Chapter 5: Employment

While Natha spoke, I took in the surroundings. What were the possible resources or exits? My eyes lingered on the skinny man for just a moment longer than everything else. He had a long scar down one leg and seemed to favor it a bit, as if the wound had never healed all the way. His stance was relaxed but balanced, like he had been trained to fight. His eyes showed attentiveness and focus even though he feigned an air of disinterest. By contrast, the big one was completely relaxed and settled in his spot. His small eyes really didn't seem to care what was going on. He was obviously not the brains of the duo.

The rest of the hanger was pretty ordinary: a couple vacuum-capable short distance transports, a support vacuum-capable gunship likely the escort for the transports, and a row of void fighter cockpits locked into their hatches in the floor. As exits went, there was the door we came through, another like it about thirty meters down the same wall, the bay doors, currently locked and closed, and the row of cockpits. There were eight Navy Auxiliaries doing basic maintenance on the transports and gunship; all carried side arms, but nothing strong enough to break through the inner hull. About three meters from us was a rolling tool cabinet and a mostly empty spool of aircraft wire with what looked like no more than 4 or 5 meters left on it.

"Jack," Natha was saying, "I'm disappointed in you; you haven't brought us a usable candidate in fourteen months." He sounded kind and understanding; his posture showed he was bored, standing with good posture but not leaning toward them. Part of my mind was asking how long I had actually been here, but another part answered that I had always been here. Where else would I have been?

"Come on, that place is dried up," Jack whined, "and your requirements have gotten stricter." He shrugged and had a sheepish smile on his face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Strive for better and bring me candidates that are worth something." Natha sneered as he spoke, showing his disgust for these two. "The last one you brought me was barely usable, took more resources than normal and half again as long to train." Was he talking about me? "All the rest you've sent me have been good for nothing more than the meat sellers."

"Okay, get me some new dossiers and I'll find you some better people, but I'm telling you, it's slim pickings in my area." Jack sounded almost apologetic, but also rehearsed. I had the feeling this was not the first time this conversation had happened.

"Your area has almost a quarter of the planet's population, so it's statistically impossible for people with our psych profile to be hard to find." Natha's face barely changed, but in that instant he looked truly angry. Then he seemed to relax and he straightened his tie, yellow against a slate blue vest. "But I guess it doesn't matter. I'm terminating our contract."

Jack looked shocked, as if he had not expected this. "You can't do that!" he shouted. Quickly regaining his composure, he spoke with a sly edge. "At least give us a severance package. Consider it an incentive to keep our mouths shut about your operation."

Natha simply cocked an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. "I'm thinking two billion. I know how much you sell your little dolls for and I know you can afford it."

Natha looked bored again. "You are predictable and stupid," he pronounced with a deadpan voice that sent shivers down my spine. "You may leave now with nothing."

Jack took a step forward, clearly imagining he had some kind of advantage. "Yeah? I think we'll leave when we have the money we're owed."

Natha turned his head toward me. "Kill them."

Jack stopped cold, his face falling slack. Hank seemed to wake up and settle himself in a position ready to fight. "You can't do that," Jack said, his voice starting to squeak.

Before he had even finished speaking I darted at the tool cabinet and grabbed the end of the aircraft wire, wrapping it around my hand. Hank, in one step passed Jack, being nearly twice as tall as me he was only a couple steps away. Jack pulled out a switchblade and looked away from me. I threw the wire spool over Hank's right shoulder, watching it unspool as it flew through the air. "Ya miss'd," Hank crowed as he lumbered towards me. I sprang from the cabinet just as Hank lunged a giant fist at me. My jump sent me sailing over his left shoulder, my white and black dress fluttering in the breeze created by my motion. I twisted and grabbed the line I had thrown over his right shoulder and landed on the balls of my feet. The force of my jump and the force of his charge combined to snap the line tight, nearly pulling my off my feet. The thin strong wire cut into Hank's neck and his feet went out from under him. He hit the ground, gurgling blood and grasping at the wire that had just collapsed his airway.

Jack had started to advance toward Natha, but stopped, turned towards me, and realized he would not make the four or five steps to Natha before I was on him. He flipped the knife into a backhand hold and brought it up close to his chest in a defensive manner, then charged me. I feinted a sidestep, and when his arm came out to attack where I would have been, I slid low, grabbing his knife arm and going underneath it, pulling it against his elbow, into his back. The knife rolled out of his hand and into my waiting grasp where I slid it next to his groin. I snaked a leg between his and widened his stance, making it so he could barely move.

"Maybe I should inspect the wares," I whispered in his ear, then pressed the knife in and out of his pelvis with a quick, deep thrust, severing the iliac artery. He bled out in under four seconds.

I walked over to where Hank was wheezing and clutching his neck, trying to bring in air. With another quick motion, I severed the axillary artery under his right arm. Hank was a big man, at almost two hundred kilograms; it took almost thirty seconds for him to bleed out.

I dropped the knife, wiped my hand on a cloth from the tool cabinet, and walked over to Natha. He nodded and walked toward the door he had entered through. "I hate messes," he said back in the hallway, "please have that cleaned up."

"Yes, Natha," I said.

"Here." He held out a small data tab. "This contains the dossier on a potential client that should be arriving later today. Please prepare for our meeting." I took the tab and passed it by the nub on my neck, receiving the data into my cortex.

The dossier was about a Mr. Asuna Rica. More information than was ever needed, but the pertinent info included his height, 182cm, his weight, ninety kilograms at Earth Standard Gravity, thirty-three years old at Earth Standard Time. Blond hair, blue eyes, sharp features, and clean-shaven. The dossier continued to describe eating habits, training habits, and common diplomatic strategies.

"You're dismissed to go take care of the meeting prep and get that mess taken care of."

"Yes, Natha," I curtsied deeply as he walked away, keeping my head down until he had turned the corner and was out of sight.

I walked back into the hanger and headed over to one of the navy auxiliaries that had been watching. I gave a short, polite curtsy, as for a lower ranked servant; he politely bowed back. "Voidman," I said, "would you kindly request your CO organize a cleanup detail for the bodies?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said as he saluted and turned on his heel to walk away.

I headed to a com-panel on the nearest wall, ignoring the stares of the other men in the room and pressed the extension for Medical. "This is Medical," came the direct reply through the com.

"Natha has requested the two bodies in the public hanger be harvested for usable parts." I said, as quickly and concisely as possible.

There was a pause for a moment, then, "Yes, Ma'am, we'll have a team up there as soon as possible."

"Thank you," I said.

Along with the dossier, Natha had given me a map of the primary facility, which I used to select a nearby meeting chamber and parlour. The parlour was simple, large enough to hold about ten people comfortably. The walls of the room sloped gently outward to give the impression of a larger space. Simple green plants, ferns and lilac, had been placed at odd intervals along the wall on pedestals to break up the symmetry of the room. Next to the plants were simple, but comfortable, chairs and couches to facilitate a respectfully elegant comfort for the parties to wait in. There was a small refreshment bar in the corner near the door. A quick check showed it was reasonably well-stocked, with auto-tender to prepare drinks. I used the panel on the auto-tender to request some whisky, rum, and wines specific to Epsilon Eridani Delta. The dossier was sparse on his drinking habits, which likely meant he didn't drink much.

Mr. Rica, a quickly rising industrialist from Epsilon Eridani Delta, is very patriotic for his home system. I closed my eyes and focused on using the wireless function in my cortex to access the network module in the com-panel next to the door. I was glad to see I now had much more access than when I was still in active training. I scanned through a large number of publicly and privately owned pieces of art from Eridanian artists and selected two landscape paintings of Delta and a holographic fixture. I requested purchase of the pieces through Natha's accounting office and they were approved only moments later. I sent the receipts to Fabrication to have the paintings built and hung on the walls and loaded the holo-fixture into the room's cam-system to display in the middle of the room.

Immediately, the display of colours and angles appeared in front of me. The colours shifted, giving the impression of green seas, blue grasses, and red sands. It was both somber and fanciful in its three-dimensional impressionistic way. I found it quite beautiful; Natha will be happy with this.

The meeting room was small, very small, with a single square table in the middle of the room. The table was of fine, varnished wood and held seating for four equally. There were alcoves next to each corner of the room for servants or attachés to wait in preparation. The walls were simple scrubbed stone, bare and natural. On the right wall was a hatch for automated services to bring refreshments and required materials. Accessing the room's manifest wirelessly, I checked the contents available and added some mild Earth European tea and a bitter Eridanian tea. The soil and climate on Delta is not good for many agricultural endeavors; only a few edible plants are sturdy enough to grow directly in the soil. Plants produced in the agricultural stacks, which feed much of the local population, are nutrient-rich, but tend to be bland. They also don't carry the interesting, subtle differences and tastes that earth-grown produce is known for.

When Mr. Rica arrives, it will be close to time for the midday meal for him, almost 1300, although it will be near 0300 for us here. I adjusted the local clocks and daylight lamps to reflect local time at Epsilon Eridani Delta's Capital. I also set a second clock in my cortex to help keep track. I decided that a light lunch would be agreeable to our visitor, as he will have been in transit for roughly a week. I'm sure his personal cruiser has a well-equipped galley, but there is only so much fresh food available in the Epsilon Eridani system. I chose a cedar-grilled river trout with garlic lemon-grass for the main, with creamed and seasoned avocado on fresh barley bannock as the appetizer. A light vanilla and mint mousse served with Turkish coffee would be a dessert. Tea to be served at the end of the meeting before a deal is made.

Looking around the room, I decided something a little more traditional was needed. I sent to Fabrication for tapestries to be hung bearing Mr. Rica's Family Crest, the Sol Alliance Crest, the Epsilon Eridani Settlement Alliance's Crest, and the United Human Protectorate's Crest. Visualizing the offset tapestries hanging on the walls, I was satisfied that that would help put Mr. Rica into the proper frame of mind to make a deal.

I left the room and headed back toward the hanger, content that my planning for the meeting facility was complete. In the hanger, I headed to the Flight Manager's office. The Flight Manager, a balding, middle-aged man, wore the gray naval uniform of Natha's private security forces. Petty Officer First Class Johan Vink, according to the bars on his collar and the placard on his breast, gave a crisp, formal salute. "Afternoon, ma'am, what can I help you with?"

His accent was neat, near perfect English, likely raised on an earth orbital station. I curtsied deeply, but quickly, giving respect to him as an equal servant. "I need to prepare for an arrival tonight at zero three hundred."

"Yes," he said, nodding slowly. "I think I saw the transit plans come through earlier, personal cruiser, yes?"

I nodded. "Yes, for an Asuna Rica." He nodded and pulled up a list on one of the terminals, very quick and precise. "I'm preapproving his landing clearance to this hanger."

Nodding some more, he pulled a data tab from the console and handed it to me. "That's fine. Put your personal encryption key on this document," he said. I pressed the tab to the nub in the back of my neck. "His cruiser's pretty big, so he'll have to use a landing craft. But a boat like that has to have a captain's yacht." I put my electronic signature onto the clearance and handed the tab back over.

"I'll also need some additional prep. I would like a wing of fighters and two gunships to act as an Honor Guard and escort them in, Chevron formation. I would also like a Parade Group standing at attention in the hanger, just two wings of pilots. I'll also be putting a request to the Marine CO for an Honor Guard to be standing at Parade as well."

He nodded and scratched his chin. "I can arrange the pilots. Just want us to display the colours? Nothing special?"

"That's right, just enough to show him our order and discipline. There will likely be a small tour, but as it will be during our normal night cycle, there won't be too much to show."

He nodded again, but more definitively this time. "Okay, I'll take care of it. I'll also send you a PM when his ship is in escort range."

I nodded, then had an idea. "Actually, I think I would like to lead the escort wing, bring them in personally."

"Sure thing. Just get approval from the Master of Operations and you're Flight Master," he said smiling. "I'll be the Flight Master on duty at the time, so I'll go ahead and approve it."

"Thank you," I said, and curtsied again, he saluted and I headed back out of the office.

I started walking down to the Marine Training center and used my cortex to compose a message to the Master of Naval Operations, Fleet Commander Nathan Reynolds. I requested permission to lead an escort mission of a single wing of five Tiger TR32 void-fighters. I listed the mission range of one hundred thousand kilometers, and flight time of three hours plus taxi time, single line advance in two sequences and return in chevron formation with target in two sequences. I also sent an approval request to Master Sylvia, my Flight Master.

When I reached the Marine Training Center, I headed right to the Sergeant-Major's office, and knocked politely on the door. Only a moment later, the door opened; the Sergeant-Major was a dour looking man, his light blue uniform fitting crisp and neat. He saluted and motioned me into the office.

I curtsied and said, "Good day, Sergeant-Major," as I entered his office. "I'm here to request a parade unit for around zero three hundred tonight, to act as an Honor Guard for an arriving guest of Natha's."

He sneered, "We just sent two entire corps out to the Hades Corporation in the Jovian system. I don't know how many of the greens are good enough to even stand up straight for a parade inspection."

"However many you can spare, we just need a show of order and conduct."

"This coming directly from Natha?"

"I am a direct representative for him right now." I didn't want to say no, and I do have the authority to organize whatever I deem necessary.

He shook his head. "All right, I'll have them there at zero two thirty to stand attention for as long as you need them." He sighed and stood up. "I guess I'll be there as well to keep them in line." I smiled and stood up as well, he saluted again, I curtsied and I left his office and the Marine Training Center.

I was on my way back up to the meeting room when I got approval to fly the escort mission. My heart skipped a beat: I was actually going to lead a wing of void fighters on a mission. I knew I would have absolutely no problems doing it, but it still made me nervous, and happy. I started smiling and practically skipped down the short halls back to the meeting rooms. Nothing to do now but wait on Fabrications to bring the art.

Fabrications brought up the art reasonably soon and everything was arranged nicely. I selected some favorite classical pieces from Mr. Rica's dossier to be playing softly in the parlour and meeting room, then headed down to the hanger to meet the pilots the Master of Operations had chosen to send with me.

I ran through the personnel files on the four pilots as I walked down to the hanger; all were just graduated with high flight scores. When I meet them in the hanger, they saluted and stood to attention. I curtsied and said, "At ease, gentlemen." They all relaxed their stances and I continued, "This is a simple Escort and Honor Guard. We'll be flying back in parade formation." I pointed at the two on my right. "You two will be the right wing and," pointing to the other two, "you two will be the left wing. I'll be flying lead." They all nodded in agreement. "I want this to be as precise as possible; try to use as little reaction mass as possible during the maneuvers." More curt nods of agreement.

"Okay. Once we form up, we'll accelerate at one point five gee for about forty-five minutes, then we'll flip and do the same to slow to the rendezvous point, at which point we will do a five gee acceleration to match velocity with the target, flip, and decelerate at one gee with them. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am!" they all said in unison.

"Good. I'm going to get changed. We should be launching in the next thirty minutes or so."

As I walked to the locker room, I heard a snippet of them talking. "Who is she again?" one asked. "Not Navy, that's certain," another said. I stopped behind one of the gunships and listened while out of sight. My interest was immediately piqued by the idea of hearing what another servant of Natha thought of me.

"I think it's a Mary," the third said.

"The sex dolls?" the first cut back in.

"No," the fourth finally chimed in, "they're mind wipes." My heart rate quickened. "They get programmed to do whatever is needed, and top notch at that. Augmented too, from what I hear."

"Brain wiped?" the second asked. "Why would they do that?"

"More effective, I guess. How do you know this?" the third this time.

"You know how I'm dating that MedTech in the nano-genics lab?" There were noises of agreement. "Well, he said they pick up girls on some of the rim worlds, and wipe their memories with a bunch of drugs, nano-tech, and mental torture."

At that point, I walked away; I needed to get changed into a flight suit instead of listening to gossip. My heart was beating fast and a sense of foreboding settled over me. I couldn't get the words about how "we're kidnapped" out of my head. I know it's wrong. We're raised from birth to be the best possible, skilled in everything from entertainment to administration to combat.

Natha loves me; he does this for my own benefit, for all of our benefits. He does this to make sure that we will succeed in a world that is ready to break everyone's soul. I tried to push the thought that I was kidnapped and brainwashed out of my head. It's ridiculous, just baseless rumors that get built up because soldiers have nothing else to talk about.

Another thought drilled its way through my resolve and settled in my mind: what if it is true? What was my old life? What did I lose?

I shook my head and concentrated on slipping on the body suit. Near skin tight, it takes more finesse than it looks like it should. The catheter slipped inside me with less effort as I slipped the legs the rest of the way up and pulled the sleeves over my arms. The front had no zipper or buttons, just a line of nanites that fused the two layers together. The front was shaped for a woman's breasts, but they were still tight and I felt constricted. The lack of zipper was so there was nothing to press into me at high gee. Something that doesn't conform to the skin, under high pressure would turn into a knife and split you open. After I had the body suit on and sealed, I started slipping on the support suit, which was pressurized and had gel bladders to help support circulation at high acceleration. The support suit was loose and baggy, gray and full of pockets. It also had a valve on the side of each knee and one on the chest. These hook up to the ship and fill the suit with the gel, turning the suit into the gee couch. This also allows the ship to change fluid pressure as needed for maneuvering by increasing or decreasing the amount of gel and using large patches of synth-muscle to expand or contract zones of the suit.

I picked up my inner helmet and headed back to the hanger. The four pilots were laughing, the conversation having shifted to a more inane and friendly topic. I slowed my steps as I got closer, my mind flooding me with a doubt about Natha. I pushed it back and put it out of my mind: no point thinking about it now, what could I do? I owe Natha everything. He raised me, trained me, gave me food, shelter, health. He gave me my life. I will repay him by giving myself to whatever task he needs me to do, for whatever Master he chooses for me.

"Hello gentlemen." They saluted but stayed at ease. "Let's board. We should be able to launch soon." The flight suits of the four pilots were much smaller than mine. They were still dual layered, but didn't need the all the gel bladders and snyth-muscle that mine had. These pilots were augmented for high-gee flight; the valves attached directly into their joints and chests. Their blood was mixed with the oxygenated gel, filling around joints and filling their lungs, so there was nowhere for pressure to collapse organs. These pilots could hit 0.998 C, as close as we can get to the speed of light. No craft actually go that fast; you would need to be shot out of a Gaussian linear accelerator for that kind of speed.

I fixed the inner helmet on the jump ring of the body suit. The inner helmet was little more than a clear dome of tempered Pyrex fixed into a neck brace. The outer helmet slipped over it and I locked the clips to the support suit, wrapping my neck in gel bladders. I jumped into my cockpit and hooked up to the hoses, then latched them down into place. I checked that nothing would be free floating in the cockpit; that would be dangerous. I turned on the computer and ran the system checks; everything came back green. I sent a launch request to Flight Control and was greenlighted almost immediately. I relayed the clearance to the rest of my wing and sat back in my seat. My helmet clicked into place as the latches attached it to the seat. The straps tightened across my chest and legs as the suit filled with gel. I slipped my hands into the arm restraints where the primary flight control was and initiated the launch. The cockpit sank through the floor and the hatch closed over me, taking the light with it. My heart thudded loud in my head, feeling more familiar than it should. Within a moment, the sound of the machinery and hanger nearly vanished as the airlock was purged. A muffled clunk and clicking let me know the cockpit was attached to the Tiger. I activated the ship's link to my cortex as displays on the panels filled with technical information about power outputs, fuel, reactor status, weapons, and pretty much anything else you could think of. All this fed through my cortex, to where all I had to do was think it and the stats would be available in my mind's eye.

I felt my ship get gently flung out of the launch tube by Flight Control. I oriented to the staging area and canceled the majority of my momentum; a small pulse on the primary drive put me heading leisurely in the right direction. Soon I was joined by the other four pilots. They checked in by communicating through their own cortex units— when your lungs are full of gel, it's hard to speak. I heard their messages in my mind; it was strange but very efficient. I spoke back to them in the same way.

We sat for almost twenty minutes until I got telemetry from Flight Control about our escort target. After "talking" through my cortex, it was strange hearing Flight Control call me on the comm. "Escort One. T minus eight minutes from Mark to start the mission." A short pause. "Mark." I automatically started an eight minute counter running. Flight Control also sent over the course and auger signature of the escort target. She was a big ship.

I passed the time over to the other pilots and filled them in. After eight minutes, we all fired up our primary drives in near perfect sequence and immediately I was pressed back in my chair, the gel shifting a bit to compensate. One and a half gee is not much; I felt a little heavier, but not that different. Mostly I felt like was lying on my back, my body telling me that the direction of gravity is down.

The next forty-five minutes were spent on my back, unmoving, and restrained in the flight chair. The bladders gel pulsed back and forth, massaging my limbs to help keep blood flowing properly. Again, not really an issue at low acceleration, but it helped me from feeling cramped. With combat craft, you always have a chance that you will need to make sudden, high gee maneuvers. Having your arms or legs loose when you suddenly turn at ten or twelve gees is a good way to break a bone, or get yourself killed.

I spent the rest of the time thinking. What if I really didn't remember? What if I had been kidnapped? What if Natha wasn't the great man I was taught to think he was?

But that's ridiculous. He's taken care of you all your life. Fed you, trained you, gave you a purpose. A reason to be the best you can possibly be.

But where's the proof that he's raised me since I was a small child? I don't have any memories of childhood.

The concussion: it caused you to lose your memories. They will come back in time.

What if they don't? And what was the accident, no one ever told me?

Does it matter? Natha was there to take care of you, make sure your nanites were functioning, get you the best private doctors. Make sure you recovered more than one hundred percent. You owe Natha your entire being for taking care of you.

"Yes," I said out loud, "I owe Natha everything."

A warning siren from the computer went off and took me out of my reverie. We were approaching the first point of thrust interchange. The computer was already programmed for the flight route and could control it more precisely than I could manually. I noticed another indicator blinking in the corner of my vision: we were also being hit by radiation from an electron auger. Given the angle of incident, it looked like we were in active scanning range of the escort target.

"Okay, boys," I sent through the cortex, "keep this as tight as possible, they have eyes on us. Link your computers to mine to check telemetry and orientation programming." I watched the computers link in my mind, the programs looking identical to my own. Having no large gravity wells around us to do tricks off, there was not much we could really do other than flip and burn as efficiently as possible.

The time ticked to zero and the reorientation program kicked in. For just a moment I was hit by a wave of vertigo as the main engines cut out, throwing me into weightlessness. My mind told me to panic because there was no longer a "down." Almost immediately, the maneuvering thrusters fired on the nose and tail, flipping me along my center of gravity, and then fired again to stop me spinning. The spin was hardly noticeable, but still threw my mind into more turmoil as the back of my brain said spinning meant falling. Then the main engines fired again and we were decelerating. The back of my mind reeled for a moment as this obviously meant we had hit the ground. A wave of nausea passed through me for a split second and was gone again. The entire maneuver lasted for only a few seconds.

With the burning of the main drive engine again, it was back to a forty-five minute wait. I started a passive 360 auger sweep and sent for the flanks to do the same. I doubted there would be anyone else around, but we would be failing in our duty as escorts if we didn't make sure the area was clear of threats.

My mind slipped back into the contemplation of "Before." What proof do you have that you were not kidnapped?

What proof do you have that you were? What the pilot said? That's just a rumor — pilots love gossip, all they do is fly and talk. Pilots sit still too long.

What about what Natha said to Jack? What were the candidates? What are his dolls?