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  “Send a technician,” commanded the Colonel. “And check failover on the backups. I’m not chancing a reboot during docking operations. Lieutenant Morhouse, are the recovery teams ready?”

  “Suiting up at airlocks three, nine, and twelve,” stated the Lieutenant.

  “Excellent. Dispatch, put France on screen six and run a countdown for those nukes. Patch the feed to Doctor McTavish in the Physics lab. The eggheads need every scrape of data we get when the force-bubble reacts.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The Colonel stared at the bizarre dome of energy swelling over his planet. “If this doesn’t work,” he grumbled, “we’re not going home.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The flight into space had been exciting, but for some reason Lewis Herman found the space station more interesting. Maybe it was the view of Earth, spectacular from this vantage, and the space inside the station was ample. At last he was seeing the technology of this weird alternate world at its best, although that wasn’t saying a lot. It was still primitive to his own reality.

  Heavily padded white curved walls spun around him as he passed through the docking extension and into the upper reception area above the ‘northern’ axis. Compact fluorescents ran in protective cages for a hundred meters, but the shaft opened before he got more than a dozen meters, and a hand reached out from an open hatch, pulling him into a cylindrical room.

  The hand belonged to a muscular man in a helmetless pressure suit who slapped a sticky patch of fly paper onto Herman’s back and pushed him unceremoniously against the nearby wall. “Stay here until we sort this out,” he told Herman.

  “Fuck you.” Shoving off with one leg, Herman flipped over and grabbed the man’s shoulder, using his weight to push himself across the room. Flashing by a wall covered with lines of flickering lights, he felt the soles of his feet impact against the hand rails he’d been aiming for and bent his knees, grabbing the railing in a crouch.

  The man in the pressure suit glared angrily at him from the hatch, but made no move to pursue. Reaching for the next person, he slapped a patch on Senjiita’s back and pushed the old Asian male against the wall. Jenny was next, then Beloris and Arsus.

  A woman in an officer’s uniform jetted into the chamber from another oval hatchway and smiled at them. She wore small compressed-gas tanks strapped to her ankles, back, and wrists, using them with expert skill to jet over and slow to a halt. When she noticed Herman, she raised an eyebrow to the man in the suit.

  “Fella’s got issues, what can I say?”

  The woman with the gas tank focused on Arsus. “Deputy Director Macwell. Welcome to Freedom-3. I am Senior Tech O’Ryan,” she looked at her assistant. “This is Starman First Class Kingery. According to protocol, I must debrief you. This is for your safety, I’m sure you understand.” Looking at Arsus and gestured with her eyes to Lewis Herman. “If he’s a problem, tell me now and I’ll have Kingery take care of it.”

  “Mister Garibaldi is not a problem,” said Arsus. “And I’d advise your people to consider that. Particularly Starman First Class Kingery.”

  O’Ryan produced a nylon guide leash and wrapped it around Arsus’s waist. “Unpeel yourself from the wall Sir, and I’ll give you a ride.”

  Arsus broke free of the velcro wall with a sticky ripping sound. “Let’s make this quick.”

  Jetting past Herman, O’Ryan and Arsus vanished through an automatic hatch. As it sealed behind them with a hiss, Staman Kingery shot a dirty look in Herman’s direction. Herman stared back, hoping the Kingery would lose his bearing and make a threat.

  Jenny shook her head at both of them. “Is this a testosterone thing?” she asked.

  “Seems to be,” grumbled Lewis, “I’m still waiting to be sorted out.”

  Rolling her eyes, Jenny sighed. “Why don’t you whip out your cannolis and have a measuring content? Maybe then we can all relax.”

  “No contest,” said Herman. “My cannoli’s a jumbo.” Realizing how stupid that sounded, he laughed at himself. “Jumbo Wumbo!”

  Taking Herman’s response as an insult, Kingery shot back with the affect of a middle schooler. “I’ve heard you NSA pukes torture kids and women. Must make your day, listening to helpless punks begging for mercy while you burn their feet with electrodes.”

  “Electrodes? No.” Herman evoked a look of mock surprise and shook a finger in the air. “Just wires. Electrodes are expensive. You know, you’d make a perfect recruit, Kingery. I can’t believe the NSA hasn’t approached you yet. You’ve got the right mentality. Ever consider working for the Agency?”

  “A Starman is already the best of the best,” he retorted. He pointed at the starcrest insignia on his uniform. “Maybe you don’t get it. Starmen are dedicated, loyal, unreporachable. In what position could I possibly serve my country in a higher capacity?”

  “How about screaming while your feet are burned off?” suggested Herman.

  Curling his upper lip, Kingery clenched his fists. “I oughta….”

  “Stop,” Jenny shouted at him. “You oughta stop, Kingery. Agent Garibaldi is baiting you, and you know it. What do you think NSA operatives are trained to do? Think about it. You go at him angry Garibaldi and he’ll take you apart. Be smart and blow it off.”

  “This sanctuary is required for the continuity of our mission,” Senjiita, warned Lewis. “Be frugal with your amusement.”

  “Of course, O’ ancient and venerable one.” Herman gave an exaggerated bow to Senjiita before turning back to Kingery. “I’m sorry for my test of your loyalty, Starman, I simply don’t like being ordered around. I’m sure you can relate.”

  “No, I can’t.” Kingery ground his teeth. “I’m a soldier. I obey my orders, even when it means confronting an asshole.”

  “And you’re good at it,” Herman replied dryly. Flashing a smile he added, “You must practice in the mirror every morning.”

  Before Kingery could respond, the hatch re-opened and Senior Tech O’Ryan hissed back into the chamber via her body-mounted jets. Arsus appeared behind her, hanging patiently in the open doorway. “It’s just a few questions,” Arsus told them with a wink. “And a blood test.”

  O’Ryan gazed at them. “I’m satisfied with the Deputy Director, but the rest of you will require individual debriefing as well. Security protocols. I’m sure you’ll pass.”

  “It’s standard procedure,” said Arsus. He cleared his throat. “Your real profiles are already in the computer. Answer truthfully. We aren’t under cover here, these people are our hosts.” He looked pointedly at Lewis Herman. “Understand Agent Garibaldi?”

  Herman got the hint. His nostrils flared. “Yeah.” Something of Garibaldi squirmed, wanting to tell them they could all go to Hell, but he forced it back. This wasn’t the time. Play the game, he told himself. Play the game and Valon would be the one squirming. It would be worth it. “An, uh, debriefing. Sure.”

  Arsus looked at Senjiita, Beloris, and Jenny. “Once everyone has finished, we can move to our quarters and meet in the boardroom. It’s not far.” He nodded to O’Ryan. “We’ll wait here until everyone is done. I’d like us to stay together.”

  “As you wish, Deputy Directory.” O’Ryan pointed to ‘agent’ Garibaldi. “You’re next.” She held up the nylon leash. “Would you like a ride, or do you prefer trying your luck at zero-g maneuvering?”

  “Can’t learn if I don’t practice,” stated Herman. “Point me in the right direction.”

  O’Ryan indicated the same hatch she’d just come through with Arsus, and Lewis pushed off, drifting quickly. Catching the hand rail next to the edge, he slowed himself and waited for O’Ryan to catch up. She closed the hatch behind them.

  Floating next to Jenny, Arsus nodded to Starman Kingery. “You have your orders?” he asked the operative.

  Starman Kingery tapped the microphone in his right ear. “Yes, Sir, Deputy Director. I’ll take you to the operating theatre. It’s prepped and ready. Doctor Eisenberg is st
anding by. He’s ready for the procuedure.”

  “What!?” Jenny furled her brow at Arsus. “What are you doing Deputy Director Dewey Macwell? You said we were staying together. Including agent Garibaldi.

  Arsus took a deep breath. “Yes. I said that,” he admitted.

  “What is this about?” Jenny demanded.

  Hanging to the left of Jenny, Beloris grabbed her arm and replied for Arsus, “Is not about you, Jenny. You were in hospital after bug bites. Missed meeting, Da?. Decisions were made. Maybe bad decisions. You would not like them, but…” Beloris shrugged and whispered to her. “Is necessary.”

  “Necessary?” Jenny turned to ask Beloris what he meant. As she did so Arsus placed an injector against her neck. Too later she heard the hiss and felt the sting to her flesh, and there was nothing she could do. Enraged, she pushed herself off the wall and spun for the hatch after Lewis. She had only seconds before the drug took hold, she had to at least try and warn Lewis. But warn him of what?

  Starman Kingery caught her by the wrist and tugged her into a bear hug, squeezing her tight. Even with the Saiben-D in her system, she was no match the thug physically. Knowing better she relaxed her body. The fluorescent light’s flickered and electrical ports around the room sparked with static flashes of burning ozone.

  “Garibaldi will not be harmed!” Arsus barked at Jenny. “Let it go, Jenny. Trust me. I promise you’ll be there at the end, but we need what’s in Garibaldi’s head. We HAVE to know!”

  Of course, Jenny understood the motives of their leader quite well. Arsus would say and do anything that brought him closer to his goal. A goal she shared, but not at this expense. A doctor and an operating theatre clearly meant surgery, and ‘needing’ what was in Lewis’s head meant taking it. Whatever that entailed, it wouldn’t be good for Lewis. After so long jumping with the Paradisians, Jenny had finally found a human like herself. What were the odds of that happening? And now they were going rip into his brain. With this world’s technology, Lewis would be lucky to survive, and if he died, he would be force-jumped to a host on a recalibrating world. Sucked into this simulation’s afterlife buffer. Gone forever. Unrecoverable.

  She couldn’t allow that. Not while she had the power to stop it.

  Kingery cried out at the jolt of electrical power running from Jenny’s bionic right arm. A halo of arcing energy played over him, burning through his body. She pushed the unconscious Starman away, using the momentum of his body to send her in the opposite direction. As she grew closer to the hatch, her vision began to blur and the room swam as if she were underwater, an eerie warbling of sound and sight.

  “You bastards,” she croaked. Her voice sounded strange and distorted. With her organic left arm she fumbled for the onrushing rail, but couldn’t get a grip and sailed past. Through the shifting spinning room, she saw Beloris and Senjiita coming toward her. Spectral perceptions flooded threw her mind, adrift in the frenzy of the drugs. X-Rays, Gamma Rays, Electrons, Magnetics, they floated past her vision in a mirage of overlapping hallucinations. She couldn’t differentiate or select from them, and she couldn’t control more than one. As her mind dissolved into vacancy, she gave herself to the radio spectrum and unleashed an analog burst – her last hope of a warning.

  Speakers in the room boomed an unintelligible high-pitched static shriek that sounded eerily like a human scream. Arsus raises his hands and covered his ears. Senjiita winced. Beloris grabbed Jenny, grinding his teeth at the sound, but pulling her closer as the screaming dropped in amplitude.

  “Was not fast enough,” Beloris announced, looking at the closed hatch with a worried expression. “Is Saiben-D. Still in her system. Resistant to other drugs.”

  “We’ll be alright,” Arsus assured them. “O’Ryan was supposed to take the blood sample first. Lewis should be unconscious by now. Help me with Kingery. I think his heart has stopped.”

  “Better that we leave it stopped,” hissed Senjiita.

  “Of course,” chuckled Arsus. “But I want to make certain. We’ll move Kingery to the lab. I have this station memorized.” He looked up the central tube at two people more descending from the shuttle with a man bound in cargo straps. “They’re bringing Heticus. We have everything we need. A host and a way to force him into it. Our chances look good. We may succeed this time.”

  “But who,” rasped the old Chinese host of Senjiita, “is the outside this cage, and who is within? Therein begs the answer to our success or failure.”

  “Bleh!” announced Beloris in response. “I need Vodka. But they will have none? I will tolerate American whiskey, but my stomach churns, and not so much at disgust for whiskey as betrayal of friend. You, Arsus, I have followed, but after so long, I tire of failure. This is last time. You make good.”

  Because the technicians bringing Heticus down had come into earshot, Arsus held his tongue. There were many arguments he could have presented to Beloris and Senjiita. Thousands of lifetime’s worth. But they already knew them. There was no longer a reason for political speeches or emotional rants. What few ethical restrictions they allowed themselves had already been broken, or were about to.

  “Follow me to the operating theatre,” he told them. “And we will finish this.”

  Speculatorum

  Freedom-3, like most of the large U.S. orbital installations, relied on centrifugal force produced by rotation for artificial gravity. Thus the vast majority of the station lay inside five enormous rings, all connected via elevator shafts and access tubes. Around the outer edge of each ring, large oblong bulges formed the largest interior chambers. One of these was the operating theater – a laboratory designed for medical research and surgery.

  Surrounded by a glass enclosed observation deck at the top, the floor of the laboratory contained a wide array of technological equipment. The most advanced U.S. Star Force computers lined the walls. Lights hung on sliding tracks. Rolling magnetic tables and trays of surgical tools sat positioned between the nurses and assistants encircling a patient mounted in a metal frame. The patient’s scalp had been sliced open and pushed to the sides. His upper skull had been removed, providing access to his brain, and the frame had been tilted at an angle of thirty degrees, raising the subject’s head to the level of the surgeon standing behind him.

  Doctor Adalwulf Claus Eisenberg moved slowly in the half-g of the operation theater, working with methodical precision over the exposed brain. Without taking his eyes off his work, he held out his hand. “Vun point two millimeter transmesh 13 microclip.” An object met his hand. A second later he said, “Sank you frauline. Veddy goot, mmm. Now I vill have two of zee A19 clamps.”

  Squinting through the magnifying lenses attached to his horn-rimmed glasses, Doctor Eisenberg finished tucking the electrode mat onto the cerebral cortex, carefully aligning the microscopic circuits for maximum contact. According to Doctor Randuu, they would connect according to the firing sequence of superclusters in the subject’s brain. He had no idea how that could possibly work, but this advanced NSA technology was entirely beyond him. He was only her hands in this operation.

  “Yes… goot,” he muttered in his thick German accent. After defecting to the U.S. the Doctor had spent little time studying English. As a neurosurgeon specializing in mental programming, his talents were a result of research into many areas, but the native tongue of his new benefactors was not one of them. He called out loudly, directing his next question to the microphone pickup relaying his audio to Doctor Randuu. “Doctor, is de signal clear?”

  “Yes,” Randuu stated from the speaker behind him. “I’m receiving a perfect duplicate of neural firing. Parity and cloning routines are in progress. It will take a few minutes to sort them out.”

  “Dis is amazink,” rasped the doctor. He leaned back. “Can you really obtain occipital imagery from dis connection?”

  “Yes. The drugs produce a feedback loop when memories are evoked. They cause the detectable firing of ancillary nodes along the optic and audio nerves. Those signals follow
a predictable pathway, although it will require some tweaking, but I’ve become adept at modifying the code.”

  Doctor Eisenberg smiled under his surgical mask and backed away from Michael Garibaldi to watch the data scrolling over a computer screen behind him. He bumped into the table where the top of the patient’s skull lay, knocking it over. Horrified, he snatched the bone flap and set it back on the table. “Five minute rule,” he muttered. In longer procedures he’d have placed the skull flap inside the patient’s body to keep it viable, but this one should take less than a couple of hours. He turned back to the screen. Far above them, a projector warmed up. It fired a large image onto one of the blank white walls.

  “Lights,” shouted Doctor Eisenberg. An attendant near the door flipped a switch, dimming them so they could see the display. He also turned the lights down in the observation deck above so the Deputy Director and his entourage could see as well.

  “Subject is still producing Delta waves,” said the nurse.

  The projector’s image displayed a static-filled ripple of shapes. Below the image, the door to the operating room opened momentarily distracting Doctor Eisenberg. Two men wheeled a gurney in and placed it nearby. The body was entirely covered by a sheet.

  “Vhat is dis?” asked the Doctor.

  In the observation room above, Arsus leaned forward, flipping a switch to open the intercom. “A part of the procedure I didn’t mention, Doctor. This is the corpse of a man who was recently electrocuted. It is not important right now.”

  Eisenberg’s huge overly magnified eyes glanced from the body of Starman Kingery and back to the display screen. “Hmh!” He was curious, but it could wait. The thought of seeing the visions of a person’s mind were more interesting at the moment. If Doctor Randuu could actually do what she professed, which he highly doubted, then it would change interrogation techniques forever. Why bother with torture when you could peer into a person’s inner most thoughts? “Vhat is dis we are seeing here?” he asked aloud.