Chapter 14
Chris looked the room over carefully. Although there was a computer jack in one wall, without a computer there was absolutely no way to override the entrance controls.
He looked at the computer jack once again. Maybe I can’t override the controls, but I might be able to stir up some trouble. This close to a galactic core the magnetic interference has be incredibly strong. They must have the plasmonic circuits heavily insulated. If I open this box, remove some of the insulation, and do a little creative short circuitry, their main brain processor should send misguided info all over the station. Nothing serious enough to set off the safety overrides, but certainly enough to cause some minor power outages and irritation.
Using his thumbnail, Chris unscrewed the cover plate and went to work. With the rough surface of the junction opening, he filed a sharp edge onto the cover plate and used it to carefully strip off sections of thick insulation from the circuitry. Then, holding the insulation like a kind of hot pot holder, he manipulated and cross-wired a few of the plasmonic circuits.
Two minutes later the lights went out.
Chris moved to the door, relaxed, but poised for attack. When the door opened, two maintenance technicians entered. Before the technician’s eyes could adjust to the darkness, Chris sent his fist flying into the first man’s solar plexus. As the technician buckled over with the breath knocked out of him in a great whoosh of expelled air, Chris kicked the side of the man’s skull and knocked him unconscious.
The other man tackled Chris. Using his second opponent’s momentum, Chris rolled to his back. Bringing his knees up as he continued the roll, he sent his opponent flying.
Then, using the weight of his now downswinging legs, he rolled forward into a standing position. The two faced off. Strikes and blocks flew back and forth. Chris was surprised, he hadn’t expected this much fight from the technician. He feinted to the left. The man countered, preparing for a blow from the right.
The blow never materialized. It was a feint within a feint. The technician felt a brief instant of pain at his left temple and saw a bright white light. Then nothing. He was unconscious.
Chris stripped the larger tech of his clothes and put them on. While dressing he realized how lucky he had been in having only two maintenance technicians arrive and no security. There must have been no communication between security and maintenance about him. Let’s hope poor communications equal poor organization.
He stepped out into a corridor curving off into the distance, in both directions. Having no idea where he was, Chris chose to go left and soon came to a corridor going right, towards, he assumed, the center of the station. As he walked, he passed two people having a conversation. They nodded politely and he nodded back.
The corridor ended overlooking a space two stories high. The first floor had a variety of shops, stores, and restaurants making up a commercial enterprise zone or, as it was more commonly referred to, a mall. A walkway circled what would have been the second floor, overlooking the first and accessing a number of corridors leading out to the hub of the station.
Trees and other flora were clustered in the center of the mall and randomly scattered around the open space. A number of people, mostly human, were walking around or sitting at cafes. The ones who were not human were a variety of different alien species, some of whom Chris recognized. He anticipated no problems for an hour or so, until it was discovered he had escaped.
He wondered briefly if he had any chance of getting help from the locals. Then he saw the broken cross, Ginyit’s trademark.
Ginyit controls the whole station, he realized.
Raymond Ginyit was entertaining himself with two of the Pam slave girls. His sleeping quarters were luxurious, with plush carpeting and soft fabric wall hangings. One of the Pams was in a corner of the room huddled into a ball and whimpering. The other was beneath him crying slightly each time he thrust into her. The sounds were music to his ears.
Ginyit was on the verge of orgasm when his intercom system carried the voice of his chief security officer, Major Reynolds, into the room.
“Father Ginyit, the prisoner has escaped.”
“What! What!?” Ginyit said. “Well, find him! And when you’ve found him bring him to me in my main chambers. And don’t interrupt me for another half hour.”
“Yes sir.”
The security chief, a heavy, muscular man, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was following established protocol in reporting the escape of a prisoner. But in doing so he had broken the rule of not interrupting Father Ginyitrecreation period, which happened every day at this time. He was in a no win situation and would be extremely lucky to get through it without some sort of punishment. Not informing Father Ginyit of the escape would have resulted in certain death. His own.
Ginyit took his frustration out on the woman beneath him, but the moment of climax was empty for him. His sense of control and domination had been weakened. His mood became foul.
He decided to have the chief of security bound to a stake and whipped in the center of the mall. He hadn’t decided on when to do it, but it would come to pass, he thought to himself. He believed timing was everything and preferred to choose his moments with a sense of artistry, a combination of intellect and intuition.
To calm himself he began to think of what he had accomplished since he had taken possession of this station.
The station had been abandoned over fifty years ago, and when he had first arrived it had been a shambles. The family who had been squatting here had essentially no technical skills and were allowing the station to fall into further disrepair. He had seen its potential for criminal profit immediately. He never did find out why the station had been abandoned, but because of the obvious vandalism he suspected some form of insanity had run rampant through the previous occupants.
With his charismatic abilities to persuade, he had used the first family as slave labor for cleaning up the debris and useless leftover equipment. He had made many of the environmental repairs himself. Ginyit then contacted his followers, a variety of weak-willed individuals who felt they had been treated unfairly by the rest of humanity. With them, he had created a community whose common goals were seeking vengeance against the human race and, in the process, proving their superiority.
The First Family still lived here as favored veterans of his community of worshipers. They attended his weekly sermons and were true believers in the path of the righteous. They fit in well with the population of followers he had chosen to bring to the station.
It was so easy to control angry people with low self-esteem. All you had to do was tell them what they wanted to hear. And this station had been deliberately populated with people who had low self-esteem and an abundance of anger. He had given meaning to their lives
Ginyit had turned the station into one large religious community, very similar to the one he had been raised in as a child. But here, technology and science were used as tools and not wasted and ignored. Ginyit had long ago decided technology did not take God away from people. Options took God away from people. Minimize their options and God once again became a part of their lives. Technology, he had discovered, could be used just as easily to limit options as to create them. His followers didn’t want freedom. They wanted a leader and he provided leadership.
The station now had four hundred and twenty permanent residents all living and working in peaceful harmony under a strict and easy to understand hierarchical order. He was at the top and his Angels of Mercy, his security staff, were his hands. His Angels of Science, the technical staff, were his eyes and ears, maintaining the station and receiving special privileges. At the lowest rung were the Truly Blessed, the people who ran the shops and did the cleaning and made this station a true community, his devoted followers. The clone slaves didn’t count as people.
Finding a stairway down, Chris located an out-of-the-way spot, leaned against a wall, and casually surveyed the area. Four information terminals were located on the plaza, designed to give general, low security information to sentient beings unfamiliar with the station. Trying to look casual, he went to the nearest one.
“Computer. Display floor plans of this station.”
An image of the station’s layout came up on the screen. It was a wagon-wheel shaped space station. A section labeled “Enterprise Zone” in the center of the hub was displayed in light yellow and covered one half of the outer rim. This half of the rim was used for public docking. The rest of the station was in red, and required a security clearance. A free enterprise zone? Ginyit has his own little trading post set up here. One specializing in criminal activities. He’s going to sell the corbinite as fuel to the criminal population.
Chris looked around and then back at the station map, familiarizing himself. He was in the free enterprise zone. Looking around once again, Chris was astonished at the diversity of alien races on the station. He had always assumed the human race was the only one with significant criminal problems. It seemed criminal activity was much more widespread than he thought.
“Computer, display location of space ship, Saint Marie.”
At the last dock before switching to red and requiring security clearance, a representation of the Saint Marie began blinking in blue.
“Computer, show me the location of Kelly Turner.”
“This information is unavailable without clearance.”
Chris paused for a moment. Trying to coax or confuse the computer into giving the information would probably bring security. Looking at the map, he noticed a station security office was nearby.
In fact, it’s right over there, Chris thought, looking directly at the office and wondering about the sign above the entrance, which read ‘Angels of Mercy’.
Chris memorized the map, and the route to the Saint Marie. Drumming up his courage, he walked into the security station and sat down at a computer terminal near the entrance way. One of the security officers looked at him curiously.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just trying to track down a comm systems glitch,” Chris said with an easy going grin. The man nodded and turned back to his work.
“Computer. Run a self diagnostic, and list all prisoners in alphabetical order, and provide their current locations.”
“Complying,” the computer responded.
Chris waited patiently as the computer ran its diagnostic, trying to look bored and to maintain a low profile.
“Diagnostic complete. There is an interference problem sourced from room d358 on level two. Two technicians have been dispatched to make repairs. This interference problem has made prisoner listings inaccessible.”
Damn. I’ve fallen into my own trap, Chris thought.
A hand clamped down heavily on his shoulder and a voice said, “Would you come with us Mr. Black?”
Chris looked at the three beefy security guards behind the one who had laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.