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Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

1

The battle the android so narrowly escaped was emblematic of skirmishes in at least a dozen other parts of the ship. Squadrons had breached Regulator’s hull with one of the IP’s newest technologies: the Provisional Air Lock, or PAL. It had been developed by defense contractor Cereniti Ventures in response to a particularly nasty problem the IP was facing during its fight against Activism.

Although the struggle was playing out like a bona fide war, the peacekeepers of the IP had been tasked with keeping casualties to a minimum. They had every right to defend themselves, of course. But their mandate with regard to the opposition (who were never to be called "the enemy"; that was too negative) was to use killing only as a last resort. Capture was greatly preferred. It was morally correct, good for public relations, and most importantly cost efficient. Captured Activists could be assigned to the workforces of various manufacturers. The businesses received inexpensive labor -- there was a special "treason rate" significantly lower than the minimum wage -- and the IP received a transfer fee for each worker delivered. The fees helped offset the cost of fighting the war.

By contrast, dealing with dead Activists was an economic and logistical nightmare. Laser rifles, ion grenades and other tools of contemporary warfare tended to reduce their targets to lots and lots of very small pieces. Identifying these pieces as the humanoid beings they had once been was time-consuming, impractical and expensive. But the work had to be done, because despite the Activists’ stated intention of destroying the IP, they were still stakeholders. They still had rights under the end user license agreement.[1]

Thus the mandate, and thus the importance of PALs. Before the Provisional Air Lock was perfected, peacekeepers attempting to board an Activist vessel had to go through the established air locks. When they did, the opposition was waiting for them, heavily armed and under no restrictions with regard to killing. The outcomes of these encounters were less than optimal. The forces of peace prevailed, but only because of their superior numbers, and only at great cost. Something had to be done before the IP’s Acceptable Loss Per Outlay (ALPO) limit was exceeded, triggering committee meetings and stakeholder outcry.

And the something was the PAL. It allowed one ship to breach the hull of another and create safe passage for humanoids. And so, just as an example, it permitted peacekeepers to be inserted in any part of an Activist ship, preserving the element of surprise and minimizing casualties.

The PAL was critical to the war effort. Cereniti’s stock was trading at record highs. The company’s leaders were ecstatic.

They were happy about the whole saving-lives bit too.

2

The battle Eighty-eight escaped led him right into the middle of another one. Approaching an intersection of corridors he was nearly trampled by a small group of Activist soldiers running by with weapons drawn. Turning the corner to head in the opposite direction, the android found himself about to be run down by a group of peacekeepers.

"Heavens!" he cried, in full retreat.

Meanwhile the Activists had stopped running. They’d turned back toward their pursuers and opened fire, and the peacekeepers had responded in kind. The corridor was filled with brilliantly colored bolts of energy, each making a tell-tale zzzinggg sound as it hurtled toward its target. Explosions rocked the walls and ceiling and screams rang out as laser fire found its marks.

What had, just seconds ago, been empty space in front of Eighty-eight was now what someone in a different time and place would have called no man’s land. Or a kill zone.

Eighty-eight turned to go back the way he’d come, only to see more peacekeepers coming from that direction.

"Whatever can I do?" he wailed.

At times such as this it was useful to be an android. For while Eighty-eight was behaving, outwardly, like a panicky humanoid -- in keeping with his programming -- his CPU, which trafficked only in logic, had already determined what he could do, what he must do.

And then he did it. He blundered right into the kill zone, he staggered his way across no man’s land, screaming the whole time -- again, programming -- and then he stumble-stepped into the next part of the corridor, which was mercifully devoid of warlike activity. And he barely got scorched. The only mark on his chassis was a long laser burn on one arm, where a bolt had skimmed the metallic surface.

"How awful!" Eighty-eight commented on the blemish. "I look like some kind of vagrant!"

(Apparently whomever coded this android thought mincing was the height of humor.)

Eighty-eight hurried down the hall, still looking for Lita.

3

Behind him, the skirmish played itself out in a matter of minutes. The peacekeepers shot to stun, the Activists to kill.

Fortunately for the peacekeepers, most Activist soldiers had lousy aim. They were young and inexperienced in combat. Until very recently many had never fired weapons before. They had been staunch supporters of galactic anti-gun regulations. Now, having been pressed into military service, they were learning the hard way. Friendly fire accounted for 90% of Activist combat deaths. On the bright side, the number had come down 8% in the past year.

The peacekeepers had no such problem. They were expertly trained in the humane use of laser weapons. Not only did they shoot to stun, but they tried to avoid causing serious damage. They knew some parts of the body reacted worse to stunning than others, and they did their best to avoid those areas. Basically, they didn’t shoot anyone in the head, the heart or the groin unless they really had to. And even then they felt terrible about it.

After the second group of peacekeepers entered the fray the Activists were quickly overwhelmed. Those who didn’t get stunned fled. Those who did get stunned were put in restraints and transferred to Exceptionalist.

But not right away. Once the prisoners were secure they were moved off to the sides of the corridor. After that a hush fell over the peacekeepers. Something big was imminent, and they prepared for it gravely. They cleaned themselves up as best they could. They holstered their weapons. They lined themselves up near the PAL and stood at attention and waited.

"Look sharp," their commander said gruffly.

The airlock opened with a hiss and out of it, on a retractable staircase, descended Brace Pulsar. President of the IP. Second most powerful man in the free galaxy. The peacekeepers had heard rumors that the President was aboard Exceptionalist, but here, in the flesh, was confirmation of the most dramatic sort.

His entrance changed the energy in the corridor. Peacekeepers stood up straighter. Activist prisoners who weren’t unconscious strained to get a look at the legendary figure.

He was imposing without being overly tall. He carried himself with tremendous confidence. From head to toe his body was encased in gleaming gray armor, but he moved without hindrance. It had often been speculated that the President was something not-human: an android, or an alien. But his strikingly blue eyes, the only part of him not covered, argued otherwise.

These eyes quickly surveyed the President’s surroundings as he stepped clear of the airlock. Those who met his gaze felt themselves being appraised. Not all of them cared for the feeling.

"Welcome aboard, Mister President," the commander said.

"Has the Princess been captured?" Pulsar asked, his voice clear and precise, his tone commanding even when asking a question.

"No sir."

The blue eyes darkened. "Then why are these men standing here?"

The commander’s hard face softened. "My apologies," he began.

"Results are what I care about, Commander. See that I get them." Pulsar didn’t wait for a response before striding off down the corridor.

"You heard him," the commander said. "Find the Princess."

"But sir," a peacekeeper said, "shouldn’t the President have an escort while there’s still fighting going on?"

"Are you kidding me, trooper?" the commander said, having regained his gruffness. "That man could wipe the floor with every person on this ship."

[1] Although most of them weren’t aware of those rights, because they hadn’t read the agreement. Just like most people don’t read footnotes.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four