Chapter 10: Iron Fist

The stars rolled by the office window lazily as the Pinwheel’s torus spun. Chief of Security Moralez looked up at the readout that was scrolling past on his monitor, yawning as he nursed a styrofoam cup full of dark coffee. It was gritty, and it tasted like shit, but it was all that was left in the pot. His shift was almost over, and he was eager to get back home to his girlfriend. He gave the readout another glance, then set down his coffee on his console with one of his prosthetic hands, almost spilling it as he leaned closer to make sure that he had read it correctly.

A warrant for the immediate detention of Admiral Rawling and the seizure of his assets, with an authorization of use of force. What the fuck was this? The message had come directly from an MP at Internal Investigations, it must be serious. He opened the file that listed the charges, his eyes widening as he read through it. Corruption, smuggling, murder. This was unheard of. He double-checked the source, making sure that there had been no mistakes, but all of the security codes checked out. Well, time to earn his paycheck.

Moralez rose to his feet. He was a gruff man, scars peppered his tanned skin, and three of his four limbs were robotic prosthetics. The originals had been lost in battle. He marched over to a communicator screen embedded in the wall and dialed in a number sequence. The monitor came to life, displaying the image of a smooth-skinned Borealan with orange hair who looked irritated to be woken up so late, rubbing her eyes as she yawned widely.

“What is it, Moralez? You need somethin’?”

“Raz, wake Stanley up. I need to borrow some of your recruits and some of your boyfriend’s guns.”

“We being boarded again?”

“No, there’s some kind of situation with Internal Investigations. Use of force has been authorized, and I want the best force available.”

She grinned, baring her sharp teeth.

“You got it, Robocop.”

“Attach short barrels,” Moralez barked, standing at the head of a group of six Borealans. They were wearing customary black UNN combat armor, each wielding a custom XMR rifle tailored to their exaggerated size. Their orange, tiger-striped tails and ears protruded from the Kevlar and ceramic body armor, flicking and twitching in anticipation.

“If there’s fighting, it will be in close quarters. Nobody fires until I say so. If there’s resistance, you have my permission to use any means necessary to subdue the enemy. Don’t make too much of a mess though. Remember, you have to live with those janitors.”

The aliens chuckled under their full-faced combat visors, green HUDs flaring to life through the dark glass as they activated their onboard computers. Moralez drew his XMH handgun from its leather hip holster, twirling it in his polymer fingers. It was considerably heavier than any model that an unaugmented human would be able to wield, it fired a tungsten slug that would knock a Krell on its ass at close range.

“Alright, form up. You’re my wingman Korza,” he said, tapping one of the aliens on the arm with his fist. The male recruit nodded, affixing a bayonet the size of a Bowie knife to the end of his XMR. “Alright Mad Cats, let’s get this done.”

They made their way through the open torus of the Pinwheel, a painted sky with puffy clouds patterning the high ceiling above them. The station was clogged with throngs of people, the occasional Borealan or lumbering, reptilian Krell standing head and shoulders above the Navy personnel and civilian visitors. The crowds parted to let them pass, nobody wanted to get in the way of a security team that meant business.

Moralez led them to one of the entrances to the central control hub, connected to the donut via tube-like spokes that acted as walkways. Only personnel with sufficient clearance were admitted into the hub, which was where the resident Admirals lived, along with all of the systems that ran the massive Naval base.

He flashed his security badge at the two guards who stood to either side of the massive security door, clad in their usual black armor and Navy blue uniforms. They knew who he was, of course. He was their boss, and he had a face that was hard to forget, but protocol had to be followed. They nodded their helmeted heads, moving to either side of the pressure door and scanning their key cards in a pair of readers. There was a hydraulic hiss as the two interlocking halves of the door parted, a red warning light flashing. On the other side was a long hallway, the same white color as the station’s hull material save for the blue carpet on the deck.

The group entered, their XMRs stowed in a ready position on their chests as they made their way towards the hub proper. Before them was a ninety-degree bend in the floor, curving up into what looked like a sheer wall from their perspective. The hub was directly above them relative to the torus, the spokes of the wheel from which the station got its nickname extending from the North and South faces of the ring. Because the torus simulated gravity through its spin, and the hub generated its gravity through and AG field of the kind generally used on starships, there was a point in the spoke where the two overlapped. Walking up the bend was a bit of a mindfuck, it went against your every natural instinct and you never really got used to it.

Moralez steeled himself, clenching his polymer fingers as he marched towards the bend. There was an odd sensation as the gravity changed, making his stomach drop like he had just stepped off a ledge, and then it leveled out again. The Borealans followed after him, perhaps more at ease with their stabilizing tails.

They soon reached the far end of the carpeted walkway and entered into the control hub through a similar pressure door. It was far more spartan than the often elaborately decorated torus, which was designed for extended deployments with no shore leave, featuring decorations like planters and a painted ceiling to simulate a terrestrial environment. This area looked more like a maze in the style of an office block, featureless save for the numbered doors and few token potted plants.