Law's End
Authors: Glenn Douglass
Tags: #adventure, #travel, #dog, #future, #space, #rescue, #supercluster
By GA Douglass all rights reserved
Published by GA Douglass
Copyright© 2015 by GA Douglass, all rights
reserved.
Cover art by GA Douglass
Law's End is a work of fiction. All
characters and events portrayed in this book are, fictional, and
any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely
coincidental.
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Law's End
by GA Douglass
Prelude: "What We Leave Behind"
"Any lack of information obstructs the
pursuit of reasonable courses of action. The results of such
actions are not predictable. Unpredictable results breed confusion,
and in turn confusion breeds panic."
Excerpt from 'The Principles of
University'
to be heard above the cacophony contained within the wide white
walled corridor of the research platform, "What happened?"
Around this plea was a buzz of seemingly
disconnected and nonsensical, yet purposefully driven, activity.
Key pieces of lab equipment as well as critical data storage and
analysis units were being hastily moved from the workstations where
they had been mounted. Some of the equipment was so heavy it had to
be moved through the platform's wide main corridor on cargo
haulers. Many smaller pieces of equipment were carried in hand by
those who had a short time before depended professionally upon
them. Those with hands free rushed back, pushing against the flow
of traffic, to retrieve more vital research apparatus.
All the faces were familiar to the isolated
soul standing in the middle of this activity, but now rendered
alien. The familiar faces ignored the pleas and their bodies barely
swerved to avoid knocking them down as they pushed past. These were
people that they had known, and had worked alongside of, for years
in some cases. Now these faces ignored them in a rush of great
urgency to finish whatever they were doing. Even eye contact was
avoided for this island of pleading desperation lost among
them.
Desperation spiraled rapidly into panic as the
voice demanded on the verge of tears, "What's happening?"
A strong pair of hands grasped their shoulders
forcing their attention forward on a face obscured by rebreather
mask. "Carol, we're evacuating, do you remember your life-pod
assignment?" Carol nodded mechanically in response to the masked
figure's absurd question and whose voice was so familiar yet still
Carol somehow couldn't assign a name as it continued, "Good, you've
got to go back to your stateroom, gather up everything you can't
lose, and get to your life pod. We're abandoning the platform. We
have to reach the surface of One-Nine-Four. Do you
understand?"
Carol shook her head emphatically turning her
face away from the masked figure. It was then that she caught a
glimpse of the hands holding her and she looked to her own hands.
In horror Carol held out her hand, looking at it as if it were some
monstrosity attached to the end of her arm.
Now the tears streamed unrestrained down her
face as Carol presented the hand to the masked face and demanded in
a rising shout, "What is this? What happened? What did we do?"
Chapter 1: "The Deal"
>THE SKRIM SHAW HAS IT ALL!
>Don't waste your shore leave hours in
search of local hotspots.
>Drinking! Gambling! Dancing! Gaming!
Dining!
>We welcome all species and all group
sizes.
-Promotional flyer found plastered around
the Beckstine Settlement starport
In the distant future somewhere in the
Laniakea supercluster
with thin agile hands on the ends of arms that managed to be
muscular and fit without being bulky. Bulk was supplied by the
loose fitting, yet impeccably tailored, exterior garments of his
flight suit. His physique and the pressure suit were optimized for
speed and flexibility with just enough brute strength to make the
outcome of any fisticuffs less than certain.
Raising the clear glass Kassad studied its
amber contents with an appraising set of dark eyes that detachedly
studied the light filtering through the liquid. Above the dark eyes
equally dark hair had been given just enough discipline to keep it
just beyond his line of sight. Both eyes and hair had a perfect
uniformity of color that hinted at having been purposefully
altered, while the eyes also had a steadiness that could unnerve
and that was wholly a product of his inner focus.
With the drink having passed visual inspection
the glass was lowered to Kassad's nose for a connoisseurs' sniff.
It was a nose that was slightly larger than was considered
fashionable and with a distinct angular bend in the middle of its
length. The nose was framed in the middle of a thin face of
flawless light bronze tone skin. It was an authoritative nose
sitting above a dark beard roguishly trimmed almost to nonexistence
so that it just traced the outline of jaw and lips.
While the glass's contents may not have been
made with authentic ginger Kassad was contented by the results of
his preliminary investigation that it was an acceptable local
substitute. With the beverage finally approved for a sip the glass
was lowered to modestly thin lips that sampled only the very
surface of the liquid. Taste of the beverage immediately brought
the initial analysis into question so that the glass was again
brought before the face's other senses for a second pass.
With a mildly disapproving glare at the
counter's robot bartender Kassad turned with his drink to give an
equally disapproving glare to the rest of the Skrim Shaw
establishment. Somehow Kassad never found himself in a place like
the Skrim Shaw to do legitimate business. He had more than his fair
share of doubts about legitimate business ever occurring at such an
establishment.
Skrim Shaw's extensive bar twisted through a
kilometer long loop enclosing a variety of variable environment
settings. In theory creatures from almost any world could find a
comfortable atmosphere or at least have one custom modified to
their particulars. In practice most of the Skrim Shaw's patronage
was of terrestrial origin and setting up any conditions hazardous
to that species was generally frowned upon.
From its conceptualization Skrim Shaw had been
very consciously envisioned as a space farer's one stop for their
one night out the world. As a recreational facility the Skrim Shaw
catered to sensibilities that ranged from the frivolous to sober.
Within the circumference of the Skrim Shaw's walls were dance
floors, dinning booths, conference rooms, and gambling tables of an
indescribable variety. Scattered around this sea of open and often
legally grey dealings there were secure backrooms where any sort of
activity could be arranged.
From his own personal experiences Kassad
doubted if anyone ever came to the Skrim Shaw to simply carouse.
Certainly the intoxicant free beverage he carried away from the bar
wasn't mixed to a standard different than what one could acquire
out of the average vending machine. The dance floors appeared to be
active, but it almost certainly generated patron constructs during
lulls in activity to keep up appearances or provide partners to the
solitary. While the establishment's existence as a cover for
illicit activities was the most likely explanation Kassad had
little time to waste pondering the motives of others. He certainly
wasn't there to carouse.
At least the noise level permitted conversation
of the sort needed to conduct business. Acoustic dampers scattered
throughout the establishment reduced everything off the dance
floor, excluding each patron's personal selections, to a dull
background rumbling. Even the Arabic electronica that Kassad made a
point to listening to during business dealings was kept at a
soothing level in keeping with his preferences and the image he
habitually projected.
As a youth Kassad had decided that his name
referenced ancient Arabic heritage. As many did in pursuit of their
ancient roots he'd permanently altered his skin, hair and eye
color, and even subtly altered his bone structure to match the
ancient stereotype he wished to emulate. Only briefly had Kassad
taken things further, as many did, by making a hobby of studying
the history, culture, and language to better project the desired
image.
In maturity Kassad had found it more important
to cultivate a reputation that kept a steady stream of lucrative
opportunities flowing to him. This proved much more practical than
wasting time projecting an image that people invariably interpreted
as they wished instead of how it was intended. Yet even as his
enthusiasms for the conceit diminished the outward trappings
remained as a visible link to both a real and a possible past.
Taking the immediate area in with a sweeping
glance Kassad selected a corner booth as far as possible from the
main flow of traffic, and its obfuscation field swirled into
existence as he approached. Each occupied table defaulted to
concealment behind a web of randomly distorted light and
asymmetrical noise that melded together in any one area to
approximate music. He'd been to enough places like the Skrim Shaw
to know not to fully trust the establishment's provided obfuscation
gear. Rumors always insisted that the owners recorded everything
somehow anyway so Kassad placed a small white noise generator on
the table in front of him as he slid deeply into the booth so he
could more fully face outward.
As he settled into the booth, and in spite of
assurances he'd been given that it wouldn't be needed, Kassad
checked the charge on his pistol and left it sitting high in its
holster. All he knew for certain was that the meeting was a request
for aid. In the face of any uncertainty Kassad had learned to
always be careful and this was especially for his friends. In his
experience it was among friends where a person had to be
particularly careful, and this contact had in fact once been a
friend and even a mentor.
Kicking his heavy duty spacer's boots up onto
the booth's table top Kassad gazed into the obfuscation field.
Beyond the edge of the table the obfuscation distorted the world
into twisted and melting shapes. It was impossible even for a
trained eye to tell if anyone was coming or going through the
distortion, but Kassad watched anyway. Somehow the algorithms
managed to make the obfuscation look artistic rather than
disturbing.
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