So
there is this gang of Travellers. Rough sort. Gun toting heavies in
the galactic backwater where corporations are the law and colonists
try and pursue a better life.
Life
is cheap and air, water and artificial sweetener are costly. Out of
this Major Schmidt has managed to carve out a better deal than most
on Skalvil. He's done this by providing a no questions asked security
force for Omni Sun overseeing the peace and prosperity of Colonial
Dome One.
Chief
radioed in from HQ, his heavy joweled face speaking through the vid.
“Omni
Horron Research Facility has been incommunicado. Missed a twenty four
hour relay to Kazawan City. That and its pump facility appears to be
off. Don't know for how long. The colonists are pissed of course.
They pay a lot of credits for clean water. I want you out there ASAP.
Find out why the facility isn't communicating and get the damn water
turned back on.”
Schmidt
knew it didn't help that OHRF (O-Rif) was three years behind on
delivering the modified crops which can grow in Skalvil's thin,
tainted air. The colonists complained it was all a scam to keep
soaking them for clean water and indoor grows.
Chief
heaved like a beached whale in the screen as he scanned reports
Schmidt couldn't see. “Vanders Labor Group is already out there
pounding at the gates looking for their water.”
Chief
seemed pretty concerned about the situation. Before Schmidt had
signed off the Chief had thrown in a 50 pound bag of Zucor on top of
his regular pay to get it done. Schmidt never knew the Chief of
being magnanimous.
That
meant Hernandez was going to have to fly one of those retro-fitted
aircraft used to get around Skalvil quickly. The air is really thin
so fixed wing just doesn't get it done. With the tech Omni has at
its disposal a standard grav shuttle is the way to go, but oh no, not
when a few credits can be saved. Omni, in their infinite wisdom,
instead elected to re-purpose regular VTOL craft used on the mining
platforms on Xxcarvis with decommissioned grav engines. Dam tricky to
fly and each Skalvil mechanic has their own ideas on how to keep
them running. Schmidt would rather take an ATV, but that would take
eight hours minimum to drive around the Skalvil Sea when the plane
can have him on site in a half hour. Better take Pavlov too.
Hernandez can't find the wet spot without Pavlov checking the charts.
Jones and Saar would round out the squad. If the colonists started
getting lippy the two ex-army hands tended to shoot real straight.
Schmidt,
Pavlov, and Saar clambered aboard with their gear and filter masks
while Jones put the last of the fusion tape on his repair work.
Hernandez went through the final check and with a course laid in
lifted off and out of the dome. It was a typical Skalvil morning.
Driving acid rain obscuring the blood purple sky and the brown rugged
landscape of the defile spread out into nothing. The black Skalvil
“sea” below let Schmidt know they were on course and shortly they
were over the prominent outcropping on the far eastern shore where
OHRF sat. OHRF's control tower was broadcasting its regular warnings;
“Entering restricted air space. Property of Omni Sun. Trespassing
prohibited. Unauthorized landings will result in arrest, etc.”
Circling the facility all the lights were on. The tower's beam
sweeping the premise regularly. Why wasn't anyone home? Just as the
chief said a contingent of colonists in their homemade enviro suits
were demonstrating at the front gate. Schmidt quickly calculated they
couldn't stay out their all day. Oxygen was expensive. The colonists
would have to get satisfaction soon or they would need to head back
to the dome or a nearby underground farm.
“Bring
us down inside, right in front of the gate”, ordered Schmidt. “I
want to let the dirt farmers know someone is in charge around here”.
Hernandez brought the VTOL smartly down on the concrete pad inside
the electrified fence and everyone piled out.
“Bargas
is with them Major.” said Pavlov. Pavlov grew up in the dome and he
recognized the union boss among the colonists. A tall man, his
patchwork “skins” were well known to security personal. Bargas
was tough, smart and the Skalvil dirt farmers loved him. The labor
leader was calling out loudly to the squad.
“Ask
him what he thinks he is going to accomplish out here.” Schmidt
replied. “Don't forget to tell him the electrical fence is still
live.” Pavlov didn't like to handle heavy firepower like Saar and
Jones. With a body pistol tucked away he was the least intimidating
looking of the bunch. His mesh security jacket swallowed up his
narrow frame making him look like an overgrown child as he walked
through the rain to the gate.
“What
do you want Bargas?” Pavlov asked, looking through the ten foot
high chain link fence.
“What
do you think? I want my damn water! We're all paid up. Omni try to
break our back, well, we won't let that happen.” Pavlov,
unsurprised, could now see some rifles and other side arms being
carried by some of the men. The twenty something colonists came
packing.
“Well
don't worry, that's why we're here. We'll get this all sorted.”
“You
got four hours.”
“Four
hours? You're kidding me, right? Something must be wrong with the
pumps. If it was an easy fix it would've been done by now.”
“Bullshit.
Omni's jerking our chain. You got four hours or we go in and fix it
ourselves.” It was next to impossible to read Bargas' expression
through the thick lenses and rubbery, articulating respirator, but
his harsh voice was sounding desperate.
“Look,
if you want it fixed that fast you are going to have to show me some
love. You come up with some of your boys monthly dues and I'll see
what I can make happen.”
“You
do that Pavlov you got a deal. Don't forget I know where you live.”
Pavlov
double timed it back to Schmidt and the rest of the squad standing
under the shelter of the VTOL. “He says get the water flowing again
in four hours and there won't be any trouble. I got him to agree to a
piece of the labor coffers for the heavy lift.”
Schmidt
gave a derisive snort and ordered the squad to the front door. Jones
started whistling, “Love me some chedder, when Omni don't know even
better.” He couldn't sing, but he knew Saar hated him singing so it
was always worth it.
“Major,
the access code doesn't work. What gives?” Saar looked over his
shoulder at Schmidt. He had taken off his gloves and was punching in
the code another time.
“Is
it broken?” Schmidt asked.
“No,
everything's powered up. It just keeps telling me invalid access
code.”
“We
don't have time for this Saar, take it apart and get the door open.”
Saar
broke out his electronic tool kit, punched out the thick stainless
screws and went to work on the wiring being the screen. With the
hand-held running diagnostics Saar noticed it wasn't just an
unauthorized code change. It seemed the code function was blanked out
entirely. Regardless the magnetic locks released under his direction
and one of the sturdy metal doors slid back. The soft, yellow glow of
the recessed interior lighting was on. The reception area was only
unusual by the lack of staff at the front desk. Jones swept the
nearby rest rooms while Saar started punching the comm at the front
desk calling out for personal.
“The
plumbing works!” Jones smiled, hitching up his pants as he exited
the Men's Room.
“That
should mean there is only a problem with the pump,” concluded
Schmidt. “Let's find access to the lower level. The filter and pump
equipment should be there.”
“Which
way,” asked Hernandez?
“That
would be restricted information Hernandez,” replied Schmidt. “But
there should be a lift near the center. We'll take the corridor
straight ahead. Any luck raising the Director or any staff Saar?”
Saar
just shook his head, “Everything is working fine Major. There's
just no one answering.”
“This
is strange.” said Jones.
The
squad stalked the hall to the door at the end. Saar had to hack the
electronic door lock just like the entry. On the other side the
passage split three ways. Left, right and straight ahead. To the left
down the corridor could be seen a sign for the computer room, to the
right at the end of the hall a door to the communications center.
Saar, with his electronic hand-held still out begged to check out the
computer room.
“Let's
go, we'll check it out.” said the Major. Saar once again had to
hack the door, but by now he had figured out the programming and it
took less then ten seconds with the hand-held. Banks of computer
tapes hummed in the servers, uploading data which constantly streamed
from the facilities different equipment.
“I
won't be able to decode anything right now Major, but I can download
the recent logs. Should be a lot of information what's been going on
the last few days.”
“Do
it” Schmidt knew Saar was more keen on downloading anything he
could sell on the black market, but it still was a sensible move. It
took ten minutes before Saar called it quits. His data storage drive
stuffed with who knows what.
“I
want to check out the comm room before we head to the pumps. I want
to find some staff real soon.” Ordered Schmidt. Saar knew what to
do so the squad gave him room and kept their weapons unslung. This
time though instead of green lights and releasing mag locks Saar
watched the hand-held pop and a violent surge of electricity coursed
his arms. He yelled in pain and dropped the slagged electronic tool.
“Effing
thing was rigged to do that!” Saar complained. He held his scorched
hands between his legs rocking back in forth in pain.
“That
door isn't opening now,” Jones stated the obvious, “but hey
Saars, your in luck here is Medical.” Jones was grinning. The
dangerous electrical short, while frying the mag locks on the
communications door, released the door to the sick bay right near by.
“Fracking
great!” hissed Saar.
“Check
it out Jones, weapons ready.” ordered the Major. A quick sweep of
the room found it empty besides being a functioning medical unit.
Pavlov located a first aid kit and started treating Saar's burnt
hands. That's how Pavlov noticed some of the cabinets had been rifled
through. Chemical and drug testing equipment was scattered over the
counter. Closer inspection showed someone had been testing Zucor, the
hard to get and much desired sweetener the wealthy corporates had to
have.
“Major,
why would anyone be needing to test Zucor?” Pavlov pointed to the
counter.
“I
am sure I have no idea.” Schmidt replied. “Are you two done
playing paddy-cake? Let's move.”
Pavlov
took the lead and the squad exited out Medical into another long hall
running left and right. The squad headed right towards the center of
the complex and the elevator they could see. The Major brought up the
rear while Hernandez hung back in Medical. The pilot wasn't the type
to take the lead when the Major and his boys unslung their guns.
Schmidt
felt like a flat-footed fool when at either end of the long corridor
the electronic doors slid open revealing a pair of armed men leaning
in with aimed carbines. It didn't stop him from charging the nearest
attacker shotgun blazing. Jones and Saar followed their commander's
lead like they've done hundreds of times before; shoot first, then
again and again. Armed only with a pistol Pavlov hurled himself at
the nearby elevator door hoping it was still active. The shotgun
blast was deafening in the metal corridor. Saar's submachine gun
barked and sprayed lead like rain drops on a tin roof and the crack
of rifle and carbine fire lashed out. The trained army soldiers took
down their opponents. Either sloppy in their execution or overly
confident in getting the drop on the squad the work clad strangers
wearing opaque filter masks lay groaning or unmoving on the floor.
They had managed to tag Saar. He was bleeding badly. Schmidt quickly
kicked the attacker's carbines away while Jones covered the other two
shot at the other end of the hall. He noticed Pavlov had made the
elevator in the mayhem and was descending to the second floor.
Hernandez stuck his head out from Medical.
“We
good?”
