Chapter 05 - Morning Dance.

The imperative to pee is too much for me, so I abandon the cosy warmth of my bed early. Zero six hundred hours UCT, or company standard time. Adopted to ensure all accounts are filed at the same time, where ever you are in the solar system. I still use it from years of familiarity, even though I no longer work in the Mars conglomerates. The alarm chimes shrilly in the bedroom. Shame I've been up for ten minutes already. I glance left to a set of icons on my HUD, computer augmented reality, I reach up into thin air to grip an icon in my thumb and fore finger. “Pinch!” I mutter, squeezing lightly on thin air.
The “Tooth Hygiene” nano buzz with activity in my mouth. I feel the ozone of the converted plaque grow and open my lips to release the gas build up with a small hiss. Just clearing up the ravages of the night before. Halfway through activating my teeth nano, I berate myself for not scheduling the job on automatic again, and not having the luxury of not having to think about it every morning. I smile subversively to myself. “Some day, some day I'll remember to sit down and sched a whole raft of little jobs like that!”
I tap the mirror wall in front of me and transparent images of solar weather radar, news feeds, and transit routes are super imposed over my image. Hotspots for the next few months are predicted against schematics of my mornings up and coming journey. Sling potentials, gravity corridors, space lanes to avoid and those to traverse.
The speakers in the walls (the walls are the speakers actually) begin to pipe a mixture of “cool classical” from my antique music database, randomly sorted, to try and listen to some of the rarer tracks I’ve collected. Hendrix begins to play 'little wing'. Again I smile wryly to myself. “Silly old bugger. Still using a bathroom after all these years. Nano covers all aspects of hygiene, but you still can't get out of the habit of standing in the bathroom each morning to clean your teeth and have a bath!”
As I say the words “bath” the taps activate and begin filling the antique bathtub, chiming stats on perfect temperature mix and volumes, beginning to calculate water usage, costs and add them to my budget to be deducted from my monthly credit, off setting the bath against drinking water and updating stats on recalculated re-syc thresholds. “Not this morning stupid twat!” I chuckle to myself.
“Cease!”
The water stops flowing, the music stops playing and the lights go out in the sealed windowless bathroom. For a moment I am standing alone in the dark, with only the familiar hum of the engines vibrating through the floor.
“Bath that is. Lights on. Music proceed! Bath empty!”
The lights flicker and return, the way only neon does. The music quietly ramps back to the pre-set volume, and the bath develops a plughole, empties, and auto cleans itself.
Shaking my head and laughing quietly to myself, I turn round, I touch the icon on the wall, which appears by the door. The door slides open.
As an after thought I flick my eyes to another icon on my HUD, it becomes central and I pinch it between my finger and thumb.
Again the fizz of ozone as body nano cleans and repairs ever inch of my skin. “Not that I wouldn't prefer a bath to that!” I shudder involuntary as the sensation tickles on the edge of abrasion all over my body.
Stepping back into the bathroom and briefly splashing some water on my face and head at the sink, then towelling off the excess nano, hair, and any remaining residue from the “bath”. My hair constantly trimmed to a close shave and my goatee neatly barbered by eN-tech.
The piped music follows me through into the kitchen area. Lights flicker into life as I move through the small utility room. Stopping briefly to remove two slices of bread from the freezer I place them in the toaster and activate it. My cup foams and fills with hot tea at my touch. Again a slight shudder. “I will get used to that at some point I'm sure.”
I sip at it tentatively as I pass back through the utility room to my lounge.
All the doors purposely left set open so I can walk easily between rooms. An attempt to remind myself how much room I have. There are families of ten or more living, in the pre-habs planet side, in less than half the space than I've managed to secure with the Lady Jane Grey. The down turn in the off world hauling market about fifty years ago meant I was able to purchase two reasonably large units and tether them together as one ship.
My mind wanders back to the days on Mars, living in the pre-habs. Huge organically grown skeletons of plexi-steel. The nano build all the utilities into the infrastructure and add standard utility couplings. Massive shells to house thousands of units can be grown in weeks. Then housing units are flown in and slotted into the spaces, attached to the utility feeds, as tenants (usually corporate landlords) rent space in the framework. Large container boxes of housing units are slotted in then occupied once activated.
The Martian archaeologies are something to be seen. Huge magnificent monoliths towering up into the sky further than the eye can see. Magnificent only if seen from above. View them from the perspective of most of the tenants, from below, and hope leaches away. Without hope there is no reason to continue to live. Hope drives wishes and gives reason to continue. If it wasn't for the constant rain. It is dark at the bottom of the stacks. The towers so high that they tear the sky itself, and she can do nothing but weep all day and all of the night long. Constant rain, day and night. It gets in everywhere. Constant rain, constant damp, everything.
The understacks at this time in the morning are less dangerous than at most times of day. Too late in the morning for the rape gangs to be around, too early in the morning for the murder gangs to be up. I smile, it wasn't actually that bad. I was stopped once by a group of would be muggers, but the piezo charge set in my coat stopped most of the would be assailants dead in their tracks. One buzz of that and they began to think twice about trying anything again. If needs be I was licensed to carry the two military grade tasers, I used to wear tucked warmly under my jacket as well. Again waste disposal accountancy had its perks when you contracted to the military.
I find myself, now, sitting amongst the debris of my life, vids and memory units piled on every surface I can find, bits of hardware, retained to fix others, at some indefinite point in the future, circuit boards from previous upgrades not yet recycled. Stims in racks at one end of the room. Ornaments, careful selected, then almost randomly abandoned on shelves around the room. There is actual order to the place. You just have to know what the order is.
Listening to the pod DJ and her “crew” mutter banally about today’s dockside traffic, politics, sports headlines. “A hope to the under educated, a promise to the ungifted!” I mutter.
“If it wasn't for the need for the human touch, a basic need for interaction, DJ's would have finally run their natural course and become extinct years ago.” I think to myself.
“If only!” I add.
Picking up my shirt off one of the ample chairs I slip it over my tee shirt and it zips itself to a comfortable neck line. Digging around under various sized sheets of clear plastic, I retrieve my regulation black dungarees, and put them on. Finding my boots in the hall by the door I slip them on and run my finger up the seal to seamlessly complete them. They fluctuate for a moment adjusting themselves to my feet then meld with the ankles of my dungarees to complete one unit.
The belt from the banister at the end of the stairs is an affectation but it makes the placement of my utility pouches more convenient. The antique glasses just make me look more intelligent. So I keep telling myself. They are, of course, next to completely pointless with modern corrective surgery, performed non-invasively, just by taking a mixture of retro engineered viruses and nano pills.
I carefully pick up two or three memory blocks from the pile on the floor, units I've spent most of the evening before preparing. As I touch each one its icon appears on my HUD, more, an icon lights up “vids” for the first, the second “pod”, the third “tools of the trade”, software hacks (some my own), tools , and my favourite AI interface. Locking them into my belt they interface with my personal net. A couple of piezo units I had fitted into my hip joints years back provide more than enough power for all the hardware and bits and pieces I run most trips.
A military style jacket hangs on the banister end where the belt was. I slip another pod unit into an inside pocket whilst throwing the jacket around my shoulders. An id badge materializes on my breast pocket declaring name rank and bar code, with the obligatory unflattering picture.
With a reluctant sigh I pick up my attaché bag. A nebulous black hole as far as I am concerned. I fold an item and place it on top of the thing and it just sinks in. No opening. No organisation. The whole thing is an extra light alloy mixed with nano. Place a memory unit on it and it will hold it securely and properly organised until you request it again. Personally assigned to me, no-one else can access anything I put in it. There are probably high level police and military overrides but apart from that my ident chip is the only one that can retrieve from it. Bonded for life with a brief case. One of the vague advantages of some lower grade military crap that I ship each trip, does mean I have access to some pretty cutting edge toys.
Picking up a couple of the plastic sheets, one A3, one A4, I fold them, they bond on themselves, sealed, and I lay them on top of the bag. They sink like a woolly mammoth into the black of the tar pit. Leaving no discernible trace of any intrusion.
On top of a book case at the end of the room six jack plugs wait. Intentionally selected the night before. I pull a clip out of a jacket pocket and clip each into place. Lifting each reveals their names in close proximity. Lifting the last I pause, “The City” flashes next to the jack. I smile and almost reverently place it into the clip. Slipping the clip into an inside pocket in the jacket. “Six should be enough for the trip I think.” I grin.
Placing my hands together, palm on palm, I bow to the symbol of two swords crossed on the east wall. I turn and bow to the symbol of the sun on the south wall. I bow towards a large chalice on a shelf on the west wall. Then bow to a sphere on the north wall. Smiling I step into the lounge again and face the huge head of a leaf encrusted man, the head of a man whose rosy cheeked cherubic face is framed by grapes, and the face of a beautiful woman. I bow again. “Thank you and bless you. Please look after the house for me and keep a watchful eye on me whilst I am away.” The three heads bow back, all smiling.
I place the cup in the kitchen. It empties and cleans itself.
I retrieve a greatcoat from the end of the banister and drape that around my shoulders, over my jacket. Again insignia and rank badges, ID and a certain amount of intricate embroidery, in red, resolve themselves and settle in the structure of the coat.
Facing the door I sigh. “Enough pissing around. Time to get on with it.”
Placing one finger of my left hand on the door to the air lock I drag two from the other hand down and open them. A screen appears on the door between them, growing with the gesture I am tracing. “Corridor monitor”
An image of the corridor outside flashes onto the screen. Sweeping from left to right then back again. No one is about. A small voice chimes “Corridor clear for two hours”
“Thank you!” The screen disappears.
Not that I don't like my neighbours. I get on fine with the ones each side. It's just some of the ones further down the corridor, itinerant traders and their children, I don’t trust as much.
I tap the release code into the door lock icon. The door dissolves. Stepping out I reach up to pinch the locking icon. The door seals itself back into the framework. The windows around the outside of the units disappear. The main quarters of the ship hermetically seal. The entire house unit is pumped with inert gas. “See you in about six hours” I kiss my fingers and touch where the door was. A trace of my fingerprints remains glowing on the door, and then dissipate like electricity running across circuits through the face of the door.
Inside four rooms, four clicks, in each room a tennis ball sized piece of metal falls from its socket in the roof with a satisfied plop. Each one acquires six legs, scanning and monitoring clusters sprout as the head of each grows from the body. Cameras adjust round the heads, six forward, two back, like metallic insect heads, each scampers, not unlike land locked crabs, to their allotted position and log into the ship net. “Security activated!” The smooth voice of my mesh mutters. 

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Chapter 04 - The God Emperor of the Four Deaconates Verses Batak Inc.

“You've been out of circulation for quite a while if you've not heard of The God Emperor of the Four Deaconates Verses Batak Inc.”
“I was not born Sol, and a lot of the work I have done for Uncle is not in the area, if you know what I mean.” again the lizard smile, I feel a cold chill.
“I suppose it all came to a head in my younger years. Batak Inc were one of the first adopters of the Junis Project. They invested heavily and even completely financed one of the Initialiser vessels. As such they got rights to whatever the probe and it's offspring returned to earth. Their CEO Roger Batak himself even managed to get his DNA accepted as clone templates for the Junis model sixes that would eventually master the extraction and distribution of resources back to earth. Time passed. Roger himself being immensely wealthy went from clone stock to clone stock. By the time the allotted resources should have been returning to Batak Inc he was wearing a Junis eight clone hybrid body. A couple of hundreds of years had passed. Batak Inc had diversified and consolidated, and was now one of the major families in the Sol colonies. Batak himself was a really big player.”
“Well fairly miffed at the lack of return on his ancient investment, and seeing the huge pay back some of the other smaller families were getting from lesser commercial enterprises, mostly conglomerate investment cartels, he raised an army. Tech had moved on a pace, so fairly soon they dropped into the expected deaconate ready for a bit of a scrap. You know a small planet side war. Possibly a year or two, nothing too expensive. Only to find the clone children of Batak had fought amongst themselves, and the one survivor had destroyed two brothers, and a sister, and announced himself The God Emperor of The Four Deaconates.”
“The God Emperor was not exactly pleased to see the Batak contingent. To cut a long story short, after some eighty years of pitched battle, across planets, and even systems, the Batak Legions lost everything to the God Emperors battle seasoned troops. Batak himself was captured, bound and sent before the God Emperor to plead for his worthless life. In his moment of ultimate triumph the God Emperor bent to receive the plea for mercy from his makers own lips. What the God Emperor had not allowed for was the Black Rod Protocol. Batak whispered a simple pre-prepared phrase into his ear, the God Emperor seceded all rights and symbols of authority to Batak, simply handed over the keys to the four deaconates he controlled, fell to his knees and went into a coma. Batak had him carted off for clone fodder to his private vats.”
“Nowadays you would probably consider it only a minor inter faction skirmish.”
“It's the first instance where there were signs that there may be problems with the Junis Six. Junis Corp denied there was any problem with any of the rest of the sixes. Quietly instigating the Purge of the Long Knives that lead to the eights destroying then replacing every six they could find. Unfortunately the eights were not as efficient as they should have been and some sixes escaped to spread the word throughout all the thirty six deaconates. The eights realising their error instigated the hunter killer class, the nines, all armed with the ultimate weapon, Bataks Black Rod Protocol. Become known as the Black Rod themselves they led legions into the stars and still continue the battle to this day. Many of the sixes don't want to give up the power and possition they have aquired.”
“In the incidents wake the Hub Temple instigated a rigorous testing of any inbound or outbound space traveller. From the slate you just passed me you were tested inbound only a few months ago, so the legislation doesn't apply. I on the other hand rarely leave the Sol system, and haven't in the last hundred years or so, and must therefore submit myself for personal testing before we can leave.”
“I will bid you good night and retire to my chambers.” I stand, bow, and leave up the stairs in the corner of the common room.

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Chapter 03 - Room Without a View.

We stand eyeing each other suspiciously for a minute as data streams from mesh to mesh. So this is the infamous Bonetta Smith, artisan, artist, and rumoured to be one of Hassan’s greatest assassins. She holds sole command of his inner cadre, the hand picked, personally vetted inner body guard of his inner body guard. She's a young fifty if even that, but like most of the higher echelon her looks wouldn't put her past twenty, re-juve and augmented surgery. The Smiths can afford the best, and they don't scrimp on the credits. I realise I'm staring, she smiles, I blush, and suddenly feel very old.
To stem my embarrassment I scan the hull. I whistle through my teeth.

“The gods, and your uncle’s grace, have been very generous. I was just having the standard nano shielding patched. This is very high grade. E M plate, reaction seal, bio steel, the works. I must thank Hassan.” I bow towards her again, she being the nearest representative of a very generous man.
“You'll find Uncle Hassan is a particularly lavish individual. If you please him he will reward you well. If not.” she pauses.
“Well let’s say the clone banks of Antilia Five are always more than grateful for the produce to resequence for parts.”
I shuddered involuntarily. There was no coming back from being butchered by the techs for spare part surgery. Antilia Five did very well out of the war, and certain families who required a certain flexibility with bills of lading when shipping clone stock.
“Bits of people have been known to turn up all over the known galaxy after upsetting him.” She smiled, again an almost reptilian action, as though she had read a book about the action and not completely understood the purpose.
Feeling ever so slightly uncomfortable with whatever covert actions this young lady had been involved in. What ever she had seen and done, I for one did not wish to know, and whatever disaster she was being sent to pre-empt, or cause, I wanted to deliver her and be away from there as soon as possible.
I turn to hide my growing discomfort. Flicking across the stats still scrolling across my HUD about the new skin. The Lady Jane would be more than happy with this upgrade, it was almost atmospheric grade. The unseen edge of the airlock door glows in my view as I look at it. I gently stroke the door. DNA is recognised. Sparks like electricity spread out and settle, cycling round the edge of the, now, visible door. A moment passes whilst the crew areas re-pressurise, and security disabler gasses is removed from the atmosphere. A sigh as the inner and outer pressures equalise and the door slides seamlessly open.
I motion for her to enter. Huge organic LED panels flicker into life and the corridor to the crew common room becomes illuminated. She glides in, hand trailing behind her, gently brushing the wall as she goes. She gets as far as the first frame half a meter in. Her hand touches the frame and she almost recoils. Then, with her eyes closed, she gentle runs her hand up the support.

“Wood! Real wood! Oh my Señor Gaud, you are a man of particular and refined tastes! I can see now why Uncle Hassan likes you.” This time the smile she gives me is warm and genuine.
“The Martian economy was going through a boom and the hauler I bought it from was in a particular hurry to cut his losses.”
“You did extremely well out of the deal.”
“You can take any of the four crew rooms on this level, there's a galley in the common room, and each crew room has its own bathroom. You have run of the ship, the common areas, and the main decks. I have the upper state rooms and the suite there, behind the bridge. Please make yourself comfortable.”
She pirouettes as she enters the common room, the hub to the four anti chambers that are the crew quarters. The LED's here are set as beading to oak panels. The room has three large arm chairs and a sofa placed around a large table, set at knee height. Central to the room is a large antique and LED black ironwork chandelier, not only a dozen individual light sources but LED piping around and along the ironwork arms and stem, matched by similar wall lighting. A large chain anchors it to the ceiling and another to the floor.
As the light raise above ambient level she gasps. She runs over to one of the two bookcases and reverently lifts out one of the antique books.
“Paper?” She asks.
I smile and nod.

“Wait until you see the wine cellar.”
She gently opens the book and flicks through the pages.

“Uncle has a few. But not this many.”
“A long time collecting. Now where is your luggage?”
“One moment.” She raises her hand and touches the left side of her temple, closing her eyes.
“Three bring my trunk in now.”
There's noise from the end of the corridor and a large burly man in black fatigues pushes a large black box almost as large as himself into the ship. Sliding it on a zero friction plate he brings it to a halt in the middle of the room, bows and waits.
“Put it in that one please.” She waves in the direction of one of the rooms.
“You won’t mind if I use one as a dressing room will you Señor Gaud?” It is more an instruction than a question, but protocol demands, as I am the captain, so outrank her on my own ship.
“There's only the two of us this trip, so you can use as many as you feel you need.”
Again the man bows and slides the box into the indicated room. As he comes back he hands a slate to Bennetta, bows again and backs out of the room and leaves the ship.
“Here.” She hands me the slate.
I take it and it immediately starts to download to my mesh.
“Formax!” I mutter without thinking.
“Yes Formax. Is that a Problem?”
“It's out of system. That means sleeping for the majority of the trip, if you don’t mind suspended animation, and it will require the correct documentation.”
“Again I ask, that's not a problem, is it?”
“No, no it just means I have to make a personal trip to the Hub Temple of Bureaucracy. Not something I relish, but as needs must.”
“In person, can't you just net the request?”
“Not since The God Emperor incident.”
“I'm sorry I've been out of Sol politics for a while, what?”

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