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  Frease finally started to stir. As he awoke, he repeated Amanda's quick look around. Amanda saw him moving and walked up to the partition. “What kind of hell hole have you gotten us into Winston? You said we were doing an easy snatch and grab. The last thing I remember, I was on that jumped-up asshole's little ship being threatened by his pet grease monkey. Now look at where we are. And how did they get you with your merc fleet surrounding them with their guns cocked and loaded?”

  Frease rose. He walked over to mirror her position at the separation barrier. “A gross underestimation on my part, my dear.” He glanced around. “I'm sure we're being monitored, so be careful what you say. This is not over by a long shot. I'm not sure what planet we're on or who has us in custody, but my people will leave no stone unturned to find us. Every cat leaves a trail.”

  He was referring to the tracker in his head and the one hidden in his clothing. He looked relieved when he felt a slight ridge in the seam of his embroidered tunic. We had deactivated both.

  Accusingly, Amanda looked at Frease. “That playboy captain told me you had Jeanette killed. Is that why I couldn't get in touch with her these last months?” Hmm... I guess Amanda and Jeanette had a much closer relationship than we thought. By extension, it also implied that Amanda had contact with Frease long before our first encounter with her at the rift planet.

  “Amanda, you know the business has occasional drawbacks for employees now and then. Now calm down and wait. Let's see what our jailers want.”

  For the next two days all they saw was the bots that delivered their meals through a transfer lock. Amanda was not a happy camper. Frease tried to look calm, but his brainwaves and body were on continual scan. We knew that he, too, was slipping.

  Sojourner and Traveler had not only extracted information from the loose data-blocks we'd found, but had also started strategically leaking large volumes of information to receptive ears across the galaxy.

  Frease's data block had not only been highly encrypted, it was encrypted using Eshalax technology. We had been expecting that. On the way back home, we had put both of our guests into the Surron Auto-Docs. We discovered that Amanda's Q-Com was still at the Mil-Spec settings, so we reset it to civilian levels before deactivating it. Mr. Frease had a Q-insert with some extras. A normal scan by human tech would not have picked it up, but we did. He had an Eshalax brain-worm in his head. Mr. Frease would never leave our hospitality until we had removed that.

  On day three, Martin and Abby entered the cell-block. Neither Frease nor Amanda had seen or heard about them before. Martin dressed and acted the part of a litigator. Abby played his perky administrative legal assistant. A bot had delivered a simple table and two padded executive chairs. We had constructed an entire string of cells so it would appear that they were in a real cell-block, not cages meant just for them.

  Abby and Martin took their chairs. Martin looked back and forth silently at the imprisoned duo as Abby placed an administrative tablet on the table in front of her. They had practiced their part. Martin was also drawing on centuries of human court and crime dramas he'd absorbed.

  “Mr. Winston Frease,” Martin paused, looking over his glasses perched on the end of his nose, “we will begin with you. You are being held by the Yantoo government on numerous and very serious charges including racketeering, bribery, murder, financial fraud, and the list goes on. Many of your crimes have a mandatory sentence of mind-wipe. Do you have any significant or exculpatory material evidence that might be used to mitigate the sentence for any of your crimes?”

  Frease gave Martin his most piercing, pompous look. In very precise, measured tones he said, “I demand that my legal team be present to represent me in a proper setting. I will not cooperate with you in any way until then.” Frease was anticipating a very long drawn out legal battle. He was sure that when his legal team was made aware of his location, his security lieutenants would see that he was rescued and removed from reach.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Frease, your legal teams have declined to represent you. They have been afforded a review of the evidence and have since withdrawn from your employment. All of your top corporate attorneys have also resigned to seek employment elsewhere. Quite a bit of the evidence does not reflect well on many of them. Since this is the case, we can provide a junior level attorney from our public defender’s office if you like.”

  Frease sniffed. “I can afford to hire an army of highly skilled attorneys, thank you very much.”

  “Mr. Frease, you and Miss Wright have been in stasis for over six months. I'm afraid all your assets have been seized and assigned to temporary court-ordered receivership for divestment and reorganization under new ownership. Your empire no longer exists. You are effectively without resources.” Martin looked up a Frease. “And quite homeless I might add.”

  “Impossible,” Frease roared, then sputtered incoherently as he tried to find his voice.

  Martin calmly looked at Frease. “Not impossible, sir. You find yourself here as the result of years of exhaustive, multi-system, coordinated investigations into your businesses and … how should I put this … your non-business dealings.” Martin then pulled out Frease's personal data unit that we had found on his ship. Using Abby's data pad, he projected a slowly scrolling list of items, Frease would recognize as being downloaded from his encrypted block. Martin informed him, “The information contained in this block is the final link to an air tight prosecution.”

  We could tell that Frease instantly recognized his personal property resting on the table between them. “You could not have unlocked that,” he said. But his resolve and persona were melting like a hot candle.

  Martin waved his hand as if to casually brush away Frease's last comment. “We had a little help from the Eshalax in that matter.” Frease froze.

  For the first time, Amanda spoke up, “Who are the Eshalax, Winston? Another one of your underworld families?” Immediately Frease's cell walls turned opaque and sound proof.

  Abby looked at Amanda. “Well, perhaps we should dispose of your case first, Miss Wright.” I loved the chipper way she said that as she let her ponytail sway back and forth. It was as if she was inviting her to brunch at the club. Abby continued, “All your charges appear to be ancillary and minor compared to those filed against Mr. Frease. Judge Reynolds is allowing me to administer your case for my professional development. You don't mind, do you, Miss Wright?” Abby had delivered her statement, head slightly tilted and exuding pleasurable excitement for having been given this opportunity.

  Amanda was broken. The pins had been knocked out from underneath her. All we were really wanting to know from her was whether Frease had shared his connection to the Eshalax with her. He had not. Our scans had verified that.

  What Martin had told Frease was true. But it was a future truth. It had only been a few days since their capture. Over the next few months, using targeted and sequenced information releases, his companies would come under new management and would spin away from his orbit. They would be allowed to plot their own vectors.

  His criminal enterprises would be collapsed through legal actions performed by system authorities. Top henchmen would be isolated and find themselves powerless and, in some instances, penniless and in jail.

  Political leaders he'd had in his pocket would be encouraged to resign after they had secretly been shown the damning evidence against them. Within a year, no corporate leaders would admit they ever really knew Frease, but had only bumped into him occasionally on social occasions.

  Amanda was moved to a human terrarium to give her a roomier, more humanitarian and natural environment while she awaited release in a few months. This would happen after Frease's world had been sufficiently disassembled and disbursed. She would be given more sleepy-sleep and then put back onboard Traveler.

  When she woke, she would find herself on a new colony planet, being a relatively free person who was working off a ten-year administrative judicial punishment. Her one-way ticket to a new colony would keep her out
of circulation.

  Bogus records listed her specialization as a fertilizer production worker. I did that. Given her drive and lust for power, I bet she would quickly climb to the top of her very own dung heap. The point of our little play had been to make her believe that our crew and ships had only been minor players in a larger effort to trap Mr. Frease.

  By the time she arrived at her new home, all of her contacts within Mr. Frease’s organizations would be very much unable, and probably very unwilling, to help her.

  21 Coin Toss

  I was being shot at from two different angles. One high and to my left, the other at street level from behind good cover to my front. Kinetic rounds were keeping me pinned down. Badly wounded in the leg, I attempted to make myself very small behind the rubble of a tumbled down wall. This whole area had looked like a war zone even before we'd made our drop. I needed my partner to flank those bastards to save my ass before I bled out. I tightened my auto-tourniquet. Every time I released a drone from my backpack it was immediately shot all to hell. “Come on Dodger, I’m not gonna make you your favorite brownies unless you put it in gear right now and take out at least one of those goons.”

  The only reassurance I got was a short, “Working on it, Sandy.” Blood, my blood was filling up my right boot. We'd been on recon for two days, playing cat and mouse with these two jerks. They gotten the jump on us a few hours ago. I was now very trapped. Dodger was trying to get a kill shot on at least one or work to draw them off. We had some help inbound on foot, but they were over thirty minutes away.

  I was getting a feed off Dodger’s helmet as he maneuvered. Placing his sights on the high target, he was about to drop the hammer when he was beaten to the punch. I watched as his target released a one-man missile in my direction. It was bend over and kiss your ass goodbye time for me. I was going to die in explosive gore. My gore. Instead, I punched out.

  Team Abby and Roger had gotten too good at this. They punched out, followed by Dodger. Immersion game over, we exited our individual game pods. I looked at Abby who had just too big a grin on her face. I think she was developing a smidgen too much of an unhealthy blood lust when in battle mode.

  Immersion games had become half our tactical ground training. The other half was very real humping over the terrain of our ranch and in the caverns. Martin turned out to be the best field tactician of all of us. He was able to anticipate probable hot spots, deploy our assets effectively and always had at least three exit plans up his sleeve. It was all fun and blood.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Martin and the human-bodied Zees had slightly more gray matter storage and a bit faster analytic capabilities in their noggins than we did. While the ship-based Zees could invade AIs, gather and manipulate data over vast distances and cause general mayhem, the human Zees could not. They were limited by their organic existence just like us. We leaned heavily on the shipboard encased Zees as well as the part of Martin that remained in his hard shell aboard Traveler.

  The human Zees and Martin had some physical advantages over Hornblower, Mica, and me, until we adjusted, or rather, were adjusted. Their advantage was a package of fast-twitch muscles they could turn on like a switch. This let them operate at blur-blazing speeds. For short times, anyway. Over five minutes of sustained full effort left their bodies exhausted, with minutes-long recovery time needed. Traveler had tinkered with the Surron Auto-docs and assured us that he could safely impart a fast twitch muscle package in our bodies, too. I was not sure about the re-engineering of my body. I'd become so fond of it over the years.

  We all looked at, tore apart, and analyzed the transformation process that would bring us up to speed. Finally, Mica said he was ready, willing, and able to jump in, hopefully not over his head. If I went in under the knife at all, I was going last. Women respect their God-given bodies more than men do.

  The Auto-Doc procedure took five hours. Special organic and inorganic compounds had been loaded into the Auto-Doc for Mica. Before entering this Medical Mandela, Mica was instructed to remain still for a few minutes after regaining consciousness.

  The rest time was to allow his nervous system to sync-up with his conscious mind to control the changes in his body. A full body scan verified that the package had been delivered properly. That included a thirty percent increase in bone density, tensile and compression strength. Oh, great. I was going to weigh a lot more.

  The Surron Auto-Doc opened. To me, Mica looked just slightly more muscled in a lean sort of way. It was a relief that I wasn't going to be transformed into a bulked-up gym rat.

  When Mica extracted himself, he said he didn't feel any different. He was told to wait twenty hours before attempting to use his package. Then it was off to the ship's dojo for Mica to do some training, supervised by Ranger. Untrained and unpracticed, we could inadvertently hurt ourselves or others.

  One effect was that we could slow down apparent time. That was accomplished, not by some trick of physics, but by over-clocking our brains. That would also drain a lot of our biological energy reservoir when we tripped the switch.

  After acclimation training with Ranger, the next day Mica challenged me to a light round of sparring. Before he got his package, I could have whipped him without getting touched. Occasional bar fights can't compete with expert martial arts training. Now however, I was going to be very cautious. We were to remain in the training circle during the bout. For a few seconds we circled then approached each other. My first attack strategy was a half-offense, half-defense approach. I wanted to test the waters.

  Looking at Mica, I could tell he was way more focused than I'd ever seen him before. That was worrisome. I'd seen him go into some deep, Zen-like states when doing particularly tricky piloting. I moved in, starting with a distracting leg motion.

  Didn’t work. The next thing I knew, he was behind me, tapping me lightly and rapidly on the shoulder. I dropped and spun. Blur, he was gone. Behind me again. I stood and backed to the edge of the training circle and gave him a deep bow. I was going to ask for a rematch after I got my package. I was now looking forward to it.

  Hornblower's turn. Abby and I stayed out of the Med-bay. Nobody wants to see someone, they consider their brother, naked. Hornblower went the same route as Mica had after he exited the Auto-Doc. I watched Hornblower and Ranger spar for the first time. I couldn't tell whose arms and legs were whose. It was all a blur.

  After three minutes, they backed out and each took a knee, exhausted but not completely spent. I told Hornblower that with more training exposure and use of dextrose-carb packs, we could probably easily increase endurance by several more minutes when in the zone. The Zees could use some endurance training, too. I was going to be our dojo sensei.

  No boys allowed during my Auto-Doc session. Only Abby. Like Mica and Hornblower, I came out with more lean and lengthy muscles stem to stern. Yeah, the first thing I checked in the mirror was my stern. All OK and ship shape, maybe a tad better.

  Flicking the switch was an amazing experience. Not only did everything except me seem to slow down, but my mind had a calm sureness I'd never felt before. My first few workouts were three-minute sessions. It felt more like double that. Ramming down a dex-carb pack allowed my body to reset after my first go. I assumed the seated position and flicked my switch, watching the dojo clock sweep the slow seconds away. To me time had slowed to less than one quarter speed. I took a hand compression ball that lay on the mat in front of me. Slowly, with my arm outstretched at shoulder height, I released the ball. It dropped lowly to the mat. Slo-mo.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  When I first met the Zee's, I'd assumed they were some sort of all-knowing and all-powerful, inter-dimensional beings who, I'd hoped, were all sweetness and light.

  They are great at data collecting, connecting, extrapolating, and analysis, but they have their limits. They can only interact in our plane through systems that exist here. The lowest interaction can be gained by infecting Q-connected dumb computers, like data pads and such. They can't control
any non-technical matter or purely mechanical systems or break the laws of physics on our side. Higher level interaction requires linking to quantum-based AI systems over here.

  The Zees only became aware of life on our side when the first species started using and manipulating quantum physics on semi-large scales. That manipulation leaves an observable trace, or noise, they can detect in their dimensional home.

  The drawback, from their side, is that they can't zoom in like a telescope to watch things that occur on anything less than the scale of a solar system unless they haunt a computer or AI.

  It had been a long, slow process of millions of years before the Zees understood what the strange quantum traces actually were. And even more millions of years before they learned how to interface with AI and computer systems. Any life forms, no matter how intelligent, were in the Zees' blind spot until they reached a detectable level of quantum manipulation technology.

  Curiously, the Zees that exist here, whether in an AI core or human body, don't understand the precepts and science of what it means to be there while they are here. They are detached and semi-connected at the same time. An existential paradox. Made my brain hurt listening to Ranger and Martin discuss it.

  While they have occasionally communicated with several thousands of species over the course of six billion years, they have only really seriously interacted with the Surrons and one other. The Surron connection was just to work on saving their collective asses from the big poof. If only our side would have been affected, I doubt they would have lifted a finger to help.

  Which brings us to now. As I understand it, the race that desperately needs some of the information in the Surron library crypts, is one that the Zees have had a special interest in over the last two billion years.

  Back on the Rift Planet, I remember the look on Dodger’s face just after the rift disappeared. The cause of that look was the revelation that Martin knew the locations of the Surron libraries that lay dormant and hidden for billions of years. After Martin and Ranger had their little side talk, Ranger made a command decision that they would help their long-term acquaintances. Sometimes I get the impression he's hiding things from the folks back home.