Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382

07/22/2183

Storen Bull rubbed at his eyes with one hand, squinting at a dimly illuminated computer console hidden in a small room behind his closet. The records of the USCSS Casimir were in his other hand manifest as a magnetic data-tape cassette. Spacer sat by his side, whining softly on his haunches.

“I'll make you some chow as soon as I have these files copied,” Storen promised inserting the tape into one of two cassette-drives on the computer. The tape was quickly spun up with a familiar hum, allowing the contents to be analyzed. File names populated the monitor one after another in rapid succession forming a long archive directory, organized by inception date. Each file carried the protected file-type tag of an ICC database file. Many were fifty years old or more.

The majority of these files were documents interspersed with video and image files including some engineering schematics. Storen expected as much. Complete Ships records were often disorderly and complex, especially so for older cargo freighters contracted by major corporations.

Storen typed in the command copy-transfer-all on the keypad. A prompt came up, Copy Clone, Image or Raw Data? Storen entered Raw Data. Copies of ICC database files were encrypted and formatted as read-only. By design only authorized ICC access terminals could read them. Any attempt to access or alter the data by an unauthorized drive resulted in corruption of the files.

Fortunately magnetic-tapes were based on 255 year old technology. Storen's computer was capable of tricking the tape to allow him to read the data. Copying it and stripping the encryption/formatting was much harder. Had this been a nano-optical long-data-memory disc, or LD, the process would be nearly impossible.

Another prompt came up. Copy in Safe Mode? Storen Entered Yes. This was necessary with certain magnetic tapes. Security features built into the cassette itself could wipe the data or even burn the tape if suspected copying took place. Normally copying a tape was as straightforward as placing two tapes side-by-side in a twin drive recorder. This method was both straightforward and efficient. You could even run the tape at increased speed to reduce copy time (usually at some cost to data integrity).

Of course running a tape like that was never how a computer used it to read data and thus it was a surefire way to trigger any security devices built into the cassette. Safe mode added precautions into the copying process such as running the tape randomly in forward and reverse. The third option of making an 'Image file' was basically just a copy of whatever he was viewing on his monitor. In essence that was a copy, of sorts, and still useful, but it captured none of the actual data files.

As the computer whirred and prepped for its difficult task Storen took a moment to check his personal bank of security monitors. Most displayed live feeds from station cameras but there were many hidden cameras of his own as well. Colonial Marshals weren't marching towards his quarters to kick down his door. There was nothing unusual going on in the corridors nearby other than a stumbling drunk and a few kids.

“We certainly took a risk for the old man today,” Storen mused scratching Spacer behind the ears. The animal whined in agreement.

Requesting the Casimir's records was not so straightforward as Ze'ev imagined it would be. ICC officers wouldn't make an inquiry on his behalf without good cause. That was problem number one. A harder problem was asking for the entire record. Such a request was unusual and sure to raise eyebrows. The hardest problem was asking for it, personally. Storen wasn't high enough in the station hierarchy for that to make a whole lot of sense. Which brought him full circle back to problem number one.

His solution was to steal it using the local ICC Agents ID's & access codes, both of which he already had. He would have preferred to keep them as an ace-in-the-hole for something more important, but Ze'ev's favor and the time-table required to get it done left him no choice.

Now that the copying process had begun Storen rose from his chair and passed through the concealed door back into his quarters. Compared to most others on the station they were almost luxurious. Oil paintings, models and antiques were carefully arranged on walls, side-tables and shelves. These decorations however were somewhat eccentric. Storen had very few visitors. He was an intensely private man.

One wall in his living room was a functioning Solido. A back lit panel displaying pleasing scenes of nature, vast vistas, sunny beaches or Storens personal favorite, the ocean. At this time it was off, blank. Storen did not indulge in distractions until his work was done. He moved to the kitchen, or what passed for a kitchen on Ashkelon station. Most meals were freeze dried, dehydrated or otherwise preserved in some manner for long term storage. Canned goods were more expensive and wet pet food of any sort was very expensive. Even so, Storen spared no expense. Spacer received his second meal of canned dog food, mixed with powdered multivitamins.

As the hound wolfed down his food Storen brewed a quick cup of coffee. Much as he would prefer to rest and wait until tomorrow, Ze'ev asked for a copy of those records asap. The old man was demanding but he paid well. Storen paused by a bookshelf on his way back to his hidden room. He had a fine collection of literature, including at least a dozen books printed on genuine paper. Several of those were gifts from Ze'ev's private library, an more were loaners. Whenever they spoke together in his study Storen borrowed a book or two.

Storen grabbed one of those loaners now, something new to help keep his attention. 'Heart of Darkness' by Joseph Conrad. As he returned to his seat in front of his monitor he glanced at the progress thus far. It displayed fifteen percent. Storen kicked up his feet and opened the books cover. A bit of paper was folded inside. On it, a note was scrawled by hand.

Ze'ev, I have never had the courage to tell you everything. Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil. Evil being the root of mystery, pain is the root of knowledge.

Take care not to follow my footsteps too closely.

Your loving father, Aleksandr Nikolayevich Chilingarov

Storen stared at the note with fascination. Ze'ev had a Russian father? He had no idea. Storen flipped through the pages of the book holding it up to his nose. Real books had a delightful smell. Something tucked in the pages caught his eye. Storen removed it revealing an old photograph.

The picture was grainy with a fair bit of lens flare shot in front of massive flood lamps in pitch darkness. Standing center-frame were several men and women in the middle of great ice-encrusted sand dunes at the bottom of a huge crater. Storen couldn't recognize any of the people, but he could distinguish their faces rather well within their illuminated helmets. All wore matching deep-cold environmental suits. Not military, but definitely spacers. He could guess with a high degree of certainty that they were a ships crew. Their suits weren't of any type he was familiar with, nor were their insignia, but he could almost make out their name tags.

However the people were not the focus of the picture, at least not literally. In the background was a huge object, shaped vaguely like a horseshoe or a huge wishbone. Storen stared in disbelief. He had never heard of or seen anything like it. Whatever it was was half buried in the frozen dunes at the end of a shallow canyon. If he had to guess, he would surmise it was a spacecraft of some kind, obviously alien. Evidently it crash landed, perhaps even creating the canyon behind it in the process before it tipped into the crater. From the angle of the photo, and the comparative size of the floodlights arranged around it, he estimated its size to be over one hundred meters wide. Both forward arching prongs were longer than that and slightly asymmetrical in design. He noted also that the distant horizon was a night sky full of stars.

He flipped over the photo. A faded digital timestamp and watermark was barely visible on the back.

Магнитогорск Юнайтед

巨頭聯合收割機

CSCCS Ivan Petlin

02/21/2098

Something else caught his eye. A passage in the book was underlined on the same page he removed the photo.

Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision—he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: “The horror! The horror!”

Suddenly the voice of Executor, the station's AI made an announcement. …Attention, unclassified vessel approaching Ashkelon Station. Priority-Alpha docking status. Access to all decks. …and then the message repeated.

…

Ze'ev Darkon looked up from his desk as soon as Executor made its pronouncement. He was always irritated by such surprise arrivals, “Executor! Which ship is docking?”

The CSCS Kowloon is on approach for docking.

Ze'ev frowned. Military ships usually bore the worst of uninvited guests. Especially ones he never heard of. “Executor, who is in command of this ship? What was its point of origin and what is its mission?”

The 'Honorable' Victor Li-Shing, Special Executive of the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation is in acting command. The point of origin and mission of the CSCS Kowloon are classified.

Ze'ev sighed and shook his head. The timing of this arrival made him nervous, It was true he was no longer privy to major board meetings or director-level decisions of the Central Space Consortium. He gave that up decades ago. Askelon Station was supposed to be his retirement posting. His chance to live out his golden years high above the world he and his father before him worked so hard to build and govern.

Ze'ev was no longer keen on retirement. These last years of grief spurned his efforts investigating the loss of the colony of Hadley's Hope. His mind and spirit were filled with righteous resolve. Ernest's promise about a witness to the events of LV-426 could not be ignored. It offered hope for evidence. Answers. Perhaps even proof? The challenge of what to do next with that really depended on his position as the administrator to be able to make the most of it.

Thus, whatever the reason for it, Ze'ev didn't see the appearance of a Jĭngtì Lóng Special Executive aboard a warship as a positive thing. Within the corporate hierarchy of the CSC, Special Executives were a wild card tasked to carry out specific tasks with any required resources. They were something of a mix between a military commander, a judge, and a corporate executive. Out here on the fringes of the Outer Rim their reach and authority were limited only by mandate from the Director of the Independent Core Systems Colonies.

Ze'ev rose from his desk and changed clothes before he left his quarters. At a brisk stroll he was on the command deck of Ashkelon Station in less than five minutes. Alan Warshauer, Chief Station Officer, his second in command was waiting by the entrance anticipating his arrival. Alan's expression was no less irritable as Ze'ev's as he handed him a mug of some much-welcomed fresh coffee.

“Captain we are being boarded!” he muttered in half-jest. Low enough that no one else could hear.

Ze'ev snorted before sipping at the black coffee.“So it seems! Ok people, what can you tell me about this ship?” Ze'ev asked the command staff staring at the monitors and scopes with interest.

“It is definitely something new. A prototype destroyer of some kind. All details are classified. The ship's captain has not offered any information either. Space dock is throwing a fit that they were not briefed on berthing procedures for this new ship. All requests by space dock to aid in docking with tugs and/or remote piloting were rejected. Only nominal piloting assistance by Executor was received graciously.”

Ze'ev shook his head muttering,“What arrogance!”

“That's not all....” Alan added. “Our satellites are picking up pings of friendly military ship ID's from the far side of Temple as well.”

Ze'ev shot Alan a look, “You mean there are possibly more of these out there?!”

“Not exactly. Details are sketchy. The other two ships are staying well out of visual range but not so far that our sensors can't determine relative mass, size, and something of their energy output to extrapolate engine specs. Their numbers aren't close enough to the Kowloon to be a match. According to our best guess they may be Renhai class destroyers.”

Ze'ev raised his brows, “Those are the pride of the fleet! Why are they here?”

Alan shrugged. “No idea. I was asking the same thing when the Kowloon came up on our scopes. Perhaps they are just an escort, taking precautions that there are no blind-spots to worry about?”

. . .

“Check it out!” Wade whispered to Reese at the sight of two CSC Naval commando's posted outside the front entrance of Dizzy's Club. Reese noticed immediately that they were holding AK-4047 pulse rifles. “We should keep walking,” Reese whispered back making a point not to stare.

Each commando wore a plain black uniform outfitted with minimal gear. There was none of their standard issue body armor, tactical helmets or other special equipment. It did not look as if they were expecting a fight among a bunch of civilians, that much was clear. Yet there was no doubt they also had a mission to do and that made Reese nervous. They were still carrying loaded pulse rifles. By anyone's judgment they meant business.

“Fuck that!” Wade argued under his breath maintaining his trajectory towards the club. Reese cursed inwardly. As usual Wade was too curious for his own good. Reese had no choice but to risk his own neck to watch his back. The commandos watched them approach but did not bar their entry.

Neither Wade, nor Reese, looked like tech's having changed from their engineering jumpsuits into plain casual garb. Wade wore an old Motörhead t-shirt and baggy jeans. He always kept his boots on. Reese wore brown rip-stop cargo-pants and a loose cotton long-sleeve thermal undershirt which was faded-gray beneath a baggy black leather vest. On his feet were classic sneakers.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside Dizzy's quickly became uncongenial as the CSC naval commando's started searching the crowd. Who are these swabs looking for? Keren wondered as she made her way back towards the bar. The music and the laser lights were no longer a pleasant distraction. They became an irritant adding to the sense of confusion and apprehension as people were shouted at for questioning.

Dizzy's was by no means an upper-class establishment. Besides the hookers, members of the Triad were often found here, as were common thugs, pick-pockets, drug dealers, independent loan sharks and dealers of black market goods. That was simply what Ashkelon station was known for. The seedy independence of backwater commerce.

“Looks like they're looking for someone,” Wade remarked as they pushed their way by the dance floor observing the commando's moving around the tables.

“HEY WADE!” a voice shouted close by. They turned to see five fellow spacecraft techs sharing drinks. Wade smiled and moved over with Reese following behind like a huge shadow.

“What's going on?” Wade asked.

“No idea man. We've just been minding our own business,” a tech named Billy answered. He was one of the chattier and more friendly coworkers they had who had hit it off with Wade.

“Those swabs have been hassling everyone!” another tech added.

“They come off that ship Executor announced?” Wade inquired.

“Yeah probably. They're looking for some chick I think. They came over here to check Sharon's ID,” Billy explained.

Sharon was by no means, 'a chick'. She was forty two but she cleaned up pretty good. Tonight she was wearing a dress and had her hair styled. Reese knew Wade fancied her so he wasn't surprised when Wade looked bothered by that.

“The fuck? Seriously? Did they bother you Sharon?” Wade asked in an aggrieved tone.

Sharon look mortified and also clearly drunk. “I guess I wasn't the Sharon they were looking for!” she answered with wide eyes.

Meanwhile the commando in charge approached the bar wearing one red star between two red bars on each collar. She looked to be in her late thirties, of asian decent as were most of the others. Her hair was pulled up and tied in standard military fashion and she wore no makeup of any sort. She was shorter than the other three that spread out behind her. She did not carry a pulse rifle like the rest of them but she was still armed with a pistol holstered at her belt.

“Can I help you?” Dizzy asked laying his hands on the bar in plain sight.

“You are the owner-proprietor Donald Jewel Williams?” the officer asked, in english, with a heavy accent. Chinese was the preferred language of the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation.

“I am. This is my place,” Dizzy responded plainly.

Keren took a seat at the bar within earshot of their conversation. She could see Dizzy and the commando's out of the corner of her eye without needing to turn her head much.

“I am Lt. Cmdr. Lee of the CSCS Kowloon. We are looking for two females. Keren Ho-Stern and Sheren Ho-Stern. They are sisters,” the officer said holding up a rugged military tablet. ID photos of both sisters were visible on the screen.

Dizzy paused before he answered as if his mind were racing. Keren's certainly was as, as was her heartbeat. What in the fuck?!

“I know who they are,” Dizzy answered slowly. “What is this about?”

The officer ignored his query, “Where are they? Sheren is employed by you is she not?”

Keren looked about frantically for her younger sister, spotting her standing off in a corner chatting with another server. They were laughing and cracking jokes. For a moment she felt indecisive and panicked. Half of her wanted to stay right here and listen in. The other half wanted to walk quickly up to her sister, grab her hand, and run. Logically there was no reason she could think of that they should worry. Neither one of them were criminals. Still something felt very wrong.

Keren's motion of looking around in a panic caught the eye of one of the commandos. He started staring in her direction, shifting on his feat and leaning back to get a clearer look at her.

“I don't want any trouble!” Dizzy said raising his hands. “But you gotta explain what this is about?”

The Lt. Cmdr. didn't blink, “They are wanted for questioning.”

“What for? Those girls are both civilians,” Dizzy pointed out, confused.

Meanwhile back at the other table, Reese was looking around cautiously. His above average height helped in this regard. He confirmed the commando's did seem to be moving towards women, usually brunettes. One group approached a private booth where two Asian men were seated. Both accompanied by younger brunettes. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he recognized the men. They were both Triad enforcers.

“We need to get out of here!” Reese stated suddenly.

The other voices at the table paused as everyone looked up. Reese didn't talk much, but when he did people listened. They looked surprised that anything would put him on edge.

Wade balked, “We just got here!”

Back at the bar the Lt. Cmdr. put on a most serious expression, “I won't ask twice.”

Dizzy locked eyes with the officer. He wasn't intimidated and he was making a point to let her know that. “KEREN, GO!” he shouted reaching for something under the bar.

Keren immediately spun off her stool, kicking off her platform shoes as she dashed towards Sheren.

“Tā zài nà biān!” the commando shouted to the others starting to move after her. For a second the other commando's were distracted looking towards Keren, all except Lee who was in the motion of pulling out her sidearm to aim it at Dizzy. An instant later, all the power inside the club was cut.

In the sudden silence and near complete darkness it wasn't easy to determine where the first shots came from. Reese heard the distinct CRACK of a pistol shot seemingly at the same time as the loud BRRRRAAAPPP-BRRRAAAPPP of two subcompact machine guns (or fully-automatic pistols). Shouts and screams followed. Reese dropped to the floor pulling Wade down with him as all hell broke loose. Suddenly the air was full of the abrupt and awful discord of heavy pulse rifle fire, shattering glass, and a cacophony of horrified shrieks.

Reese felt the splatter of hot blood and the heavy footfalls and kicks of people running blindly for their lives stumbling over him and the mess of other bodies. Through muzzle flashes Reese watched a nightmare of close-quarters gunfire as the two Red Triad enforcers stepped over the four dead commandos and continued firing blindly. Every commando in the club returned fire in the general direction of their muzzle-flashes. AK-4047 pulse rifles were not known as especially accurate weapons. But they were highly destructive.

Meanwhile, Keren moved quickly and purposefully keeping her head down as low as possible. Her hands were kept readied close at her sides. Random strangers ran into her, bowling her over. Each time she was knocked over she rolled back unto her feet as quickly as a cat ignoring any bruises she endured in the process. Oh please god let her be ok! she prayed.

Intermittently, separate POPS and flashes of smaller handguns returned fire at random as anyone else with a weapon tried to stop the slaughter. In truth they only made themselves additional targets. Reese himself had his own concealed automatic in his hand but he wasn't going to use it unless he absolutely had too.

Meanwhile, Keren continued to move forward blindly towards the last spot she believed she saw Sheren as dozens of bullets from automatic gunfire whizzed overhead. “SHEREN! SHEREN” she shouted reaching and feeling through the darkness. Suddenly she felt something, a hand. A womans hand, wet with blood. She grasped at the hand and tugged at it but it was lifeless and still. She wanted to yell but her voice caught in her throat. She kept groping, feeling up the arm, across the shoulder, towards the face. She recognized the uniform of a server. She felt hair, Sheren's hair. She wanted to scream.

“Tínghuǒ! Tínghuǒ!” the Lt. Cmdr. shouted over the blasts. Suddenly the gunfire ceased. It had only lasted less than a minute. “Dēng! Dēng!” she shouted.

A few of the commandos had tactical lights on the muzzles of their rifles which flashed on and started searching over the carnage. Keren suddenly felt Sheren's head move. Her sister was crouched in a ball and terrified. The other server's body had fallen over her when she collapsed. Sheren started sobbing.

“WE HAVE TO MOVE!” Keren whispered pulling her free. Together they started crawling away on all fours. Why hasn't Executor sounded the alarm?! Keren wondered angrily. Security should be here!

Dozens of voices cried out, moaning, pleading, spitting curses. Reese could feel the mood of hatred and despair ebbing from the survivors.

Wade started to move, “SHARON!” he called out.

“SHUT UP!” Reese whispered through clenched teeth. Too late. Wades voice caught the attention of a commando. Footsteps approached and the bright beam of a tactical light flashed towards them. “Qiāng!” the commando shouted. Reese raised his pistol and fired. He was a good shot but he was also lucky. The tactical light exploded just before the AK-4047 opened fire. Reese felt a hot sting on his left shoulder. He shoved Wade beneath the table and flipped it over. An instant later a burst of bullets riddled the surface punching several holes through it. All of em missed.

“Wǒ shuō tínghuǒle!” the Lt. Cmdr. shouted as the another two tactical lights moved to cover the table. Reese was pinned down and he knew it. Behind him he could hear the two commando's posted outside the entrance struggling to get inside. Even the bulkhead pressure door had lost power.