Back | Next
Contents

Health and Safety Enforcement

Jonathon D. Green


Communications Specialist 2nd Class Clara Chabron spoke clearly and calmly into her headset. “Grainne Station Andersen, this is the UNCS Maria Cutchet on approach. Please respond. We will be docking to perform HSE inspections and an initial provisional census to better provide for your needs. You are required to comply with this action and any follow-on actions as directed by our inspectors.”

Cutchet was a flagged and armed transport of the Bureau of Health and Safety. This was the start of a Health and Safety Enforcement inspection of the Grainne system’s primary asteroid track habitats. Anderson Station was a “burrow” or partially hollowed asteroid mine that produced metals for the Grainne Colony’s industries. Once the petty junta of the fascist oligarchy was suppressed, the residents of this asteroid would be producing minerals for the colony’s expansion under UN direction. Captain Balza was confident that the fighting part of this police action would be over in a matter of days and once the citizens no longer had to fear the moneyed power of the former rulers, reintegration would go swiftly. Clara hoped he was correct, but she was getting worrying reports from some of her Bureau Academy classmates about the planetside resistance and the problems they were encountering. The previous ship on this duty, the UNCS Enrique Casas, had been destroyed after it collided with another habitat. Clara wondered how that was even possible, but not being one of the ship handlers, she figured that someone had failed to properly follow docking procedures and catastrophe had resulted. With a Nordic-pale hand, she fussed with one of the soft rubber beads at the end of the cornrows hidden under her hijab, then repeated her call to the asteroid.

“How much of what happed to the Casas have you heard?” asked her tablemate, Machinist 3 Geoffe Galloway. He was a large and gregarious man who barely met the HSE physical fitness requirements for shipboard duty. He was looking at her with a strange expression on his darkly tanned face. They were seated at one of the mess deck’s conversational tables. The cheerfully bright lights from the overhead glinted off the polished white surfaces. If not for the omnipresent vibration of the ship’s engines and the obtrusive labeling of vacuum safety lockers, they could have been at any of the military dining facilities on Earth. The other clue was that there were no chairs, only stools bolted to the decking.

“I heard that they collided with the Connover Habitat and were lost with all hands. And the population of the habitat,” said another tablemate, Inspector Ngome Battu. She was a tall and slender Kenyan who worked in the ship’s training certification office and was the lead Health and Safety Inspector on the ship.

“Yes, but why did they collide with the habitat?” Geoffe asked. Clara suddenly recognized the expression that was foreign to his face. Worry.

“They probably failed to hold enough distance from the habitat and gravity took over.” Battu shrugged. “The pilot probably needed to be recertified and lied about his currency. It’s the innocents his failure killed that are the true victims. This is why I keep on you both to keep your records up to date.”

“That’s not how it works. This wasn’t on a planet where there is gravity. How does a modern ship with modern equipment collide with a stationary habitat?” Geoffe shook his head, “I heard from a buddy planetside that it was not a habitat, but a Grainne military base, and they blew themselves up rather than surrender.” He looked around nervously. “He also said that there was no record that it was a military facility. Who knows how many more bases like that are out there?”

“Your ‘friend’ needs to be spending more time on their duties and less on rumormongering,” Battu said. “I think that, if that rumor was true, then that is all the more reason for our intervention in this system.” She gestured profoundly with her spork, “If there was a secret military facility hanging over the heads of the oppressed peoples of this colony, then that would explain the fanaticism our troops are encountering. They are fighting for their lives, because if they don’t their overlords would simply drop a rock on them.”

“Then our job of inspecting and certifying these habitats is even more vital.” Clara nodded, quoting the recent interview from one of the Civil Affairs pundits. “The more of these locations we make safe, the less threat is hanging over the heads of those we came here to help.”

“Exactly.” Battu looked sternly at Geoffe when he chuckled.

“I agree,” he said, raising a hand in surrender. “I’m just repeating what I heard from a friend. But you’re both right that our work here is vital to the effort.”

“You should spend less time repeating what you heard, and more time staying current on your qualifications. I noticed that you need to update your SHARP compliance within the week. Shall I schedule you for the afternoon seminar tomorrow?” Battu held his gaze for a long moment.

“I have the duty tomorrow afternoon, can I do it the day after?”

“It is either tomorrow afternoon, or you will be out of compliance because the next scheduled seminar is in two weeks.”

“Then I guess I’ll get someone to cover my shift tomorrow and be in the seminar.” Geoffe grumbled and glared at his tray. Battu was being petty, Clara thought, but she didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the person in charge of her personnel records. That could cost her a needed promotion or award at a critical point in her career.

“Since you are watching out for us, is there anything I need to get current on?” she asked.

“Not so long as you keep up with the correspondence course on cultural sensitivity.” Battu smiled at Clara. “Now I think that we should all concentrate on our meals and then get back to work.”

Clara reviewed the communication logs from her lunch break and several responses back from the habitat. This was confusing as they were on different frequencies and all claimed to be coming from separate groups, all claiming that they were the true leadership of the habitat.

Fuck off, you Aardvarks! We don’t want your kind here! a brash young female voice screamed at them, on one channel.

This is the Resplendent People’s Commune of Celestial Peace. Please join us at docking bay B2 for our welcoming ceremony, said an elderly male voice.

Maria Cutchet, this is Baker Space Mining, Pull alongside and dock at Gantry Nine. I’ll have one of the kids run you back in a skiff and we can talk about your plans, a woman’s voice intoned in a bored manner.

UNS Maria Cutchet, this is Andersen Control, we have you on our screens, and will direct you to use vector Able-Victory-Niner in the appended chart. You should also monitor this channel for periodic course updates, we have several ore containers on ballistic courses that might intersect this plan. Please note that we are not rated for direct docking of a ship of your class, please stand clear One Zero Kilometers from Bay Zero Able and use lighters to transfer between yourself and our station. A bored male voice came from the speaker. Cutchet, Andersen Control, be advised that there are some personnel on station with private comms who may try to contact you. They are not authorized to give guidance and vectoring. Nor are they affiliated with the Station Advisory Board. Andersen Control, over.

UN Ship on approach to Habitat GA1-8985564, Stay away! This station has had a biohazard containment vent and you need to note us as such on the charts. Please Gods, stay away, I don’t want to see this happen to another human being! This from a tremulous male voice.

This is Major Thomas Kinkade of the Democratic Separatist Revolution! Please be advised that we are the true government of this asteroid, and need your help suppressing a Grainne rebel-sponsored terrorist cell. Send an armed shuttle to Airlock 7 and I’ll put your men to use. Another male voice, gravelly and sure of command.

UN Ship, I am Arch Druidess Shenan Kinkade, of the Druidic Space Republic. My husband has attempted a coup and is trying to oust me from power. I do not have ties to the Freehold, other than my residency fees. I beg you do not fall victim to his power grab. He is the one with ties to the Freehold military and he is attempting to ambush you! Dock at Airlock 6 and I’ll personally welcome you aboard. Another woman’s voice, scared, but full of conviction.

Unidentified object at heading 351-mark-213, cease approach or you will be terminated. This was a mechanical computer-generated voice.

Clara stared at her console in shock. Were any of these responses legitimate? Or was the habitat full of insane people?

“Captain Balza, I have a wide range of responses from the habitat. I’m unsure which is from a legitimate authority.” She spoke to her commander.

“Thank you, Ms. Chabron. I’ll let Mr. Mallory sort this out. We still have the better part of an hour before we need to dock. Please route the logs to the First Officer.” His voice held a note of amusement. As if one of his junior subordinates was unprepared for their job and was actually willing to admit it.

“Aye, sir,” she replied and packaged up the logs and transferred them as ordered to the ship’s first officer.

“Specialist Chabron.” The ship’s first officer, Mister Denzel Mallory’s voice came across her headset. “Please contact Andersen Control and ask them to clarify what vector we should be on. I think that they are the closest thing to an authority on this habitat.”

“Aye, sir, Contacting Anderson Control for clarification of vectors.”

“Thank you, Ms. Chabron.” His voice held no amusement, only businesslike approval of a subordinate doing their job.

“Andersen Control, UNS Maria Cutchet, on approach, please clarify our approach vector.”

Maria Cutchet, Andersen Control, Approach vector is Able-Victory-Niner as shown in our transmitted ephemeris, hold fast at one zero kilometers from bay zero able. Contact Andersen FlightOps on channel Point niner-five for lighter operations. Andersen Control, over. The same bored voice, rattling off the requested information with neither urgency or hesitation.

“Mr. Mallory.” She contacted the first officer. “They repeated the vector and hold off, and advised with communication channel for local flight operations for the shuttles.”

“Excellent. Monitor the habitat for further broadcasts, but only speak to Andersen Control or Andersen Flight Operations. I think they are obviously the representatives of the habitat’s leadership.”

“Aye, sir.”

Over the next three hours of the approach, Clara monitored all the transmissions from the habitat and wasn’t sure what she was listening to. The DemSepRev allied with the Church of Resplendents and attempted to enlist the aid of the research station in their fight against the Druidic Space Republic. In retaliation, the DruSpaRep courted the mining company and the automated warning system. The young woman whose original transmission was the first received continued to spew profanities and blamed the UN ship for all manner of atrocities. Andersen Control and Flight Ops were consummate professionals seemingly unaware of the hostilities brewing under the surface of the habitat.

“I don’t know how these groups have been able to survive out here so long. If half of the accusations between the various groups are credible, then we may have to request an intervention company to keep the peace once the census is over,” she confided in Geoffe.

“How likely is that to happen?” he asked. The original concern she had noticed in his manner earlier was more pronounced.

“I feel confident that we could get troops here relatively quickly. Captain Balza has some pull with General Huff. He thinks that it is unlikely that we will need them though. If we can get in and see what is really going on, we should be in better position to clear this up.” She looked at him. “What have you been hearing that has you worried?”

“We keep getting painted with low-level targeting radars. It’s intermittent and low strength, but it’s almost constant. Why wouldn’t that be worrying?” he stated abruptly.

“I told you when you asked me about it, that those aren’t real targeting radars. They are surplus radars used by the miners to register claims and function as navigation beacons. Captain Balza had me ask Andersen Control about them when we started picking up the pings.” She sighed, shaking her head. “If they were an actual threat, why would they be targeting us and not firing?”

“We might not be in range of their weapons? They might want a better flight profile on us to better target critical systems? I don’t know, from what I hear from my buddies groundside, they are vicious fighters and have no respect for the rules of war. They hide troops among the civilians and carry out terrorist attacks against noncombat troops.”

“Where are you hearing about terrorist attacks?” Battu asked, walking by the table.

“Nowhere.” Geoffe quickly looked down at his tray. Battu chuckled low in her throat and murmured to him.

“Come by my office when you get off duty. I can schedule a private seminar to make sure you are current.” She laughed a bit louder and then sauntered off.

“What is going on between you two?” Maria asked.

Geoffe grimaced and bit into a twist of vat-protein. “She informed me that due to low registration numbers, tomorrow’s SHARP seminar has been canceled and I’m automatically registered for next month’s.”

“Doesn’t that mean you will lose certification for a few weeks?”

“Yes,” he snarled. “But she told me that I would need this seminar to get myself up to date before this deployment. I laughed and said that there was always a SHARP seminar on the calendar. Once we were deployed and she didn’t have to abide by the base calendar, she canceled all the seminars so I would lose that certification.” He sighed, poking at the food on his tray. “I thought it was simple power games, and that at worst, I’d owe her a few maintenance favors for her to schedule an emergency seminar.”

“Was that what she meant by coming by her office after you are off duty? That almost sounds like she’s trying to . . . ”

“Yes, she is going to use this to put me in a compromising situation, and then threaten me with a SHARP violation if I don’t come across.”

“She canceled training seminars to get you to sleep with her?” Clara was shocked.

“Yes.”

“You need to report this!” Clara hissed at him.

“There are two problems with that,” he said, raising a finger on his right hand. “One, she is the SHARP Compliance Officer. All the complaints and problems end up on her workstation.

“Two,” he raised another finger, “I’m not the most handsome man on the ship by a fair number. She’s female and attractive, so they’ll assume I’m the aggressor.”

“But you could use me as a supporting statement.” Clara gestured to herself. “I could say I heard her threaten you.”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, because then you would be on her shit list, and you don’t want that. And remember from your SHARP training, all the advances come from men. Women are not the aggressors. There is no way to write a SHARP complaint that has a female aggressor.” Geoffe gestured with his utensils.

“Why would she even do this?” Clara asked, dejectedly.

“Because Ngome Battu is addicted to power. I flouted her power by not taking the course on her schedule. Now, I pay the price of this ‘Oppression.’” Geoffe pushed the food on his tray around a little more, then sighed.

“You need to be careful of her, Clara. Learn from my errors, before you make your own.”

Clara found it unsettling, especially since Battu had casually mentioned to her that it wouldn’t look good for the ship if the communications specialist wasn’t current on her cultural sensitivity training.

“I think I need to get some rest before we close with the habitat,” she said, hastily clearing her half-eaten tray from the table.

* * *

The next morning brought new and interesting conversations from the habitat. Apparently, overnight, as the Maria Cutchet slid closer to the habitat, it had experienced significant changes.

“UN Ship, this is General Shenan Kinkade of the Dominius Spiritual Reserve. Do not continue your approach. You are suspected of being in collusion with the heretical forces of the Democratic Separatist Revolution. We will not tolerate outside interference in our internal issues.”

Maria Cutchet, this is Sifu Kinkade, of the Reformed Scientific Directorate. Despite my wife’s claims, we are a peaceful commune seeking only unity with the great void. Please join us in bringing this truth to the habitat.”

“Incoming ore hauler M. Cut, welcome to Benzel Foundry. Please send a manifest and we can get you a good slot in the foundry queue.”

The tide of change progressing through the situation on the habitat began to crash together more often as the UN ship moved closer. First it was the struggle between the Kinkades, which grew to encompass other factions, then there was some base ideology shift and it became less about politics and more about some strange religious schism. Then it became some bizarre conflict between contentious academic communities over how a common word was defined in a scholarly paper. It was a whipsaw of alliances and escalations and shifts in ideologies. Clara could barely keep up with who was espousing what position at any given moment.

Even more frustrating was that when these changes stared impacting the normally bucolic communications of the Traffic Controllers. At first the changes only caused slight variations in the approach, traverse around this orbiting beacon on a portside track, as opposed to a starboard track from a previous communication. Over rather than under, all small and trivial differences. As they got closer, the conflicts caused more significant changes. Divert to a different track for several markers then come back to the original flight plan, to avoid an incoming ore hauler. Change to a different track completely, and approach from a different angle. Divert almost completely away from the habitat, circle around at a massive distance and reapproach from an almost opposite direction. Sometimes the ship’s sensors could detect another ship in the vicinity to explain the diversion, sometimes they could not.

As she relayed these directives to the captain or the first officer, she saw that their frustration with the situation grew. She had to relay a request from them back to the traffic controller for expedited approach to the habitat so that they could help sort out the situation. Each time the request was denied, with either no reason given, or some seemingly reasonable situation that required the course change. When the decision was made to disregard one of the diversion commands, they were quickly contacted by Andersen Control with warnings that they were entering an area of space filled with navigational hazards. The captain immediately corrected onto the new course, and the dance began again. Another meaningless diversion, and the decision was made to ignore the directions. Again, there was a navigational hazard indicated. This time, the captain studied the charts and decided that there was no real hazard on the track. Ignoring the calls from Andersen Control, the ship was directed on a supposedly clear track to close rapidly with the habitat.

Fifteen minutes later, the close approach radar lit up with multiple small objects directly in their path, all of which were moving fast enough that they posed a real threat to the ship. Some of them would be deflected by the particle shielding, some destroyed by defensive weapons, but not all of them. A significant fraction of the objects were on a vector to intersect with the Maria Cutchet and were sure to cause significant damage.

“Damn and blast!” the captain swore, his calm reserve frayed by the preceding day’s worth of seemingly random course changes and directions from the habitat. “Denzel, where did those come from?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Malloy said. “Ms. Chabron, please contact traffic control and ask where those rocks came from.”

“Aye, sir!” Maria responded.

Cutchet to Anderson Control, Where did those hazards come from? They were not logged in your advisory.”

A completely new voice spoke in response. “Cutchet? Who are you? And this isn’t the channel for Anderson control. This channel is most often used by the local miners to run roleplaying games or community theater.”

“Excuse me? What?” Her voice was incredulous. “I’ve spent the better part of two days following directions on this channel from someone claiming to be Andersen control.” The first officer and captain were now looking at her, only hearing half of the conversation. “We have been getting detailed approach vectoring from them.” She didn’t mention the newly discovered fictional schismatic struggles on the habitat.

Cutchet, someone has been pulling your leg. Phase shift the channel by four points and refresh your encryption keys. That should put you in contact with the actual controllers.” The barely contained laughter was bubbling in the voice. “I have to say that I wasn’t sure who the new player on the channel was, but you precipitated a massive new storyline. Thanks for the inspiration and the laughs. Lorekeeper clear.”

“Ms. Chabron,” the captain ground out. “What is going on?”

“Ah, Captain, it seems that we were given the wrong communication protocols for this habitat. We have apparently been interacting with a community theater troupe during an improv event. I have the new protocol and will be contacting the habitat momentarily.” Sweat dripped down her spine as she rapidly changed her com settings to match the new information.

“Grainne Asteroid Habitat Andersen Station, this is the UNCS Maria Cutchet on approach. Please respond.”

“Maria Cutchet, Anderson Station, glad to finally have you on comms. Would you kindly explain your approach vectors, and the transponder squawk. I’m sending a plot of them from our position and would greatly like to hear your reasoning for this approach. Also, perhaps why you decided to fly through the edge of a marked VDAM field?” a vacuum-cold voice responded immediately.

“What do they mean by explain our vectors? And what marked VDAM field?” Mr. Mallory murmured.

Clara glanced at the vector plot the station sent and froze at the image on her screen. She heard faint murmurs from the astrogation section, then a sharp intake of breath.

“Ms. Chabron?” the captain asked.

“Sir, it appears that the vectoring that we were given was an extension of the theater. And that certain parts of the local charts that we were sent were redacted.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Sir, we apparently drew an object with our flight path, and were intended to fly into a Volume Denial Dispersed Mass Weapon effect,” came a response from the astrogator.

“Son of a . . . ” the first officer choked out from his own station. He could see her screen and the image of crudely drawn phallus on the screen. Tagging the flight path was a transponder note “Kess Ommak.”

“I think apologies are in order.” The captain spoke. Clara was unsure who was going to be apologizing, but she was sure that there would be a lot of them. “I think I will speak with the station directly.”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain had a long and fruitful discussion with the actual Station Control and the ship was vectored to the station soon afterward.

“UNS Maria Cutchet, Anderson Control, please be advised that any and all personnel who wish to enter sovereign Freehold of Grainne space will need to submit to basic entry exams or at least provide records from Ceileidh Station that you have gone through entry scans. Anderson Control, over,” the new controller advised once they were at approximately twenty kilometers from the station.

“Anderson Station, Cutchet. The so-called Freehold of Grainne was a rogue state and the UN is reasserting civilized control over this system,” the captain responded. “You are required by UN Charter to submit to our inspection and census so that your needs can be provided for.”

The signal was silent for several minutes.

Cutchet, Anderson. Fine. If you want access to our hab, you get a screening. We are a healthy and clean station, and I’d like to keep us this way. Anderson, over.”

“Anderson, Cutchet. You do not get to dictate terms to duly authorized representatives of the UN. We are the ones in charge. You will direct our shuttle to a docking point and cooperate fully with the census team. Do you understand?”

More silence for several moments then, “Cutchet, Anderson. Murum Aries Attigit. Received. Vector your shuttle to Docking bay Alpha 02.”

“And that, Mister Mallory, is how the UN deals with uppity civilians.” The captain swiped the com screen closed with a flourish. “Send in Inspector Battu and her team. I dislike the games that were played upon us and will have them understand that my authority will be respected.”

“Aye, sir,” Malloy responded with a tight grin.

Maria knew that the civilians on the habitat were going to pay dearly for the antics of those few who had pranked this ship. She just hoped that this satisfied Battu’s sense of power so that she could clear her own certifications before she was noticed again.

* * *

Inspector Ngome Battu waited impatiently for the bay to repressurize, so she could proceed with her crusade to show the barbarians that the UN way was the only way to do things. She had stared down the technician who attempted to tell her that she needed to wear the helmet for her environmental suit. “The docking bay is obviously designed to be a shirtsleeves area. Therefore, we have no need to wear those.” She looked around the shuttle’s cabin. “I don’t want anyone to be in a helmet when we don’t need to be in one. Those are for emergencies and this is obviously not one.” Turning back to the technician in her way. “Kindly open the door as soon as the bay is repressurized. We have a lot of work ahead of us if we are going to bring this habitat into UN compliance.”

“Inspector Battu, I’m getting some strange readings from the external chem sensors. I’m not sure if the air in the bay is safe to breathe. I really think that we should use the environment suits, or at minimum breather gear. Or perhaps having the helmets on hand for an emergency?” Piloting Technician Charles Lee stated his case one last time.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Battu raged. “I said we wouldn’t need them, and if it was dangerous, why aren’t the toxicity sensors going off? If the air out there was hazardous, the sensor would have alarmed, not given some vague, uncertain response. Now open the door.”

“Aye, Inspector,” Lee responded stiffly. He had said his piece and pushing further with this particular person would do nothing but wreck his career. He carefully stowed the helmet he had been offering to Battu and tucked a rebreather mask into his cargo pocket.

“And you can stow that rebreather also, or I can write you up for theft, insubordination, and failure to obey lawful orders,” came over his shoulder. He sighed and replaced the rebreather in its rack and moved to the door controls.

As the door hissed open, a blast of oddly scented air forced its way into the shuttle, causing Lee to sneeze violently. There was a cloying sweetness mixed with a sharp, almost peppery smell to the air. There was obviously a leak of some kind that was interfering with the circulation system. Battu seemed to not notice as she strode purposefully toward the lock across the small bay. The two supporting clerks followed behind her reluctantly. The three security troops who had wanted to be the first out had to rush to reach the airlock before Battu did. Her insistence on being the first one out of the shuttle had superseded standard practice for them to secure the area first. Lee shrugged at the circus leaving his shuttle and turned back to his copilot Piloting Technician Sandra Chester.

“We should probably turn this thing around so we can leave as soon as they get back,” she told him.

“At least as soon as most of them get back. That bitch needs to spend time sucking vacuum. There is no reason I need to qualify as an administrative assistant, but she thinks that if I don’t I’m somehow shirking my ‘civic duty.’ That is why I pay my taxes, so someone else does the paperwork. I’m not paying someone for the privilege of doing my own taxes,” he replied.

“You need to keep shit like that inside your head, Lee. She will make your life hell if you don’t let her have her way. And if you don’t care about your life, she will make mine hell for having such a disrespectful superior.” She shrugged. “And anyway, the course is easy, and once you certify you get to send all those TPS Forms back with a ‘denied’ on them. You just need to make the system work with you.”

“You can play games like that.” He snorted. “I don’t have the patience for it. I just want to drive my bus and go home at a reasonable time.” He sighed heavily. “My grandfather had the right idea. He immigrated to Grainne years ago. Took part of the family to live here. I once thought I should have joined him.”

“Once?”

He waived a hand at the bay, indicating the whole system. “Not looking like a great retirement location at the moment.”

“Which is why we need to make sure we top up our air and water here, that way you won’t have to fill out requisition forms to fill up when we get back to the Cutchet.”

“Amen to that.”

At the airlock, Battu hammered her fist onto the access button beside the door. She was feeling particularly irritated by these shirkers and the stupid games they were playing with people’s lives. Allowing people to pretend to be legitimate government personnel over open channels is unacceptable. To have someone pretend to be airspace control on an open channel was a safety violation of the highest order. Yes, the controller did guide them on a path safely through a dense asteroid field. And the controller did issue proper safety holds to keep the ship from harm. The one that the captain had ignored was to allow some debris that the ship itself had perturbed to clear their path. The controller used proper procedure and standards but had perverted them to write an offensive message. This was the more insulting part of the incident.

“Open this door in the name of the United Nations Health and Safety Directorate!” She yelled at the door. The strange smell in the air was becoming irritating. It smelled like the traditional foods her grandmother made for the family on holidays. None of her family had the spine to tell the old woman that no one wanted to eat ashy ostrich egg and charred vat-grown warthog intestines. “You are in violation of UN Regulations regarding air quality. I need to inspect your air-handling systems immediately, for your own safety.”

One of the clerks coughed behind her, and she turned to glare at the woman. Motes of contaminant were visible in the bays’ harsh light. Turning back, she leaned into the intercom button. “Open this door immediately. This census and safety survey begins now and you are not going to enjoy it.”

A scratchy voice replied, “Keep your pants on, lady. There is only me and Stabby at the bays. Everyone else is either out working or trying to put their shit in order for your stupid inspection.” There was a high-pitched electronic shriek that followed his words. “And Stabby is not too fond of your tone. Give me a seg to clear the lock and you and he can discuss your entry visa.” The intercom cut off abruptly, and no amount of shouting, threats or pounding on the controls brought it back.

Almost two minutes later, the door snapped open, driven by incredibly powerful mechanisms designed to work against massive pressure differentials. Inside the lock stood a contraption that looked like the inside of an AutoMed Box, dressed in a lab coat with a stethoscope hung from the sensor node. A pair of angry looking eyes were drawn on the sensor node and one of the operating arms held a tablet that displayed text: I AM DOCTOR STABBY. I WILL PERFORM THE ENTRY SCAN. PLEASE REMOVE ALL CLOTHING AND ENTER THE LOCK.

One of the security troops snickered, drawing a glare from Battu. She slapped the intercom again. “There is no way we are stripping and submitting to your scan. We are the ones in control here.”

Stabby’s sign flickered and new directions appeared: HOW ABOUT JUST A BLOOD DRAW? WE DON’T WANT ANY FOREIGN PATHOGENS ON THE STATION. IT MIGHT DAMAGE OUR HYDROPONICS BALANCE.

“No,” Battu stated.

Again, the sign flickered: THEN YOU DON’T GET ENTRY. BLOOD DRAW AND SCREENING IS IN THE HAB CHARTER AND WE AREN’T VIOLATING THAT FOR YOU.

“No,” Battu said again, and turned to the head of the security troops. “Can you move that thing?”

The electronic shriek echoed in the lock. Stabby raised his other arms and several cutting tools were evident and began to move in a weaving pattern that covered most of the area in the lock. The sign blinked again. PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME HOSE THE LOCK OUT. WE DON’T HAVE THAT MUCH WATER. A SIMPLE BLOOD DRAW AND YOU GET IN. The smells of sweet and spicy intensified.

“Ma’am I think we might want to take a step back. That looks like inside of a surplus MD-08 Emergency Trauma box. Those are designed to remove damaged armor from around wounds. I don’t have the correct tools to neutralize it,” the security specialist said.

As he said it, the lights in the lock began to flicker. The scratchy voice spoke again, “You can force the issue with Stabby, let him run the tests, or fuck off back to your ship.” The lights in the bay began to flicker, out of sequence with the lock.

“Fine, back to the shuttle to get some tools to wreck that menace and then we will get this habitat into compliance,” Battu growled. The lights were beginning to give her a headache, such that she was starting to see halos around objects in the bay, and there was a little streaking to the dust motes in the air.

Something was wrong. The lights were starting to change color, and everything was beginning to blur together. She stumbled as she stepped towards the shuttle. One of the security troops retched suddenly. One of the clerks tripped and fell down. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Not feeling too good, are you? Maybe you should let Doc Stabby take a look at you.” The scratchy voice spoke again. But there was a echoey quality to the statement. “I’m sure that a blood test and a round of Sober-Up will make you feel right as rain.”

“Everyone back to the shuttle. There is an emergency kit aboard.” Battu didn’t think that this was her voice, but it was an order, so it had to be her. It couldn’t be anyone else. She tried to follow her own order, but the deck tilted suddenly, and she was falling.

“Seriously, guys,” the scratchy, echoey voice spoke again, “if you signal a willingness to submit to the scan, we can clear this up really quickly. All you have to do is let us do a quick blood test to make sure you are healthy and free of pathogens, and we can get you cleaned up and feeling better.”

She watched as the security troops tried to run back to the shuttle. The security lead almost made it before he tripped and hit the decking. Battu thought she could smell the sound of his vomiting. It smelled like candy apples. Another of the security troops was walking in a circle, trying desperately to angle towards the shuttle. The clerks were lying down. Battu wasn’t sure if they had fallen or just sat down and collapsed. The older woman was laughing and waving her hands in front of her face. The younger man was crying and begging for the spinning to stop. The last security trooper was standing unmoving in a puddle of his own making. The last thing Battu thought was that these people were insane because of something in the air.

* * *

Blazer Robert Harley McCombs watched the video feed of the shuttle bay, as the UN Troops succumbed to the gases that had flooded into the bay and popped a throat lozenge into his mouth.

“What the fuck did you put into the air, Skippy?” he rasped.

“My own concoction of Twitch, Sparkle, Retch, Satan Pepper OC and Nitrous Oxide with a glycol transmission booster,” came the cheerful reply from his niece, Janine “Skippy” Billisdotter, already suited up in two layers of environmental gear. She was apparently not fooling about how insidious the chemicals were.

“Is it safe to go in there?” He gestured vaguely to the video monitor.

“I’ve got a temp lock on this side of the airlock. If you carefully break it down like they showed us in hazmat school and dispose of it, nothing is getting back into the hab. Once I shove the garbage into the shuttle and load the demo charge, I’ll open the bay and lock to vacuum. That should vent all the nasty stuff. Then I set the autopilot on the shuttle to RTB expeditiously. Once that shitbird is out, I come back to the lock, skin out of Jensen’s oversized E-Suit, hand it over to Doc Stabby for decon, and lock back in through the new temp lock you will put in place.” She ticked the steps off on her gauntleted fingers. “Easy peasy.” She waddled to the polymer bag that was partially secured to the inside of the airlock in question.

“What about anyone who wants to go through the screening?” he asked quietly.

“It is too late for that. They needed to step up before they started soiling themselves. I’m sorry, but this is war and those aardvarks are invaders. Even without a formal declaration of war, they are nothing more than pirates attempting to board a nonmilitary habitat against our civil-safety procedures. The law is on our side.” There was a cold metal in her voice that brooked no argument.

“Why in Goddess’s name did you happen to have this mix of nightmare fuel on hand?” Robert asked, changing the subject.

“Remember the open bid the FMF posted for next-generation slow-acting, pervasive incapacitance agent? I was going to submit. It seemed like a fun problem.” The doubly suited figure shrugged. “Extra cash isn’t a bad thing, and I was wondering what to do with the stuff we got from the cousins in the islands. I like the occasional sparkle trip, but that shit is potent. I don’t feel like I should have to schedule a long weekend to have a hit of it. The rest I cooked up in the empty biolab.”

“Why are you here on the family mining concern and not teaching somewhere?” he asked.

She pointed to the rainbow painted ripper skull mounted on the wall. “Because this is home and I hate teaching.” She hissed a sigh. “And because Earth couldn’t let go of the idea that they are the big dick, this is the only home I have.” She turned to face away, shaking her head. “Susan was in Jefferson when they started. She was supposed to be getting things ready for the annual camping trip. She got a reserve recall to report to Heilbrun when they bricked it.” She reached a gauntleted fist out towards him. “Go, Team Death Skull.”

He bumped the stump of his wrist against her fist and raised it over his head to point behind him, mirroring the motions of his niece. “Rainbow,” they said together.

He snorted a hollow laugh and nodded at the lock. “Fuck ’em up, kiddo. We had a lot of family at Heilbrun.”

“Aye Aye.” And then she was sealing herself into the lock and on her way to turning the waiting shuttle into a fireship. They might not be able to protect the Freehold, but they were by Goddess going to avenge her dead.

* * *

UNS Maria Cutchet was lost with all hands after a reactor breach in the Grainne asteroid belt. Investigation showed that their flight plan prior to the incident was erratic and in violation of accepted practice and standards. Due to the death of the command crew, no further actions were taken.


Back | Next
Framed