Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382

07/23/2183

Within a lift heading up towards the command level of Ashkelon Station, Victor Li Shing, Catherine Grey, and his four executive body guards rode up in silence. An illuminated LCD display above the lift controls flicked through deck numbers as they ascended.

“What you did forcing open the door at the club was impressive!” Victor commented, speaking at Catherine without looking over his shoulder. Victor did not always make the effort to converse with others, eye-to-eye as equals. Most everyone in his presence was expected to listen, to defer, and to obey without question.

Catherine did not respond. She was not interested in his conversation, much less his praise. These goons could have likely done the same, if they had the heart to act! But what do you know about having a heart father? She thought bitterly, ever conscious of the bodyguards who surrounded them as still and inhuman as any other synthetic had a right to be.

Victors jaw twitched as he jerked his head ever-so-slightly, almost as if he was about to turn and chastise her for her thoughts. Can he hear my thoughts? Catherine wondered tensely, and not for the first time. There was much and more she did not trust and understand about her own mind these days. Ever since her brain was transplanted into this new synthetic body she was never quite comfortable with herself. Victors body by contrast was entirely human, though his mind was enhanced with synthetic A.I.

In the way that an interface existed between the biological, the digital and the synthetic they were the same. Were it elsewise Catherine could not move, speak, or breath. Still she stubbornly refused to embrace the change and accept the duality of her nature. Her body was a necessity, a burden, a cruelty and a curse. It diminished her humanity. Now she hated herself almost as much as she hated him.

Victor by contrast, abhorred limitation. Behind those diligent, handsome, eyes constant analysis and data poured through his brain. Most executives traveled around with an entourage of assistants, accountants and corporate lawyers. Special executives spared no expense expanding their mental capabilities with new technology. She once heard it said that he used his brain as much as four or even five different people. She was not sure she believed that. Surely that was not possible every moment of everyday?

However much that might be true, Victor's capacity for hard focus, snap judgment and strategic instinct were essential for a man in his position. Within the spheres of corporate power, Victor was a single-minded tyrant, a dynamo and a genius. Yet such gifts did not come without cost. His enhancements also made him cold, idiosyncratic, and at times inhumanly cruel.

The lift slowed its ascent before the doors opened. Groups of CSC naval commando's were waiting, sent up in advance to secure the area. All around them, outraged and unhappy station officials, staff and personnel glared in obstinate displeasure. Reports of what happened at the club were still coming in through intercoms, camera monitors and local media sources. Voices were cursing, grumbling and sobbing.

Victor paid them no mind, yet Catherine recognized that look all too well. The revulsion, the fear, the hatred. It was the look reserved for monsters. He has made me in his image. Catherine thought. If I still had a stomach, I would feel sick.

As they stepped past two commandos flanking the lift and made their way to the stations central command center, whispers and murmurs trailed in their wake. Catherine could not help but augment her hearing, subconsciously, to pick up on their words. It was a reflex, born of curiosity. When nothing said was at all kind, she just as quickly made the conscious effort not to listen.

Up here on the command level, lighting was brighter showcasing a greater sense of pride and orderliness about the operations rooms, corridors and offices. There was also something of a personal touch of community on display. Old fashioned tack-boards with hanging photos of newborns, children's birthdays, pot-luck lunches and other quaint archetypes of civilian home life. It served just as well to remind Catherine of a life she never had.

As they entered the central command center, a tense scene of discord and disarray was taking place. Half the command staff were away from their terminals in groups of threes and fours standing shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting and waving fingers at the commandos who had already shoved their way inside. Those that remained at their stations did their best to pretend to stay busy with pale, frightened faces.

Off to one side, an executive conference room was occupied for an emergency staff meeting. No doubt to discuss us, Catherine knew. Two commando's stood by the door doing their best to contain the angry, old, short, wrinkled man who must be the stations administrator, Ze'ev Darkon.

“There is no cause for this! Take yourselves and your smoking rifles out of my command center!” he shouted with a strained, raspy voice. Another malcontent, Ze'ev's Chief Station Officer, growled questions and demands from over Ze'ev's shoulder. He was portly, balding and red-faced with outrage.

Slowly, one by one, the faces noted Victors arrival as his bodyguards stared down anyone hostile. Catherine experienced this moment many times. In boardrooms, factories, labs, lobby's, bars and restaurants. Anywhere people worked or mingled together with harsh opinions about her father. Victor did not need to shout or raise his hands to ask for calm. He merely took a slow look around. Quickly the hot-headed words and hoarse opinions fell to silence.

Ze'ev moved to stand before Victor. Five foot seven, thin and bony with splotchy pallid skin he was but a frail, pale shadow compared to Victor. And that's the whole point isn't it? Catherine knew. This is all a show.

“You must be Special Executive Victor Li Shing.” Ze'ev stated with minimal courtesy making no attempt to shake hands or bow.

“Administrator Darkon. Your reputation precedes you,” Victor stated with a token nod of respect. I am sorry we could not meet under better circumstances. I would like to introduce...” he began, before the old man cut him off.

“What is the reason for the massacre at Dizzy's club?!” Ze'ev demanded.

“Massacre? With all due respect administrator, there has been no massacre,” Victor answered with irritated indifference. “My commando's fired in self defense. They were seeking person's of interest who must be apprehended at all costs.”

“At all costs?!” Ze'ev repeated acidly, “Why didn't you coordinate your search with us?! We could have avoided bloodshed!”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. There are serious doubts about the integrity of station security, and that of your staff...” Victor paused, letting that implication hang in the air. “Our targets evaded capture because they had help. Accomplices may be scrambling to arrange an escape off the station as we speak. What do you suggest we do about that, administrator?”

Ze'ev waited a moment to answer, as if grappling with the decision to offer any help at all. “If a manhunt is required we will coordinate a search for these fugitives,” he answered gravely. “However, I will also be calling for an immediate investigation of the shooting at Dizzy's club.”

Victor's face was a mask of no emotion. “Administrator I concur completely. With the sudden power loss, malfunction of the fire suppression systems and the pressure door jamming; it's a wonder any lives were saved at all. An investigation will help explain how such vital systems broke down when they were needed most.”

Ze'ev tightened his lips angrily as his hands balled into fists. Every part of his body language suggested frustration and disgust. You walked right into that one! Catherine thought, disappointed. Ze'ev Darkon was revered as an experienced former executive and negotiator representing Temple and the greater ICSC in the Outer Rim Territories.

She had hoped he had the nerve to take her father down a notch or two. Yet Victor had a valid point. Mechanically, Ashkelon Station was a mess. You did not have to be a certified station engineer to see that. As the station administrator, Ze'ev had to take responsibility for these issues.

Victor continued after it was clear Ze'ev had nothing further to say, “Executor will provide necessary details about the fugitives. My commandos will back up your security teams and aid in your search. When they are found they must be handed over into my custody immediately. This is non negotiable. In the meantime, I strongly suggest you suspend all ship traffic to ensure they do not escape. This should include the shuttles.”

Alan Warshauer, the balding Chief Station Officer and Ze'ev's second in command opened his mouth aghast, “You can't be serious?! Suspending ship and shuttle traffic will cripple the station. Supplies will run low. Commerce will grind to a halt. Every day we are out of commission will set our schedule back for weeks!”

“Perhaps just the outgoing ship traffic then?” Victor suggested as a compromise. “Either way, if the fugitives are not found in forty eight hours, I will be forced to assume command of this effort as a military operation.”

Ze'ev was quick to combat that notion, “Don't be absurd! Ashkelon Station is affiliated with Temple Colony on GL-382 as an independent civilian outpost. We are protected by the charter of ICSC member colonies. Only a signed order from the Director could grant you such authority!”

Victor crossed his hands in apology adding in a feigned sympathetic tone, “It should not come to that. Director Candlish has nothing but the highest respect for you Mr. Darkon; both as the station administrator and a former board member of Technion Interstellar. Likewise, the CSC Board of Directors would much prefer to see you handle things as well as you always have.”

Victor did not have to say 'or suffer the consequences', the threat of forced retirement was plain. A hush of in drawn breaths filled the command center. Ze'ev's head was on the chopping block, both politically and professionally. Ze'ev looked as if he'd just been punched in the gut. Twenty years I have lived and served on Ashkelon Station. So much I have sacrificed... and now it comes to this?! He thought with disbelief. No! I think you have underestimated me Victor. I am so close to finding answers for Eva. Any evidence I uncover against Weyland Yutani will prove just as valuable for the Directors. They will not dare to push me out after that! I will yet end my career as a righteous man. You, monster, will be sent back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of!

Catherine noted the defiance in Ze'ev's eyes, as well as the fatigue etched in every deep wrinkle. He is a proud man, she had to admit, but he may not have the strength left in him to endure a battle of wills against my father.

“I have called for a top level administration meeting in twelve hours. You are welcome to attend Mr. Darkon. There are things you will need to be briefed on that concern the future of this station and the whole of the ICSC,” Victor stated with no small sense of drama. “In the meantime, I expect regular progress reports on the hunt for the fugitives. The sooner they are apprehended, the better.”

_ _ _

“I'm sorry Mr. Castle, your health insurance doesn't cover further treatment. Do you have another form of insurance?” a male nurse asked Reese.

Wade rised angrily from a cheap folding chair beside the hosptial gurney. “What the hell's the matter with you?! He was trying to save lives!"

The nurse took in a sharp frustrated breath, “I understand that, you explained he was assaulted at the club. We have done everything we can. Perhaps you should report this to station security? There are several officers here taking statements.”

Wade scoffed bitterly at the memory of how helpless and ineffective station security was. “You have no idea what the fuck is happening do you?”

The nurse frowned at Wade making a gesture at the cramped halls of the hospital emergency ward. All around them dozens of victims, many worse off than Reese, were hastily being treated. “I know enough. Your friend should consider himself lucky. His fractured ribs will heal naturally, so long as he stays home in bed and gets plenty of rest.”

“Rest?!” Wade said incredulously. “We have work to do!” And more importantly, we need to be fit and ready to go when the Casimir arrives, he did not add.

The nurse shook his head, “Out of the question! The healing process will take approximately six weeks if he rests and doesn't exacerbate the injury.”

“Can't you give him an injection of nano-bots or stem cells or some shit?” Wade asked pointedly. “We don't have six weeks!”

The nurse sighed, “That sort of treatment is not covered by...”

“How much?” Reese interrupted, his words slurring slightly through the heavy cocktail of pain killers. The dosage was abnormally strong, intended to knock him unconscious, yet Reese refused to succumb completely to sleep and merely closed his eyes. Yet so long as he stopped complaining, they left him alone.

“Without insurance?” the nurse balked. “I'm not sure, likely several thousand at least.”

“Jesus!” Wade groaned.

The nurse pursed his lips apologetically, “I'm sorry that's the way it is. If you don't have another form of insurance I can at least arrange transport back to your quarters. With some help we can get you off that gurney into your own bed Mr. Castle.”

'Some help' was a bit of an understatement. It had taken four medics to get Reese on the gurney in the first place before it was loaded up unto the emergency transport cart, brought here, and unloaded again. The sight of such a big man zipping through the corridors was almost comical.

They had to be careful not to use a chest-strap to immobilize him which meant Wade and the paramedic had to hold him down riding on the cart beside him. Every bump and separation of the deck plating under the wheels felt like nails being hammered into his side. Had he lost his composure Reese could have easily knocked them both off the cart beside him a blind rage of pain. Thankfully Wade was there to keep him calm.

“Listen, we can get you the money...” Wade started to say before Storen Bull came into view. The lead engineer moved from bed to bed, sharing a few words, shaking hands, cracking a joke or two. When he caught sight of Reese he strolled over immediately. “Can you give us a minute doc?” Storen asked politely strolling up close to place a hand on the nurse's arm.

Wade and Reese exchanged a look as the nurse turned to regard the stranger, “Sure,” the nurse said, thankful for the excuse to step away from Wade's bickering.

Storen had been moving among the wounded and the injured for a short while already, many of whom seemed to know him. Wade couldn't remember seeing the man so friendly and concerned for others before.

“How are you holding up?” Storen asked Reese who had ample bandages around his huge chest.

“Got a cigar?” Reese answered with a quetion of his own.

Storen nodded, pulling one from his inner jacket pocket and leaning close to put it in the big mans hand. Reese lifted it to his lips, very slowly, flinching a few times as he did so. Every movement was painful.

“Thanks!” Reese croaked. The hospital staff wouldn't approve of course, but he didn't give a damn. So long as he didn't light it there was little harm. The taste of a good cigar helped put him at ease.

“What's the word Bull?” Wade asked taking a seat again looking and feeling quite tired and haggard. It was close to midnight when they went to the club. Now that the stress and adrenaline were wearing off, waiting here for hours was taking a toll on his nerves. Even so he was dying to know what was happening on the station? There was a lot of talk among the survivors about what might come from all this.

Storen was usually well informed as a lead engineer and someone who lived on the station for quite a while. It didn't matter that they really had never been friendly with Storen much up till now. Under the circumstances everyone here was doing their best to support each other.

Storen sighed, “It's not good. There are a lot of casualties.”

Wade nodded sadly, thinking of Sharon, Billy and the others. “I wish I would have shot that motherfucker!” he heard himself say.

“Who?” Storen asked raising his brow.

“That Special Executive. Victor Li Shing,” Wade answered coldly.

Storen grimaced knowingly, “A lot of people feel that way. He's a cold-blooded son of a bitch.”

“One of his commandos broke Reese's ribs with his rifle-butt even as he was trying to open the fucking door!”

“I heard that,” Storen confirmed, having heard that story from those who survived. “It was good of you to step up and help.” Storen said placing a hand on the big mans shoulder.

“The same asshole who did that...” Wade continued staring at the floor. “...got blown away by Victor with his own rifle! Craziest shit I ever saw.” There was a pause as Wade got real quiet, and real tense. “Why is he even here?” Wade wondered out loud. “The commandos were looking for someone in the club, before the lights went out and the shooting started.

Storen looked as if he had something to say, but given where they were, he seemed to think better of it. Instead he reached into his inner jacket pocket again and pulled out a cigar for himself. “Care to step out for a smoke?” he asked wade.

“Sure,” Wade answered.

“We'll be back,” Storen said apologetically to Reese, “As soon as you get out of here we'll share one too.”

_ _ _

Exiting the emergency ward the men made an odd pair walking side by side. Wade was the shabby, indifferent, casual type. Still dressed in his baggy jeans, boots and Motörhead t-shirt. Storen was the consummate professional, dressed in an engineering jumpsuit and his old tan leather jacket. More notable perhaps than differences, were similarities. Both men wore beards and kept their hair long, tied back above their collar. But for the age gap, even their looks were not dissimilar from each other. To a casual observer they might have been father and son.

As they moved through the hospital lobby, friends and relatives of the injured and wounded were gathered in dense groups. Hospital staff had to keep the number of visitors to a minimum because of crowding, yet there were plenty here who would wait as long as need be to hear news about their loved ones. Members of station security were also on hand, answering questions as much as asking them from potential witnesses. Outside the main entrance a line of officers held back the media.

Storen gestured to a side corridor. There were smoking rooms available here at the hospital, yet Storen considered them unfit for the sort of conversation he intended to have with Wade. They descended a stairwell, taking a short walk back through laundry, storage and support staff working areas. No one paid them much attention. Descending further still they reached a large, heavy pressure door near the hospitals cargo elevators. Stenciled across dingy, faded paint were the words.

MAIN ACCESS TUNNEL

BRANCH LINE 'C' SECTION 9

ACCESS DOOR 47

- EMERGENCY SHELTER -

Storen stepped over to the control panel/door controls which featured both an audio intercom and a video comms terminal. A tone blipped before The LCD screen flashed ACCESS GRANTED soon after Storen swiped his ID badge through the electronic ID key lock. The heavy door lifted upwards revealing a huge open tunnel.

“Wow!” Wade exclaimed hearing his voice echo into the darkness. He had never been down this deep into the station before. At least thirty meters across the tunnel walls appeared to writhe with huge pipes and conduits that fed in and out of the sides and ceiling. Though there were no windows of any kind, there was something of a stiff breeze as huge fans churned and chopped within gaping air shafts. Even so, air quality down here was poor; laden with the residue of ninety years worth of machinery spills, fumes, and sewage.

“Station techs refer to these tunnels as 'Ashkelon's guts', or just 'the stink',” Storen explained ruefully. “Due to increasing upkeep-costs they stopped running the air scrubbers down here a long time ago.”

“How far do the tunnels go?” Wade asked stepping unto a large loading platform beyond. Two sets of rails stretched away into the distance at the center of the tunnel.

“They stretch under and between the stations three towers. You can ride a cargo train all the way from one end of the the station to the other if you wanted. Plenty do, though its highly frowned upon. These tunnels differ from the passenger tram tunnels higher up in a few significant ways.

Firstly, there are no windows to offer glimpses of Temple or the stars. Second, they move much slower making many stops. Goods, supplies and equipment delivered from shuttle ports or space dock is quite often bulky and very heavy. To save energy, the trains move at barely twice a mans running pace. Lastly, if you are caught riding these tracks, or else-wise loitering in these tunnels where you don't belong, you serve time in station security holding cells.”

“Of course,” Wade mused pulling out his pack of smokes, “But I'm sure people do it anyway. A free ride is a free ride. Besides, there's lots of space down here to hide.”

“There's an entire community of residents on the station who live in these tunnels,” Storen confirmed. “People call em rats, or roaches, because that's how they seem to live. Homeless. Rejects. Fugitives. Petty criminals.”

“Doesn't station security do anything about it?” Wade wondered out loud, lifting a cigarette to his lips.

“Much of the time they avoid these tunnels at all costs. It isn't their turf, and its more difficult than you think to keep people out. For every door like this that takes an ID Badge...” Storen gestured back to the way they came in, “...there is likely two or three other ways to get in somewhere else. Sometimes they just cut their own way in with a laser torch or the like.”

“How about robberies?” Wade asked flicking on his lighter, “You said goods and supplies are delivered on these tracks right? Some of that stuff has gotta be pretty valuable.”

“Oh certainly,” Storen confirmed lighting his own cigar. “The cargo train workers have their own union. They are permitted to have armed guards and they don't fuck around.”

“A union?” Wade asked surprised, “That's a rare thing these days.”

“It is,” Storen agreed, “but there are still some on this station. Janitors, house-keepers, laundry-workers and taxi's. Cargo train workers and the taxi's are the only ones who get permits for firearms though.”

From a short distance down the tunnel Wade noted a bright light appear through the gloom along with the deep hum of the heavy duty maglev rail system. Unlike the high speed maglev trams that whisked executives from tower to tower in an eerie whisper-quiet way, the public maglev tram made quite a racket. This slower cargo train was similar to that, albeit different in cadence.

The clacking, thrumming and whining sounds were lower pitched but louder and longer in duration. Of course, it might have been quieter were it not designed to also operate in zero gravity, as it must. With that design criteria in mind, far more of the train was 'clamped' around the tracks rather than simply riding over them.

The spotlight on the cargo train illuminated more of the tunnel as it neared. Wade made out a figure and a dog approaching the loading platform, walking along one of the raised walk ways on either side of the tracks. Each walk way was scarcely two meters wide, barely big enough for a transport cart, such as the one that carried Reese to the hospital.

As the cargo train thundered near the figure and the dog, individual spot lights trained on them as men with high powered rifles and shotguns took casual aim in their direction. The figure raised his hand to wave at them in passing while the dog barked.

The spot lights remained on them until the train had passed and then reorientated towards Wade and Storen on the loading platform less than a minute later. Wade raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

“Shit you weren't kidding,” he muttered. “They don't fuck around with those guns.”

Storen watched Wade closely as the train moved alongside, looking for signs of trauma or flashbacks to the firefight in the club. Though he had not witnessed it first hand, Storen talked to enough of the survivors to get a good idea of what it must have been like. He wouldn't have been surprised if Wade lost his cool being under the gun so soon after that.

However, the only sign of nervousness Storen observed was Wade's right hand moving unconsciously towards something under his shirt tucked in his waistline. A pistol! Had to be, likely a small automatic. When Wade raised his hand to shield his eyes Storen also glimpsed the USMC tattoo under his t-shirt sleeve, Visible just below his left shoulder. Storen was already aware of Wade's service record from his ICC personnel file. Yet much much of that was classified. Accessing his military records was the only way to get more details. Which was probably nearly impossible here on Ashkelon Station.

After the train passed, Wade's hand moved away from the concealed firearm as he relaxed. As the noise of the dog's barking persisted Wade realized he recognized that sound.

“Hey isn't that Spacer?” Wade asked Storen.

“Yep,” Storen confirmed.

Lights above the loading platform lit up the stranger at a distance of twenty meters as the black Norwegian Elkhound strained against the leash. The man holding the leash was tall and thin with warm dark brown skin. He wore a janitors jumpsuit with an ID badge clipped to his shirt.

“This is Dinesh,” Storen said by way of introduction as the east-Indian man stepped up to the loading platform handing off Spacer's leash back to Storen. Wade guessed Dinesh to be mid forties, approximately the same age as Reese. Dinesh was clean-shaven with hints of grey creeping into his dark hair along his temples and eyebrows.

“Hello!” Dinesh said with a polite smile extending his hand towards Wade. Wade shook it and introduce himself in return.

“Wade is one of the survivors from the club,” Storen explained.

“Oh shit! Fuck, that was bad business!” Dinesh exclaimed, taken aback.

Wade nodded.

“Were you hurt?” Dinesh asked gesturing emphatically with his hands as he spoke. His last word ended in the characteristic soft 't' of his deep accent.

“No not me,” Wade answered shaking his head as he tapped his cigarette ash over the edge of the platform. “However my friend Reese was injured. He's still in the hospital.”

“Reese struggled to open the pressure door when it jammed. His bravery likely saved many lives,” Storen added.

“God bless him!” Dinesh stated with admiration. “I hope he recovers quickly!”

Wade smiled, “Thank you, but that remains to be seen. Ships tech's don't get the greatest healthcare these days.”

“No doubt,” Dinesh said sympathetically. “If you ask me, Jĭngtì Lóng should be paying out their asses for this. One hundred percent! It was their people who did all the shooting.”

Not all the shooting. Wade thought to himself. It was the Triad enforcers who shot first to be perfectly accurate. Honest battlefield evaluation was one of the core principles of the Colonial Marines. It was a mentality he'd never break free of. Yet all he said was, "Bad business, like you said."

“You should be putting in a word for your people here Bull,” Dinesh stated chidingly towards Storen. “I will do whatever favors I can, but my voice doesn't carry the same weight as yours.”

“Oh I will my friend, I will indeed,” Storen agreed.

“Good man!” Dinesh said approvingly, reaching down to give Spacer a farewell pet. “Forgive me but I better get back to work. Very nice to meet you Wade. Take care and give my best to your friend Reese. Ashkelon Station could use more hero's like him!”

Wade shook the mans hand again in parting.

“Before I forget Storen!” Dinesh added, “Tarika expects you to come by for dinner next week.”

“I would never refuse your wife's cooking,” Storen answered with a smile. Dinesh grinned and moved away.

Wade was getting very curious about Storen Bull. Why did Dinesh say his voice carried more weight? He was just a Lead Engineer. Or was he? After Dinesh moved away back into the hospital Wade decided to put that question to the test.

“Back in the emergency ward, I pointed out that it seemed to me that the commandos were looking for someone; before the shooting started. You looked as if you had something to say about that?” Wade asked keeping his eyes low. A useful trick in interrogation.

“They are looking for Keren," Storen replied.

Wade jerked his eyes back up to stare at Storen in surprise. “Keren?! As in Keren Ho-Stern?”

Storen nodded slowly. “Station security is already organizing a manhunt, backed up by the commando's. Victor wants her in custody at any cost.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Wade breathed softly.

“It's not anything she did, it's who or what she knows,” Storen said quietly. “I need your help to find her. You and Reese.”

“Say what?” Wade's expression shifted from confused to suspicious as his former training kicked in. There was something else going on here, he sensed it the same as if it was an itch in the back of his head.

“She's one of us. She doesn't deserve to be hunted down like an animal and turned over to a killer like Victor.”

Wade looked at Storen in confusion. What is your deal? He wondered. “Who is she to you?” he asked instead.

“We have no relationship personally,” Storen stated honestly, “But I think we can both agree it would mean a lot to screw up Victor's agenda. It matters to my employer that we find her first.”

“Your employer?” Wade questioned narrowing his eyes. So that's it then. Storen is a fixer, he realized. Every local boss had at least one. Why should Ashkelon Station be any different?

“What I'm offering is a simple arrangement, mutually beneficial to us all. If you and Reese agree to help me find Keren, I'll get his injury treated properly.”

“And what happens if we do find her?” Wade questioned, “Sequestering her from a man like Victor, and those commando's, isn't exactly without risk is it?”

“After we find her, I'll help you and Reese get your ship back.”

“Our ship?” Wade stated defensively. How does he know about the Casimir?!

Storen took a long drag from his cigar, leveling a look of no bullshit towards Wade, “Look it's none of my business and I'm not making any kind of threat. If circumstances were different I would keep my nose out of your affairs. If you wanna tell me to fuck off, so be it. I'll manage one way or another. But without my help Reese will still be incapacitated and vulnerable when the shit really hits the fan.”

“What do you mean when the shit really hits the fan?”

Storen took a breath and spoke again in a matter-of-fact fashion, “I like you guys so I'll let you in on a little inside secret. If station security hasn't found our lady in less than forty eight hours, Victor Li Shing has promised to take control of the manhunt as a military operation. When that happens, things will go from bad to much, much worse. Dizzy's club was just a tease for what he's capable of.”

Wade swallowed. His instincts were screaming Storen was telling the truth, but he still didn't want to believe it. “There's no way he can get away with that! There's ICC people here now, Colonial Marshal's. They'll put pressure on his superiors to stop it. They probably already are!”

Storen sighed. You really are naive young man. “Sure they will do their best, but do you really think a man like Victor cares about anything other than his own agenda? The Directors' know what kind of attack dog he was when they let him off his chain. Besides, the kind of pressure you speak of takes a lot longer than forty eight hours to reach us in the Outer Rim. Meanwhile, the ICC and the Marshal's will evacuate their people long before they risk their own necks on our behalf. I can promise you that.”

Wade still looked unconvinced so Storen continued, “Look I know what your thinking. Can you both survive this by keeping your heads down and waiting for it all to blow over? Sure maybe,” he shrugged, “less risky perhaps. But the only reason you are on this station is the hope to get your old ship back. Am I wrong?"

Wade said nothing so Storen pressed further, "Your best chance is with my help! The Casimir is due to arrive any day now. When the time is right I can patch your remote piloting terminal into an uplink tower myself.”

Wade narrowed his eyes as his mind raced. How does he know about the uplink terminal?!

“I'll have to discuss this with Reese,” Wade stated tossing his butt out unto the tracks.

Storen nodded, “Of course, but remember what I said. We don't have much time. Administrator Darkon is very upset about this whole business. He wants everyone from the club taken care of properly. If we come to an agreement Ze'ev will make a call to the hospital administrator. Just like that Reese will be healed and released in a matter of hours, not weeks.”

So it's Ze'ev that we're really dealing with? Wade surmised. The old man. Interesting. Long moments passed as he pondered this. In some ways this was good for them. Ze'ev was the highest authority on the station. If he was willing to empower a man like Storen to help them get their ship back. That was the best sort of ally they could hope for.

On the other hand, from the sound of it, he was already loosing his grasp on power. Getting involved in this business might put them into direct conflict with the commando's and Victor Li Shing. Yet as Storen said, doing nothing was no guarantee things wouldn't get worse anyway. It was a gamble either way. But there may never be a better opportunity to get the Casimir back.

“How do we get in touch with you?” Wade asked.

“Speak to Dinesh before you leave the hospital. He'll get a message to me.” I have friends like him all over the station. Storen didn't add. “Don't use the comm terminals. Anything related to this business should only be discussed in person,” Storen stated grinding out his cigar under his boot.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to Keren right?” Wade asked.

Storen hmph'd, “I'd say it's a bit too late for that. Somehow she got out of that club alive, but she'll have a rough go of it without help.”

“And that's all we're trying to do right? Help her?”

“Yes, as much as we can. We don't know what she knows, or who she knows, that means so much to Victor. It's possible she is beyond all help, but we have to try.”