| Chapter 3 |
Chapter 3
“Really?” Chief Investigator Seen Monif replied, his boot still on Harlov’s face. He leaned in, “Name one.” Harlov tried to answer, but his words slurred into painful grunts as the boot pressed harder. Blood shot from Harlov's mouth as his jaw cracked. “You don't have any rights! You and your entire organization are suspected accessories in the destruction of Heaven.” “We didn't do anything,” Harlov said after the boot was removed. He gingerly fingered his broken jaw, smearing a blood-soaked impression of his fingers on his cheek and neck. Monif produced a handkerchief from his ruffled suit-jacket pocket and wiped the blood from the sole of his boot. Two officers pulled Harlov off the floor, slamming him onto a bench by the wall. “I told you,” Harlov said wearily, his speech slurring through blood-stained teeth, “Tellen was a Royalist, but that was all. The movement is not responsible for his actions.” “You’re forgetting the law,” the Chief answered. “Illegal actions by any member of an organization, under the name of that organization, subject that organization to penalties for any teaching that might have motivated the illegal act. That makes you and your group of mythers, accessories.” “We're not mythers,” Harlov responded angrily, trying to rise. An attending officer slammed him back onto the hard wood bench. For a moment, Harlov thought he might pass out. “We did not do anything,” he protested weakly. “We didn’t know what Tellen was planning. In the King’s name, I swear.” “All Royalist are mythers.” Monif started to turn away, but whipped back around, his hand shoved in Harlov’s chest, holding him against the bench. “I’ve yet to meet a grounder or a spacer that likes you people.” Two officers grabbed Harlov by the head to immobilize him. Monif regarded him with contempt. “Downloading your synaptics.” Harlov tried to jump from his seat, but one of the officers punched his fist into the side of Harlov’s jaw that wasn’t broken. Harlov folded easily back onto the bench, protesting. “You can't do that,” he tried to yell, spitting blood. “That's private information! You can't rip data from a man's brain.” Monif’s reply was a backhand to the face, bumping the polifaith leader’s head against the wall. Monif massaged his hand. “Actually we can download any synapse we want, and you don't have a choice. This is an act of terrorism, which this planet hasn't seen in more than twenty-three hundred years! So don't tell me what we can't do. Your man Tellen So'tar was a ranking member of your movement. He even spent three years employed in your office—“ Harlov interrupted, “You put him there! He was your agent long before he was a royalist.” Monif ignored the interruption and continued, “—before leaving to restart his piloting career at Tether Base. Tell me, did you order him to renew his gliding license, or did he come up with that on his own?” Harlov looked coldly at the Chief Investigator. “You knew him longer than I did. You tell me. I guess that makes you an accessory suspect, too.” Monif said nothing. Wearied, Harlov raised his purpled face. “He was your boy in the agency long before he was ours.” The security officer next to Harlov was about to send his fist back into the man’s face when Monif held out his hand to stop him. He motioned to the equipment in the case next to them. The officer pulled out a thread-like wire, less than a millimeter in diameter, and inserted it into the standard link socket behind Harlov’s right ear. Harlov barely felt it go in. A link icon appeared in the left corner of his vision, the side for secure information, file attachments, and emergency access links. “No,” he said, weakness overtaking him. “Stop this.” Monif turned away to pace the floor. “Relax, myther; it'll be over in a few minutes.” “Link, close,” Harlov commanded. Nothing happened. “Link, scramble.” “It's not going to work, Harlov. You can't prevent the connection or prevent the synaptic stream from loading.” Swollen and bloodied, Harlov mustered his last ounce of strength. His bloodied and bruised features turned hard. “Maybe not.” He looked at Monif with disgust. “Link, override RoyalSat Four, send dump from workday start until now.” Monif looked at the agent working the link load. “What did he do?” “I'm not sure,” the agent responded, watching a data stream zip down his screen. For the first time since the raid, Harlov was defiant. He managed a bloody, grotesque smile. Though his voice was weak, his words were firm. “You’ve attacked the Prime Surrogate of the King; you’ve confiscated Royal assets without due process; you’ve committed synaptic rape. Now everyone will know.” “Sir,” the agent raised his voice in alarm. “He activated a broadband link to a satellite! Our entire operation and this interrogation were uploaded on a private link network.” Monif turned his calloused features toward Harlov, who still wore a reddened smile. He burned the smile off Harlov's face with a Taser, leaving the polifaith leader unconscious and his link severed. *** Some people still shook in terror. The eight hundred passengers of Tether Transport Two had just departed Center Node on their way to Xa Station when the explosion ripped through their cabin. Their tether was damaged by debris and severed. The trunk slid right through the main ring. Someone in the pilot’s cabin activated aft thrusters to keep them from falling to the atmosphere, but something went wrong. The cabin pitched violently. Through the ceiling ports, the passengers watched as the pilot ring blasted away, only to be pulverized by a chunk of tether. When a huge section of the pilot ring smashed back into the passenger cabin, air vented from first class, exposing everyone in it to the vacuum of space. Luckily for coach passengers, first class cabins were sealed. But the whole ring was on a slow drift toward Terra. It would only be hours before they hit the atmosphere, to burn up on re-entry. Just before things got hot, maintenance pods from City of Heaven managed to grab the cabin and tow it above the critical zone. “It doesn't matter. They’re just postponing the inevitable,” thought Leetin Skor. Leetin was a ring pilot, gliding standby on a multi-node jump to end at Gamma, where he lived with his wife and son. Leetin knew he would never get home. He knew his wife and son didn't stand a chance. This is what I get for coming to Heaven in the first place. Leetin helped the remaining crew try to keep the passengers calm with lies like: The pods have pulled us to safety. It won't be long before help arrives. They know we're here. Or: Things are under control. We have enough food, water, and air for several days if necessary. They were all lies, and Leetin Skor kept on lying. As a transport pilot and the only surviving officer on the glide, Leetin assumed command for the emergency. Twenty-seven remaining support staff helped him lie to the terrified passengers. Of course, they were just stewards. They didn't know Leetin was lying. How could they know? They didn't have all the facts. Leetin was sure he knew the only fact that mattered—that they would all be dead within hours. “I'll handle it,” Leetin answered, making his way to the seat where the overwrought man was screaming at a steward. “Why didn't the pods take us to a city node?” “Sir,” Leetin got the man's attention while opening his link at the same time, “please calm down or I'll be forced to knock you out.” Several of the passengers looked at Leetin in shock. “Knock me out? Are you a grounder? I'll sue you and Heaven for all it's worth!” “Sir, you misunderstand me—and there's no money in Heaven.” The man looked at him oddly, then curled his fist. “Link open,” Leetin said. “Sir, I think you should take a very long nap.” The man's fist loosened. His eyes fluttered, then closed as he fell fast asleep. If there was one thing that made the imminent approach of death lose its sting, it was the ability to knock people out. Leetin silently thanked the Link creators for their invention. With the right protocols, depending upon your work assignment, you could link with someone and get the person to do almost anything—like marry you. Leetin wondered if his wife and daughter were okay Terra-side. If he made it back to Terra, he would be able to reclaim something of his life—if not all of it. He would miss his wife and son on Gamma, but there was nothing he could do for them. It was too late; they were lost. He couldn’t even reach them through the linktrans. Leetin’s Terra-side wife was his first, and though not his favorite, they were happy. Leetin thanked the Great Cause his wife and daughter were grounders. He hated that name. Filthy pig, where does he get off calling me a grounder? Leetin calmed himself and looked around at the terrified faces of the passengers. At the moment, it seemed like being a grounder was the smartest way to live. Leetin preferred the dual-mode life. His wives didn’t seem to mind either. At least, he reasoned, they each got a break from him every now and then—and he from them, though only in turns. Leetin moved behind a service wall and activated his link to rotate through transport frequencies. “This is Leetin Skor aboard Passenger Cabin two-forty-one, calling any node. Please respond.” Static. “This is Leetin Skor aboard Passenger Cabin two-forty-one. Please respond.” Hearing nothing but static, he adjusted his link to record a message. “Link open, record for continuous broadcast on all transport frequencies. Message: This is Leetin Skor on Passenger Cabin two-forty-one. We are without power. Temperature is dropping. Our exact coordinates are unknown. The command ring has been destroyed. We need immediate rescue and tow to a city node. Please respond.” His link began transmitting, but he had a suspicious feeling nothing was getting out. He called a steward on the other end of the ring. “Turn to transport frequency six-one on your link. Tell me what you hear.” He waited a moment and the steward responded, “Nothing but static.” That answer told him there was more going on than just a pulverized node. Transport frequencies were blocked. The linktrans network was down—a feat that would require destroying or interfering with dozens of satellites. This was no accident. Leetin moved into the cabin. He scanned the faces of the terrified passengers—mothers clinging to their children, young men with eager faces waiting for news of rescue. Some of the elderly looked resigned. “Link open, pilot's protocol, broadband, local.” A status bar indicated he was connected with the entire cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Leetin Skor. I am the ranking pilot in charge of emergency operations aboard this ring. As you can see by looking outside your ports, there has been an accident at City of Heaven. We do not know, nor do we have any way of knowing, the condition of the city nodes. Communications with Tether Base are currently offline.” Many of the passengers looked at him with fear in their eyes. “I know you are scared. I'm scared too. But please be assured that right now we have air, water, and food. I won't lie to you. We will be rescued. We’ve already been pulled into a stable orbit. The pods are most likely due to come back as soon as they are able. It is important that we conserve what resources we have until then, using as little air as possible.” Leetin made an adjustment to his link. “Therefore I'd like everyone to go to sleep.” Within seconds, all eight hundred passengers and crew were unconscious—all except Leetin Skor, who had no way to link himself to sleep. He scanned the faces of the sleeping passengers. Some looked peaceful. Others look agonized, as if trying to force themselves awake to endure their coming demise. “If you’re going to die,” Leetin said to no one in particular, “then it’s best to die in your sleep.” He sat down and linked into the cabin library. “Play some music, subdued volume.” There was a chirp as the link completed the connection to the music library and automatically chose a selection. He closed his eyes as a children’s holiday favorite began playing.
“I hate Judgment Day music...” Leetin complained as he closed his eyes to sleep.
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