found guilty.”

The military observers sat up, surprised by the assistant’s improper initiative. Hawks stalked over to his subordinate. He gestured for a moment’s delay in the debate
before gripping his assistant’s shoulder and whispering into his ear. The subordinate immediately deactivated his clip, removed his own yellow tie sporting four narrow black bands, and left the room. He’d be looking for a new sponsor without the benefit of a good reference.

Hawks turned and addressed those remaining at the table. “My assistant, Mr. Loams, no longer represents the Capital Galactic Investment Group. His statement had no standing in this proceeding. Any interjection or assertion is therefore nullified.”

Miss Silvre’s tenacity impressed me. “I was not referring to information with respect to Specialist Keesay’s innocence,” she said. “The evidence against him, though compelling, is incomplete. I believe that he had accomplices. If, in the effort to prove his innocence, he reveals other guilty parties, I believe that not only would the Capital Galactic Investment Group benefit, but so would the other plaintiffs.” She leaned forward and looked down the table. “The intelligence, military and justice organizations represented at this table.”

Everyone at the table nodded, even the recording technician. All eyes focused on the lone corporate lawyer.

Hawks was good, but I could see that he was mentally back pedaling. “Specialist Keesay’s condition is critical and unstable at best,” the lawyer said. “He may not survive the week let alone the device. Where is the nearest Cranaltar device?”

“The Cranaltar IV Project is located on Io,” said the lady diplomat, “attached to the subsurface Umbelgarri outpost.” She looked to the intelligence official.

He simply said, “Correct.” His noncommittal voice matched his face.

She barely began to address the justice official when I started to feel nausea, followed by wracking pain.

Hawks finished tapping at his computer clip. “The Capital Galactic Investment Group moves immediately to freeze assets of the accused, as allowed under article 4, section 3 of the corporate code. And as he has no sponsor and no available assets, medical support is being terminated.”

I had difficulty remaining composed as I felt the medical support shutting down. I knew I was in pain, but until Hawks’s action, I didn’t realize the severity of my condition.

Diplomat Silvre said, “The Umbelgarri will supply funding for the required medical support.”

“Denied,” replied Hawks. “This is a CGIG vessel. As the Umbelgarri are not a plaintiff in this case, they have no standing on this issue.” I didn’t have to see Hawks’s smile to know it was there.

My vision began to blur and my heart thumped erratically. My leg, face and chest were on fire.

The diplomat stepped behind the intelligence man, who then leaned over toward the CJO. Hawks had unleashed his corporate 800-pound gorilla and it landed on my chest. I was dying. Dying fast!

My sight faded but I could still hear with remarkable clarity. The CJO quickly tapped some keys. “The Criminal Justice Investigatory Agency supports the desires of the Intelligence Agency to seek information on any of Specialist Keesay’s conspirators with respect to his crimes against not only CGIG, but those which fall under military jurisdiction as well.”

The medical machinery came back on line as the fast spoken words and keystrokes overrode the lawyer’s cutoff effort. The pain receded. My heart settled back to a rhythm. I drew a breath, then two. Again, I struggled to remain conscious, and lost.

The last thing I heard was the low, calm voice of the intelligence man. “Prepare the suspect for transfer to the
Iron Armadillo
.”

The
Iron Armadillo
, commissioned under the name of
Armadillo
, was a first series intragalactic military scout. Twenty years ago it was considered a very fast ship. It still is by today’s I-Tech standards with a sub-condensed space speed of .38 percent the speed of light. It was the first vessel designed and built with direct Umbelgarri assistance and carried its own cascading atomic engine for initiating condensed space travel.

The
Armadillo
first saw action late in the Silicate War, eight years after the Phibs recruited humans in what was termed the Carbon Cause. She was one of the first human vessels sent into action against the Shards without Umbelgarri or other allied support. Until that time humanity had been restricted to a very miniscule corner of the Milky Way because humans were incapable of condensing space. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who is asked, the Umbelgarri contacted Earth through its Mars Colony and sponsored mankind into the Interstellar Society.

Initially mankind was recruited for ground combat with human ships limited to rear echelon support. Humanity’s violent history ever honed its combat resourcefulness and the Phibs directed it against the Shards. Human ships, like the Colonial Marines, bristled with effective weaponry. The Umbelgarri helped humans design the first series scout to add speed and mobility to humanity’s arsenal.

After detecting a Silicate Fleet exiting a wormhole near the double star Capella, the
Armadillo
, outfought two Shard frigates, destroying one, damaging and outrunning the second. The
Armadillo
escaped to warn a mixed Umbelgarri-Felgan fleet. The heroic action stalled a Silicate flanking maneuver. It also earned respect among several alien races.

The combat damage sustained necessitated emergency patching over forty percent of the
Armadillo
’s hull. The result wasn’t pretty, with the dockworkers dubbing the hastily repaired ship the
Iron Armadillo
. The name stuck.

I awoke with a splitting headache added to the pain brought on by my other injuries. It took my left eye a minute to focus on the tile ceiling, which was different. I cautiously moved my wrists. They weren’t bound. I detected the familiar sound of the small electronic fans. I tried to recall my last moments of consciousness. “The
Iron Armadillo
,” I whispered to myself.

“Yes,” said a feminine voice. “Preparations are underway for transfer. It’s en route, ETA thirty minutes.” It was Diplomat Silvre. “Bed, raise front to thirty degrees, ten percent normal speed. Seems you have awakened just in time.”

The bed elevated my head and torso, increasing my field of vision. I was in a small, rectangular room. Same décor as the last. My wrists were unmarked, so the restraints had been off for some time.

Diplomat Silvre stood on the left side of the bed where I could more easily see her. She was wearing a dark tan body suit under an olive jacket. It looked more like a sturdy, well-pocketed lab coat than anything else. Her new jacket bore the diplomatic insignia of the Umbelgarri.

My throat was dry. “Lost the fancy suit, huh?”

She nodded and offered me a cup.

My hand was a little shaky but it didn’t hurt to move as much as I’d feared. The water still tasted metallic. “Thanks,” I said and took another sip.

Silvre stood next to my bed a moment, waiting. She was short with dark hair, and moderately attractive despite the outfit. I knew intellectually I paled in comparison to her. The Umbelgarri recruited only the very brightest. She’d taken a weak hand and turned it into a winning one against Falshire Hawks, one of the best. I owed her.

“Thanks,” I said, handing her the cup.

She took it and looked at me with her right eyebrow arched.

“For helping out with Hawks,” I said. “By the way, where are we?”

“You might refrain from thanking me yet, and we’re still aboard the
Pars Griffin
.”

It took me a second to recall. The
Pars Griffin
was a heavy class passenger transport owned and operated by CGIG. I saw it launched on a holo-newscast less than a year ago. Or now, maybe more than a year ago.

She set the cup on a narrow table behind her. “We’re orbiting Mars. Stationed 40,000 kilometers from Orbital Space-dock 4. The
Iron Armadillo
is en route from patrolling the Trojan Clusters near Jupiter.” She crossed her arms. “Specialist Keesay, what exactly do you recall?”

I still had no idea how much time had passed since I’d boarded the
Kalavar,
until now. It was an easy question and might reveal my standing with the diplomat. “What day is it?”

She looked irritated. “Saturday.”

Not the answer I wanted. “Good, I didn’t miss church.”

“Should it be my understanding that you intend to be uncooperative, Specialist?”

“I recall Hawks and his damn yellow tie if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.” She shifted her weight to one leg and waited.

“Well, if you think,” I started, but considered who else might be listening, or recording. “I don’t recall any of the things I’m accused of.”

She reached inside her jacket and produced a small metallic cube. She carefully touched three of the sides simultaneously before setting it on the bed. She confirmed what I already suspected. “This will foil any surveillance efforts.”

“I still don’t recall anything. I’m being set up.”

“Maybe you should see this,” she said as she walked across the small medical room and returned with a computer clip. “Here is a small cross section of the evidence aligned against you.”

With a tap of her index finger, she activated the clip screen. A fuzzy and slightly distorted picture emerged. I could make out myself high up in some sort of balcony overlooking an internal space dock or hanger. The image wasn’t steady but I saw that I was wearing full riot gear. I threw something, no two somethings in quick succession toward the recording device. The view shifted immediately toward the floor. I saw sparks that resembled muzzle flashes. Static followed.

I shrugged my shoulders, brining on a sharp stabbing pain.

She tapped the screen several more times. “That view was obtained from a colonial marine’s helmet recorder, aboard the civil transport
Kalavar
. And those objects you threw at the marine have been identified as old-style grenades.”

I thought a moment. “Maybe I was throwing them at something near the helmet. Recording can be initiated without being worn.” I was grasping at straws while trying to figure why I might have lobbed grenades in a transport’s hangar, at a colonial marine.

“Negative. Intelligence has determined from the angle and movement of the recording device, it was being worn.” She stood with the clip held against her chest.

“Where’s the audio?” I asked.

“Unrecoverable,” she said. Then added, “According to technical experts provided by the Capital Galactic Investment Group.”

“Was it tampered with?”

“Not according to intelligence.”

“What else?” I asked, not really wanting to know. “Wait, what happened to the marine? What was going on—happened to the
Kalavar
?”

“The marine, Corporal Justice Smith, is presumed dead. His blood, mixed with Stegmar Mantis blood, was found on the
helmet, floating in space near—”

I interrupted her. “Wait! Why has the date-time reference been left out? Stegmar Mantis?” I didn’t want to get this piecemeal. “Why don’t you just explain it to me?”

She finished, “Near Zeta Aquarius.”

“That was the first scheduled destination of the
Kalavar
,” I said.

She tapped the screen again. This time, angled from above and down a corridor, a recording showed me in full gear dragging a youth, probably male. Again, the time reference was missing. I shoved the youth ahead of me and motioning with my bayonet for him to move on, out of the camera’s view. Was that blood on the bayonet? The audio consisted of crackling and hissing, with muffled explosions in the background.

“That was Maximar Drizdon Jr., son of Dr. Maximar Drizdon Sr.”

“Maximar Drizdon?” I asked. “The famed military strategist? The Dr. Drizdon credited with every major success in the campaign against the Silicates?” I took a breath while Diplomat Silvre stared. “Is that who I supposedly abducted? His son?”

I mentally replayed the image. The boy wasn’t wearing the garb of an I-Tech. His clothes were baggier like an R-Tech’s, and he wore a frumpy-brimmed hat.

She interrupted my thoughts. “What are the odds of someone carrying a pump-action shotgun with a bayonet? Other than you, Security Specialist Keesay.”

My head suddenly throbbed a little more. “Where’s the boy? Does anyone know? Will you explain it to me now?”

“No,” she said, and deactivated the clip.

That seemed pretty final. “Then what was the little viewing for?”

“Just a little encouragement. Intelligence has authenticated the evidence.”

“So I don’t back out?”

She nodded and smiled, and it wasn’t a friendly one. “There’s a lot more, all authenticated.” She returned the computer clip to the small table. “But for now, time is of the essence.”

“You think I’m guilty! Then why help fend off Hawks?”

She waited, probably pondering how much to tell me. “If indeed you performed all of the actions of which you are accused, you must’ve had accomplices.”

“And if I’m not guilty, then my evidence might reveal...” It was hard to think. I wished the pain meds worked better. “Might reveal something against Capital Galactic?”

She didn’t respond.

“Are we at war?”

“We are,” she replied.

“Crax?”

“Yes.”

“Are we winning?”

“No,” she said with scorn.

Now I knew why she was in such a bad mood. The Umbelgarri were tough. But after what the Shards did near the end of the Silicate War, they were a shadow of their former strength. News estimates indicated that the Umbelgarri would never recover. The Crax had moved to ensure that end. And we humans are allied with the Phibs.

I swallowed hard and thought a moment. Some corporations were rumored to be friendly with the Crax, most often Capital Galactic. Maybe not all humans are loyal to our galactic sponsors? “Is Capital Galactic helping the Crax?”

She shrugged.

“Was Negral Corp?”

Same response. Now I knew why she was less than friendly, even though she’d assisted me.

Silvre moved a hand to her ear and motioned for silence. She tapped the cube, deactivating it. After a few seconds she reactivated the security device. “Specialist Keesay, the
Iron Armadillo
will be docking in less than fifteen minutes.”

As if on cue the room’s single door opened. In walked the intelligence official from the pretrial. I caught a glimpse of at least one guard stationed outside. My single-eyed vision continued to improve. What happened to my other eye? I pushed that question aside to focus on the situation at hand.

The intel man looked plain, with a short, military cut hairstyle. He wore a charcoal-colored sport jacket over a lighter synthetic knit shirt.

A marine out there, I pondered. He wasn’t posted there to keep me from escaping. A thought hit me. “Am I really in as bad of shape as Hawks indicated?”

Silvre adjusted the cube’s settings. “Yes.”

The intelligence official and the diplomat exchanged glances. The official introduced himself. “Specialist Keesay, I am Deputy Director Karlton Simms.”

He offered his hand. I shook it. His grasp was firm, yet considerate of my condition. Director Simms and Diplomat Silvre were the closest things to friends I had. “Call me Kra.”

Director Simms looked at the tubes and other apparatus running from under the blankets. “Would you like the details of your condition?”

“Not really. I can pretty much guess.” Then I added, “What are the odds?”

He thought for a second. “I’d be stretching it if I said it was twenty-eighty.”

“Any chance for a full recovery?”

He shook his head. “No.” His eyes showed some sympathy, but not entirely sincere. I’ve always been pretty sharp when it comes to reading people. He’d been much better at keeping a blank expression during the pretrial. Nevertheless, I appreciated his effort.

“Well then,” I said, “it doesn’t really matter the results of the Cranaltar. If I am indeed guilty, the Cranaltar will wreck my brain, even if it doesn’t kill me in proving it. I’ll get mine and so will anybody else who helped. Right, Diplomat Silvre?”

She avoided my gaze by examining the support equipment monitors I figured were beyond the head of my bed.

“And if I am innocent,” I said to Director Simms, “then whoever set me up and put me in this condition, you’ll be sure to pay them back for me. Right?”