Counterweight (7 page)

He was hoping it would turn out to be planet 3428. If the
Alliance decided to garrison that world, it would give them a strong position
on the Dactari flank and it meant a greater enemy force would have to be
stationed here, drawing off enemy troops from the core worlds. If they timed it
right, he could start an insurrection here while Alliance forces took 3428.

The Dactari Consul ruling the Republic was also the titular
head of the military but no Consul since the first one had any actual military
experience. Chances were good he’d overreact, sending a massive force to keep
this insignificant ball of water in his domain.

Cal closed the data and shut off his implants, finally
hearing the growl of his stomach. He started walking. He could wait for a few
more days before calling Flemming with the news.

Breaking Point

Planet 3428

R
ick
looked down at the steel counter. Next to the springbuck he’d dropped were the
wooden tokens the commissary clerk owed him for the kill. Most of them, anyway.
The clerks always kept some of the tokens if you were a pariah like Rick.

Of course, the clerk wouldn’t simply hand the tokens over;
he had to drop them on the bloody counter. Rick looked up at the arrogant young
jerk. You could always find those who approved of class distinctions. Even a
blood-soaked meat jockey could feel superior to someone.

Superior, even to an engineering officer. Rick at least had
the grace to realize he was applying a different type of class structure with
that thought. He had to admit he felt more useful than the clerk because he
knew how to keep the
Canal
running while this jackass did nothing but
put meat in storage and hand out tokens.

And the clerk was a lousy four. Rick’s precognitive
abilities were more than three times stronger. He shook his head. He was
quickly losing the moral high ground here. He turned and walked out, ignoring
the startled protest. Let the little bastard have the tokens, but he’ll have to
clean off the blood first.

He descended into a dark corridor beneath the hangar deck
that led to the ventral Engineering nexus. He usually took this route so he
could avoid his ‘betters’ and he was in no mood for any more provocation this
morning.

As he approached an intersection, a shadowed form stepped
out from the right branch and stood facing him. “Hello, Ricky-boy,” Ted’s nasal
voice grated, oozing with menace. “We hear you’ve been harassing Nell again.”

It figured. Nell was angry at his defiance but she could
hardly use the real story to enlist Ted in her vengeance. He was unlikely to
ambush Rick over his refusal to show up at the abandoned shuttle and so he’d
been fed some tale that would be more amenable to jealous ears.

Rick could easily handle Ted.

Four more shapes appeared from behind stanchions.

Even with his precognitive edge, five assailants might just
have the advantage.

“You need to stop following her around when she’s out
hunting,” Ted growled. “You really think she’s got any interest in a loser like
you?”

There it was again. Despite Rick’s superior abilities, he
was dirt under the feet of this quartermaster’s assistant because his ancestor
hadn’t been a willing mutineer. A man can bottle rage for a long time but,
sooner or later, that bottle will fill up. Sooner or later, that rage will need
to find an outlet and Rick didn’t like to walk away from a fight.

The small group was starting to spread out, surrounding him,
unaware of what they’d awakened. Rick knew he’d have to take the initiative if
he wanted to maximize his advantages and so he launched himself to the left,
aiming a punch at the closest assailant.  The man adjusted his position,
but few people had Rick’s lead-time and he adjusted the punch to where it would
connect with the man’s nose.

Only a handful of people shared Rick’s obsessive need to
spend his off-duty hours working off anger, and he was the only one who did it
with a bow. Even compared to the other bow hunters, he was strong.

A sickening crunch and the man was on his knees, blood
gushing around his fingers. It was a solid hit and Rick knew the man’s eyes
would swell shut within seconds. He swung to the right, deflecting a punch from
attacker number two and driving his left fist into the second man’s belly.

A blast of garlic-laced breath told Rick he had a moment’s
respite from the second attacker and he turned, already knowing it was too late
as Ted’s ample weight slammed into him, driving him down to the deck.

His assailants moved quickly to pinion his arms while Ted
sat up and pulled out a knife. “Get his pants down, boys.” The pimple-faced
teenager gave him an evil smirk. “I know how to end his interest in Nell once and
for all.”

Rick knew Ted was serious. The beating they’d meant to give
him was now outweighed in Ted’s mind by the damage Rick had dealt. It didn’t
matter that he’d fought in self-defense, they felt entitled to beat him, and
now they also felt they deserved to punish him for defending himself.

Evidently that justified castrating him.

The rage had just been leaking from the bottle, but now the
glass shattered. As Ted came to his knees, giving his compatriots room to
follow his instructions, Rick was able to move his legs. Without a thought for
what price he might have to pay, Rick pulled out his right leg and kicked up at
Ted’s right hand, driving the knife up into the crease where chin met neck.

The hands on his arms loosened as his horrified attackers focused
on the blood spurting from Ted’s neck. A tiny part of his mind was urging him
to stop but he knew things had already gone too far. Win or lose, this fight
already meant Rick’s death. If it came to a trial, it would be the word of one
pariah against five upstanding members of society.

Or four, depending on Ted’s next few minutes.

May as well get my skin’s worth,
Rick thought grimly.
The man holding his left arm was squatting over it, staring at Ted. His grip
had gone loose and Rick reached up, grabbing the man’s belt and pulling him
backwards enough to throw him off balance. Predictably, his arms flailed for
balance, giving Rick the freedom to grab the shirt of the man holding his right
arm and yank him forward, using the transfer of energy to pull himself up in
the process.

The man tumbled to the floor between Rick and the fourth man
– the designated pantser, who turned from Ted as his comrade hit the floor,
only to take a punch to the throat. Rick was back on his feet and he turned to
face the left-arm holder, catching him off balance with a kick to the solar
plexus.

He turned back to the man from his right arm, finding him
halfway back to standing and he drove a short, brutal punch against his left
side. Rick had aimed for the liver and the pain on his opponent’s face told him
he’d connected.

The fight was over.

The consequences began to settle in. Ted was stumbling down
the corridor, looking for a stairway back to the hangar deck. He was still
mobile so the carotid artery had been missed. He’d bled less than his friend
with the broken nose.

A small miracle that still wouldn’t save Rick. He’d hang for
this, just like his grandfather, eighteen years ago. His father might
understand but he’d still be furious with him.

Without thinking about it, he turned and ran in the other
direction, illuminated every thirty feet by the maintenance grilles that
allowed the delivery of large parts to the hangar deck without adding to the
clutter of combat. He stopped under the third grill where it remained dark. He
gazed up at the underside of the smuggler’s shuttle that prevented the light
from reaching the corridor.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he suddenly
felt his whole life had been leading up to this moment. The events of the last
ten minutes had removed any element of choice, and the shuttle was scheduled to
leave at any minute.

He reached up and released the latch on the grill, stepping
out of the way as the hydraulic cylinders slowly swung it down and out of the
way. The outer hatch of the shuttle’s escape pod was directly above him. It was
a clever design, intended to double as an emergency airlock.

Rick hit a large red button and the grill began to swing
back up. He pushed his fingers through the lattice-like framework and rode the
panel as it rotated back into the closed position, leaving him lying on the
grill underneath the smuggler’s shuttle.

He rolled over and looked at the access panel next to the
hatch. It was in an unfamiliar script but he noticed a large red square in the
upper right corner. He grinned. The important buttons were always
blood-colored, no matter what species you were.

He knew the button would open the portal. The round hatch
came open with a satisfying hiss. With a quick look around to ensure he hadn’t
been spotted, he grabbed the handle on the inside of the hatch and hoisted
himself into the cramped pod. As soon as his body cleared the opening, the
automated door swung back up to close under him.

Rick let out a deep shuddering breath. Now that he’d gone to
ground in this shuttle, he had time to assess his situation. He couldn’t stay
with his people. For someone of his status to assault someone like Ted and his
friends, a high price was usually paid. Ordinarily, it meant a flogging but the
knife sticking out of Ted’s neck meant a worse punishment was in order.

And then there was Nell to consider. Whatever she had told
Ted would undoubtedly be added to the record. She might even embellish it a
bit.

No way would he survive the next few days if he stayed on
3428.

The smell registered in his brain. This pod had a lifeless
odor, free of the sweat, dirt and dead skin cells of six generations. It
smelled of metal, thermoplastics and hydraulic fluid – all scents common to the
Canal
, but they were always in concert with the smells of humanity.

It was his nose that forced him to confront the fact that he
was leaving his home.

What surprised him was the complete lack of regret. He knew
his only chance was to stow away on the smuggler vessel and he was reasonably
sure his abilities could get him all the way to their destination without his
getting caught. He tried to imagine the downside, but how could another planet
be any less welcoming for him than this one?

He’d spent enough time around these Tauhentan smugglers to
know he could pass for one of their kind. Wherever they were headed, he’d
simply sneak off after they landed, pose as a Tauhentan, and put his abilities
to use, building a new life.

The tension drained from his body as he heard the distant
hum of a boarding ramp closing. The search, if it had begun yet, would not
include the shuttle.

It was time to put the official lies to the test. It was
time to see what was
really
out there.

Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

T
he
slag carrier pulled away from the pedway, nearly knocking Belfric on his ass.
He put his knife away and grinned at his erstwhile opponent. He staggered to
his spot at the side rail and held on as they began their slow descent to the
industrial levels. The carrier took ingots up to the departure levels before
stopping to collect workers on its way down.

Cal looked back at the rail and saw the workers at the
collection point were quickly losing interest. They’d stayed off the vehicle to
avoid what looked to be a knife fight over money owed. They realized they
wouldn’t see any excitement and withdrew back into themselves, waiting sullenly
for the next carrier.

That meant that the only workers on board this particular
carrier were the members of
C’Al’s
inner circle.

Belfric came straight to the point. “The ‘arms-length’
following is barely growing at all,” he stated flatly. “We all need to lens it
up. Who here can tell me he knows even one person who wants to be on this
gods-damned ball of water?”

One of the big Tauhentans spat on the floor of the cargo
hold. “Sure they’re all unhappy,” he drawled. “But not enough to risk official
notice.”

“Apathy is our biggest problem,” another growled.

“No,” Cal interrupted. “Our biggest problem is obedience.”
He waited until all faces were turned toward him. “People care,” he insisted.
“Nobody wants their children to live on this dung hole. They just don’t realize
how powerful they really are. They don’t think they can do anything to change
their lives so they just immerse themselves in food, drink or media. Anything
to forget their lives for a few hours.

“They’ve all been conditioned from birth to obey. Obey your
parents. Don’t question their authority. But then the government eventually
replaces them, and you’d better not question what they tell you or you could
end up in detention. That’s supposed to be how you get ahead in the Republic –
keep your nose clean, work hard and you’ll be successful.”

“Except it’s a load of scuttler dung,” Belfric muttered.

Cal aimed a finger at Belfric. “Bel’s right and most folks
on Benthic know it’s true but obedience is still the comfortable choice. Even
the Dactari are no different. Look at how many of them obeyed and went off to
die at Earth.”

There were a few stunned faces at this.

Bel chuckled. “You’ve all heard the rumors about that war.
Do you really doubt there’s truth in them?” He scanned the faces as he talked.
“You know the old saying –
if  there’s ozone, there’s a fire in your
electricals.
”

One of them looked to Cal. “So, how do we change their
minds?”

Cal grinned. “We show them the benefits of
disobedience
.”
He reached into his coveralls and pulled out a handful of fast-chips. “We’ve
been sitting on a pile of credits for a while now,” he explained as he handed
them out. “When you find a parent who’s worried about their kid’s future – and
believe me, that won’t be hard – you tell him you’ve managed to get your hands
on some funds and you want to balance your good fortune by doing a good deed.”