One Grain of Sand

By Victor August

With the 'root stock' of humanity dead, the remaining gene pool consisted predominantly of business 'alpha' males and business 'alpha' females, the super-rich. With ruthless efficiency, they engineered their own idea of the ideal society based on the only philosophy that they knew about, and that was of business acumen; they were the Aristocracy and the Elite. In the 'business' of saving the human race from extinction there would not be any complications of relationship or ambition. The females would be the breeders, where the males had a known job role, which they were born and trained for, and when they died, that would be their son's destiny too. It did not matter who you were there was nothing else for you other than to follow on with your bloodlines purpose, your very reason to be alive, ensuring the smooth running of the scheme of things.
Over thousands of years, many new worlds in the galaxy were colonised, but the Aristocracy and ruling Elite were totally blind to anything other than the success of it all. To them, they are doing what they were born for; securing a future for humanity without insecurity, conflict, or want. Everything in their reckoning was perfect. The records they were shown detailed the expansion process of new worlds continuing at an ever-escalating rate with a healthy trade system between them all.
The human flaws and rejects, and the throw-outs that this society had little use for were used as slave labour. Brutalised and oppressed, they had formed their own hidden society, a united and close community, steeped in honour and traditions. They were waiting to fight back, but needed that proverbial dislodgment of one grain of sand to start the cataclysmic avalanche of retribution, and the vengeance that was theirs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victor August
• Release date: Feb 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311987327

Book preview

One Grain of Sand

Copyright © 2018 by Victor August

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

Cover Illustration Copyright © 2018 by Victor August

All characters in this publication are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 9781311987327

Other books from the same author

‘Two Grains of Sand’

ISBN: 9781370353361

‘The Querencia Gate’

ISBN: 9781005591663

This book is dedicated to Mart,

a good friend of mine,

and a true engineer in heart and spirit.

‘If you bring honour back into an honourless society…it evokes a terrible guilt that fills to the brim the mind, heart, and whole body leaving nothing else but the pain and the weight of it. To die honourably in battle is to redeem yourself, it is recompense, and a salvation at the same time, and the thought of that brings a peace of mind’.

One Grain of Sand

Victor August

Business has no emotion, it, by definition, is cold and devoid of such things. With the ‘root stock’ of humanity dead, the remaining gene pool consisted predominantly of business ‘alpha’ males and business ‘alpha’ females, the super-rich. With ruthless efficiency, they engineered their own idea of the ideal society based on the only philosophy that they knew about, and that was of business acumen; they were the Aristocracy and the Elite. In the ‘business' of saving humanity from extinction there would not be any complications of relationship or ambition. The females would be the breeders, where the males had a known job role, which they were born and trained for, and that would be their son’s destiny too. It did not matter who you were there was nothing else for you other than to follow on with your bloodlines purpose, your very reason to be alive, ensuring the smooth running of the scheme of things.

Chapter 1

Making his way through the streets of Downtown, Jason was mulling over a little saying that he knew ‘If you step in shit, don’t clean your boot off on a Pleb’, as it seemed appropriate for his business today, meaning, if things do not go to plan, do not make the situation any worse!

His destination was a typical Pleb bar there, the meeting place that he and the Agent had agreed was secure for them both. It was the ‘safe house’, where he had bumped into a fellow 2Star Captain there some eight years ago; who had let slip that he was tracking down a rumour that there was a powerful, and intact, light speed engine pack coming up on the black market. With his good business sense, he had snatched the opportunity to upgrade from him by bullying his Pleb contacts in Downtown to discover the source of this rumour. They had succeeded, and the Agent had been contacted.

The layout of the one and only town on this planet, as was common on all the worlds in the federation, was a round town with a low wall that separated it from the desolation outside of its boundaries. The domes that made up the buildings in Downtown were the Uptowner’s derelicts and discards, patched up with off-cuts scavenged from the dump that separated the two parts. This was the small slum district, for the human flaws and rejects. On black market business, Jason had been here before, and had acquired some very useful contacts that he could, and did, screw over by charging inordinate fees, as the Plebs were always in desperation and very vulnerable. However, they could get hold of the local money though, through their black-market network, the only business activity that was open to them. Here on Petra3 was his first foray in ‘interacting’ with the Plebs on any planet, in contrast to ‘interrelating’ with them that held the death penalty for him. The reason for this so severe penalty was, just one highly illegal pregnancy would eventually riddle the human species with their debased and diseased DNA, although it was considered a one in a ten million chance anyway! Such a perverted and depraved activity like ‘interrelating’ with the Plebs in any way whatsoever was considered worse than a serial killer on the loose, and this was the main reason for the existence of the Police and the Guard, to look out for and guard against such immoral corrupt depravities.

In Earth1 years, he was 72 today, his birthday, the common standard for time used for all business throughout the galaxy. It was close enough, as all habitable planets were ‘goldilockers’, meaning, that they were near enough equal distance from a near enough equal sun, all about the same size and mass with near enough the same yearly cycle.

Sat alone in the bar, he waited; it was one of those seedy dives that typically only came to life late at night. Cool fresh air was leaking in from somewhere in a vain attempt to cleanse the atmosphere from the night before, but all it was managing to do was emphasise the stinks of stale booze, urinals, and body odours that saturated the place.

As with all drinks in these types of places, the prices were hiked. The trade-off was it was outside of the protectorate. If you wanted to indulge in a bit of questionable business, then this was a typical venue. There was a number of staff around; all Plebs, all normal lifers, and that meant all no hopers. After another mouthful of beer, he decided that was enough, as the stuff was particularly awful that day. The drink chemicals were sometimes ‘cut’ by the Uptowner’s with any chemicals that were surplus, and not necessarily food chemicals, to make up the bulk and weight of it, making sometimes-lethal concoctions for the Downtowners. This illegal practice of trade with the Plebs the police generally turned a blind eye to, as there were more than likely monetary kickbacks to be had.

Sensing, rather than seeing, that there was somebody behind him, he was swivelling around on his bar stool, as a cold voice asked ‘‘Do you have it, yes or no?!’’

‘’Maybe…?’’ and he immediately felt the pit of his stomach tighten up when he looked into the eyes of the ‘Agent’. They were badly bloodshot, deeply sunken in a pockmarked, jaundiced yellow face. The pallid drooping jowls and skin around his neck rounded off the complexion of a ‘cryo’ who had overshot the limits by a long, long way. As the cryogenic damage might suggest, he did not seem to be of a Starship Captains blood, as he was obviously too poor. His clothes were no better than on how a Pleb might dress, and he had the smell of the great ‘unwashed’.

Two obligatory beers instantly appeared on the bar. ‘‘$82, as it is after ten!’’ demanded the bartender. As there was no reason why ‘after 10am’ made any difference to the pricing of the beer he nearly lashed out at him, before reluctantly relenting and paying up just to keep it all amical.

Some of the cash on him, he had acquired through a broker, and the fee for this service was deducted from his credit balance embedded in his genetically engineered matrix of records, and other functions, throughout his body. The matrix had come about thousands of years ago with the good intention of keeping safe a massively diminished human gene pool after the devastating global business virus wars.

The ‘paranoids' never did like it though and a few experimented by cutting off an arm or leg or something else in a vain attempt to disable it. However, seeing that the majority of the genetic ‘wiring’ was in the brain, all it did was transmit an automatic warning of injury, as the matrix was originally intended to do, and a Police hunting party went out to rescue you. The fate of the paranoids has never been known publicly, but it is generally believed that the sensible practice of genetically cleaning out the misfits in the human race was rife, and good riddance to them too!

‘‘What exactly is it?’’

‘’A highly modified complete engine pack comprising of a cobalt-phosphate electrode oxy/hydrogen short term high thrust engine, and a xenon ion planet group cruise long term engine that is big enough for anything you got in mind. The light-speed engine assembly should be good up to at least 6.5x light speed capability between planet groups, at a possible maximum haul pay load of 100 mega tons. It is all conjectural mind you, but based on what I can see, it is a good guess I can assure you.’’

During his intensive business acumen classes at school, he had been taught not to give anything away on how he was thinking, or feeling. However, this time he nearly did. This engine pack was more than he had ever dreamed of. With that amount of power, he would be able to go deep space with expensive cargos. Indeed, maybe he could even get on to the lucrative ore runs from the asteroid belts, there was very good money to be had there.

His ship, which had been left to him by his sire as a matter of course, was limited, and had never reached its 100% expected power. This had cost him light-years in profit that had frustrated him no end. So, this very rare event in any sire's lineage to upgrade was why he was struggling so hard to hide his excitement.

There were so many alternative fates that might have been his, so Jason had always felt lucky to have inherited ‘The Pepromene’ and follow on in his sire’s footsteps. This was typical of all sons’ fate because there was nothing else. Of course, over time, this practice had created a perfectly stagnant culture that had not progressed in ten thousand years.

Technologically, everything had stopped as well. As just about the whole ‘lot’ was deemed ‘fit-for-purpose’, and held by monopolies, there was no need to go into costly research or development as there were no competitors any more. It was all a simple matter now of just letting the cash profits roll in.

His sperm donor had paid for all his educations in advance as he was doing. Jason’s own son’s seed was taken from him at the earliest possible time and then frozen. When the time came for the artificial insemination of a Class1 female, this sample was screened and appropriate sperm selected for his heir. The cost of all this was made through a tax on all his cargo hauls, although no Class1 woman for his seed had yet been allocated as this would happen when he neared retirement and death at the awake age of around about 190 years old. And that meant no son ‘planned’ as yet.

All he had were vague memories of a Class2 female looking after him as a 3-year-old child, and feeling happy enough until his time came for his education, when he was abandoned at the Institute’s gates. At one moment hand-in-hand with the woman and the next in the mechanical arms of a droid, who was to be his teacher for the next 13 years to be a light-speed tug Ships Captain at sixteen years of age.

For what it was, he later came to like his life, that is, being a captain of your own ship, as it had its own perks and privileges, and the status was commonly well respected by the general populace. For the ordinary people, as distinct from the Elite and the Aristocracy, being independent was accepted as a higher status. The police were always on his case though. There were good bonuses for them if they unearthed a fiddle or scam, cargo’s that skipped the bidding process between the captains, and unregistered movement of precious metals were more or less death penalties for him. On conviction, the cargo and ship were instantly forfeited, together with the universal money that all captains had to carry with them for trade and expenses. Jason knew he was treading dangerously over the line with this deal, but the gamble was well worth it. All he needed was one good high tonnage 30-year trip pay off, together with his saved profits, and he would be able to buy level ten cryogenic preservation for himself, so to not end up like this Agent before him!

‘‘What of the history of the engine and the black box logs, how did you fix them?’’

His question was seen to make the Agent a little uneasy? ‘’Well, the intact engine was salvaged from a derelict high-speed cruiser, from what in all appearances was a crash on a desolate moon around the waypoint planet of Grinal2. The black box data had recorded a side on impact, probably from an asteroid, that sent the ship careering towards the moon. The crew apparently tried to turn the ship 180 degrees and unleash the enormous power from the engines. If they had another 100 yards or so, they might have just made it. The forward light drive drag droom and aft transmitter droom sustained irreparable damage, but they are standard fit so yours should interchange.’’

There was no sense in this that Jason could see?! What was this ship doing that far out? An impact from an asteroid would have destroyed it. Furthermore, there were suits that could be used in dangerous situations that were just about impenetrable to anything but ultra-high impacts. Whoever the crews were; they were certainly confident of the circumstances not to be wearing them, and not to be in the gel cryo protecting cells, that would have saved their lives on impact with the moon if any danger were known. Long and hard, he sat thinking.

‘‘Do you have it, yes or no…?’’ asked the Agent. This time there was a menace in his tone. It was as dangerous for the Agent as it was for him, as a great number of risks had to have been taken by him. Questions are always asked, and there were for sure plenty of suspicious people prowling about. Many of these were the bounty hunters. They made their dirty living getting kickbacks from the bonuses on a conviction of a Captain on illegal activities, through their tipoffs to the police.

Feeling very uneasy now, he needed to know a bit more before he paid up though, and was not going to be pressed into it. What had he got himself into?! ‘‘What about the engine serial number?’’

‘‘I ran it through the official record archives, and nothing came back. There is no recorded loss of a ship and her crew with that engine serial number on record.’’

Having never even heard of such a thing, Jason felt absolutely stunned! From the very moment, you were even ‘planned’ as a newborn, to your eventual death, there was a record of some sort. ‘‘I don’t like this very much, there must be a catch in all this somewhere? It is impossible to make ‘disappear’ a crew and their ship!’’

‘‘Well…’’ casually answered the Agent ‘‘…I gave it the ultimate test, and I have proof that this deal is as safe for me as it is for you.’’

‘‘How is that?’’

‘‘I officially registered the engine serial number in your name over a year and a half ago, and you are still here and not in police custody, that is why.’’

‘‘Bastard…!!’’ he screamed, and before he had even finished the word, he had the Agent on the floor with his carbon fibre knife under his chin, actually in the process of slicing his throat out, the other hand clutching a fist full of flaccid flesh lower down his neck.

What Jason had never needed to anticipate before was what happened next. At that very instant his muscles flexed to deliver that lethal cut to the Agents throat; he found himself underneath the Agent, paralysed, with his own knife at his own throat.

Always working out, especially in combat training, he had always prided himself on his prowess. These were essential skills for all Ship’s Captains, who would plough deep space and visit less than amicable planet communities.

Looking up helplessly into the Agent’s wet bloodshot eyes, but a few inches away from his, he saw nothing else but a cool confidence in them. The Agent fixed Jason’s eyes hard in his and he asked very deliberately and quietly ‘‘Do you want this engine or not?’’

Never before had he had such an easy decision to make!

Immediately, the Agent got off pulling him upright, and within a second or two, some feeling had come back to ease off the numbness the blow to his spine had caused.

‘‘Now, where is my money?’’

‘‘Here is my offer.’’ and he handed a paper note to the Agent. It read ‘7054.792389916ozs of Silver, 3527.396194958ozs of Platinum, 1763.698097479ozs of Gold’.

The Agent took out his code transmitter and tapped the numbers into it, almost instantly a confirmation code appeared. ‘‘All right…’’ agreed the Agent, then asked ‘‘…is it traceable?’’

‘‘No!’’ and he was very confident about that! Within the first few weeks of taking up his full captaincy at sixteen, he had come up with the idea himself. It had occurred to him that the cryogenic cabinet always monitored his weight when he went in and adjusted the nutrient supply to keep him at his ideal weight during the sleep. So, if he went in heavy his body mass was decreased to compensate for the micro fine precious metal fibres woven into his clothing. He had put his scheme into operation by obtaining precious metals from various contacts on several worlds. Then he sent it to a contact that would draw out these very ductile metals into micro fine wires and weave it in as part of his clothing. Jason had calculated that if he stayed within the warning range of the 10 lbs up and down fluctuation that his cryogenic monitor was calibrated at, he would be able to amass up to 800 lbs of various precious metals over about 30 years of short trips in preparation for dodgy deals, as the one he was negotiating right now.

One drawback was of course it was a bloody stupid thing to do to mess around with the life preservation equipment that was designed to keep you alive and healthy. It was this; he had thought, was why it had never been used before. And if he was caught by the police, or grassed out by a bounty, he would not have a leg to stand on.

It had been a gamble, no words about it, but a calculated one, and he was almost happy with the outcome. The only thing that nagged him was this issue of how the ship, and her crew, had come to ‘disappear’ from the records. However, as the Agent had said, he was still here and not dead, but he could have been! Hence, the overwhelming need to cut the bugger's throat that had put him in that danger.

‘‘Where is it?’’ asked the Agent bluntly.

Taking out his own Code transmitter, and finding the code address of a Dry Cleaner in Downtown, he then gave this to the Agent who then entered it onto his.

The dry cleaners were one of the best contacts that he had ever made, ran by a couple of Pleb shite’s, a worn-out Class4 female, and a male who grovelled so much to him it made him feel sick! He had stumbled upon them when they were in their early teens, so that would mean they must have been newly rejected from the scheme of things and awarded Pleb status. As he was away in space in cryo at times, he watched them grow older in sometimes year’s long jumps.

The difficulty was finding what trade-off he could offer in return for their services rendered. It was no use offering them large amounts of money, as a sudden increase in their spending power would arouse too many suspicions in the bounty hunters.

It turned out to be quite easy really. The Dry Cleaners themselves already had a dirty little finger in a dirty little deal that needed the movement of certain boxes at certain times to be delivered to a certain place. They had little to no business sense these Plebs, and this amused him immensely. For part of the return for his services rendered, he would send his clothing to them where the material was sent to the hard-labour mine and dissolved out, the precious metals recovered, and compressed into manageable bars and stored ‘under the counter’ at the Dry Cleaners.

‘‘Where is my engine?’’

‘‘Your engine is in Dock 89, closest to the space station. Done deal!’’ and he was gone from the bar.

It was time to get some food down his neck, but not here in Downtown as their synthesisers were always out of calibration. Already knowing that he would have to run the gauntlet to get back to the civilised area, Uptown, where his matrix would be traceable as soon as he came out of this dead spot, Jason got his weapons ready.

At every doorway and street-corner, he was prepared for the mugging, which was inevitable. Doing over a few Plebs occasionally, kept him sharp and on his toes, so he enjoyed these muggings, actually looking forward to them. Practicing, he frequently left bloody messes on Earth4, his home planet, for the other Pleb crap there to clean up.

Even after a mile or two went by nothing happened, and this started to confuse him? Something else must be afoot, and while he was pondering over a few possibilities, the answer came walking around the corner. In all intense and purpose, the man who strode towards him was the perfect example of any Pleb from the local community. And that was what had given him away, immediately knowing he was a bounty hunter. This bounty was not very good at it though, as he had certainly not studied the local culture, as all had a particular way of carrying their heads slightly bowed as to show no intention of intrusion. In contrast, this bounty was right into his face from the word go. Their dirty trick was to befriend captains of ships, show them a good time until a trust was formed. From that point on, the captain might hopefully let slip about a scam he was on, or that he was seeking one. If not, the bounty would mention a little well-paying earner that he knew of. If the bait was taken, or sometimes not, evidence would be planted and a scheme worked out where the captain would walk straight into a set up.

The bounty hunter’s cold cunning eyes and smiley face that Jason looked into was all the confirmation that he needed. Bounty hunters rarely stayed on a planet after a successful ‘sting’ as they would be known in the vicinity. Therefore, he knew that his opponent was more than likely ill-informed of this town. At a guess, it was that his own matrix signal had vanished, and a warning had been put out. The police, not wanting to intrude directly as there might be vested interests going on, gave the next waiting bounty, him as a possible earner. As soon as the bounty had made himself known in that part of town everybody kept out of the way, hence no mugging.

Not letting this bounty have a chance of ‘setting the scene’, he immediately took control of the confrontation. ‘‘Hey Pleb…’’ he called out, ‘‘…do you know a good bar nearby, where a Ship’s Captain could have a couple of girls and get a good steak…’’ here he nodded back to where he had come from ‘‘…nothing doing this early in the morning. I am a bit pushed; I only got an hour or two. Come up with something and I will stand you a drink!’’ he promised.

There was nowhere for the bounty to go with this, he certainly would not know of any good place nearby. Furthermore, the bounty was unbalanced by his immediate invitation for him to join him in his seemingly last-minute revelries.

The bounty started to look desperate and, in his frustration, made the near-fatal mistake of going straight to the sting ‘‘Hear captain, you wouldn’t be interested in a good, no risk little earner that’s just up your street, would you?’’

‘‘Oh, life is so good…’’ he thought ‘‘…first enough finance to buy the engine and then getting such an engine, and lastly, this pathetic sod in front of him at his mercy, and serves him right.’’ The police would not doubt his story of events when he reported the incident, simply because they already knew of this setup, and it obviously went a bit wrong. Just staring at him, he waited for the first flicker of alarm in the bounty’s eyes, and then attacked.

It was important not to allow the bounty enough time to identify himself, as that would have given no reason for him to do what he intended. Going directly for the throat, he landed a straight-fingered blow just above the bounty’s collarbone. While the bounty gagged, his second blow went into the celiac plexus, where his blow was arrested by the body armour that he knew all bounty hunters wore. Bounty hunters were good at fighting; they had to be, but they preferred to ‘stab in the back’ rather than a ‘face to face’. The first blow would keep the bounty quiet, or unable to form coherent words for a while anyway.

With lightning-quick speed, the bounty delivered a roundhouse punch to Jason’s lower midriff, followed by a powerful kick to his gut. Both blows landed squarely, and each one would have put any man down, but he just absorbed them feeling a pride well up in him on his well-practiced ability to ride through such impacts. The bounty now went for Jason’s head sending a torrent of uppercuts and roundhouses all parried away with minimal effort. A second and then a third lightning kick came in that he sidestepped with ease. When the bounty came forward, with a blow to his face, he went under the blow parrying the arm up and away with his forearm. Gathering all his mastered power, he locked the muscles in his back leg, and keeping a dead straight line between his back foot and fist, he delivered a massive blow deep into the armpit of the bounty. Nerves and tendons collapsed; blood vessels burst, and the bounty hunter’s arm fell lifeless to his side. A stifled scream from the immense pain issued from the bounty, and with terror in his eyes, he pulled out a wicked looking jagged edged knife, its only purpose was to cause as much soft-tissue damage as possible.

The bounty repeatedly lashed out, issuing short gasping screams; his mouth was wide open and his tongue lolling with thick saliva on his chin dribbling down on his chest. The bounty was now in considerable pain, which would get even worse as he flailed around. A brute of a man he was, of an estimated 26 stones, standing at about six foot six, nearly a half a foot taller than he was, who would certainly make him into a lifeless ragged doll if he got hold of him. The hate fuelled bounty lunged forward with a kick. Expertly, Jason flipped his ankle sideways with the instep of his own foot, so the leading leg went in front of the bounty hunters back leg, and as the momentum kept the mass of his body moving forward, tripped the bounty headlong to the ground. With only one good arm to save himself, the bounty went in headfirst, rolling over, he had not let go of the knife, which came flashing up and around. Already anticipating this, Jason swivelled his body two-thirds of a turn around, spinning on the ball of his foot, while bringing his trailing leg around, gathering twice the force and speed in this way. Aiming a mighty kick at the knife hand of the bounty, he heard and felt the wrist bones break, and the knife flew away out of harm’s way. In an instant, Jason had brought his foot up in an almost vertical position high above his head, and with his heel leading, brought it down in a hammer blow, sinking down on his supporting leg, adding weight and speed just before the impact. The blow landed squarely on the upper jaw and nose of the bounty, feeling teeth and bones giving way just before the bounty hunter’s head hit the ground. Allowing the bounty to get to his feet, now with two useless arms, kicking was his only option. Side-stepping one of the more committed kicks he positioned himself sideways on, and bringing his knee up under his chin, he kicked down and sideways into the side of the bounty hunters’ knee. The knee joint buckled unnaturally sideways and gave way, and the bounty fell heavily back onto the ground. Spinning around as the bounty hunter’s head rose, he delivered another powerful kick across the side of his head. As his eardrum burst, a terrified high-pitched scream came from the bounty, and he was finished.

In his one good ear, Jason shouted out ‘‘You Plebs are all the same! You think the laws are made to be broken, trying to organise a scam with a young and vulnerable Ship’s Captain like me! Mark my words well, the police are going to get a full report on what has happened here this day!’’

There were a hundred unseen eye's watching, and as many ears open was why he deliberately shouted out all that bullshit, whatever a bull was, so as if the police questioned the Plebs, they would be able to verify his story. Cupping his hand, he slapped it with great force over the bounty hunters good ear. The trapped air in the palm of his hand compressed, and with nowhere to go, it blew out his other eardrum. The bounty’s mouth opened wide, giving an impression of lockjaw, but no sound came out of it; his eyes screwed up tight, and he went limp and passed out.

Nobody now would have a go at him from this part of town; indeed, he would get, from this day forth, a great deal of respect. Bounty hunters were hated here, and the fate of that wreck he had left in the road, was surely going to be an unpleasant one.

Moving effortlessly and silently, he set out at a fast jog; ditching all his weapons along the way, as the last thing he wanted was for the police to find any on him when they picked him up as he entered the protectorate. As if to honour him, Plebs were outdoors with their heads bowed, and Jason knew then that they respected him now, making a mental note to put this place on his most safe list in exploiting these peoples; it was going to be a proverbial little pot of gold for him.

He jogged on until the Uptown protectorate boundaries were in sight. It was the poor end of Uptown, as the closer you lived to Downtown the less respectable you were, and rules were rules.

Long before they saw him, his eagle eyes spotted the police town cruisers, whatever eagles were. It was better to be in control of any encounter of this sort than be on the hind foot, so he took the initiative once more by running hard and shouting for attention towards the nearest cruiser that was lying in wait for him. Feigning breathlessness and fright, he gasped out his story that a Pleb had waylaid him wanting him to consider a scam. ‘’I warned him I would tell the police about it, and that he would be in big trouble! However, instead of backing down, the Pleb pulled out a knife, and while he was lashing out at me, he suddenly stumbled and tripped over and landed on his head knocking himself out. With that, I took that opportunity to run for my life, and by just good fortune, I safely made it back to here.’’

To lay it on a bit thicker, he offered ‘‘I think the shite was a paranoid or a nutter at least; he even made eye contact with me?! If you go quickly about three miles down the road, you might still find him there, before the other Pleb shites help him out.’’

The police knew who this Pleb probably was, and if he were unconscious, it would not be help that he would be getting from the Plebs right then!

The instant Jason came into range, his matrix had downloaded, and his records were updated.

There was nothing in them contrary to his story, only a report that coincided with it, of a slight adrenalin spike, and some minor bruising around the gut and midriff had occurred. An NFA notice was issued. NFA was ‘No Further Action'.

The police just looked at one another and shrugged. It appeared this captain was on the level and would not entertain a scam. As for the bounty? Well, there were plenty of others in the rank.

The police had listened dispassionately to his story and then just shrugged it off. The Sergeant offered ‘‘We are going Uptown around your hotel Captain, would you like a lift?’’ not even bothering to hide the fact that they knew where he was staying.

‘‘Wouldn’t mind one Sergeant, thanks. I am a bit puffed out and shaking like a leaf. I will not anymore be going off limits I can tell you that. It was a close shave it was. Phew…! What an experience!’’ laying it on a bit thick for effect.

On the way through Uptown very little was said, and soon he was dropped off near his hotel. The police cruiser rose straight up to about 100ft, sat slightly back on its rear, and zoomed away in a second.

There was a bitter chemical aftertaste still lingering in his mouth from the synthetic beer he had drunk. What he wanted was a good slug of Wisky to wash it away.

But then…, he thought of the phenomenally successful morning that he had had, and together with his day of birth, decided he would treat himself. Jason had been told that Whisky, the real stuff, was very expensive but well worth every cent all the same. As he had a lot to celebrate, he felt he deserved it. Mind made up; he walked straight across the hotel lobby, only taking in the peripheral scenes as his eyes were fixed solely on the bar doorway. He was half way through the bar doorway when it struck him that he had seen ‘that girl’ before? However, when he swung around to search for that half-seen image, it had gone. With a shrug, his mind raced to find that memory.

‘‘Hi Sara…’’ Jason said jollily ‘‘…seems like a quiet lunchtime?’’

As was right and proper, Sara’s eyes averted before answering sweetly ‘‘Hello Sir. Yes, the shuttle left an hour ago and took most of our business guests with it. May I get you something; it would be my pleasure and honour to serve you?’’

For some unfathomable reason, he had never wanted to verbally abuse her, as she would have expected to be as a mere ‘decoration’. For him, she appeared to him to be not like a normal Class3 female, i.e. one above a droid, but almost like a Class2. Barely 16, slim and tallish with long golden hair that reached down to her waist, Sara had a very pretty face with a petite nose and clear sparkling dark-brown eyes. Her waist and breasts were in perfect proportions to her height and was finely in tune with her mimicked personality, taught to her at the ‘decorations’ training school. The full-length scarlet dress, she always wore, enhanced the curves of her naturally beautiful body. Her scent matched her to perfection to produce one of the most eye catching ‘decorations’ that would stand out in any hotel. If she had obtained a Class1 status, he had thought, she might have made a fine breeder. Class2 women, those that had produced at least 14 children from different sperm donators as a Class1, had the best of it all. They were the most revered among all the female colonists and wanted for nothing. The Class1’s were the breeders whose sole purpose and duty were to have the planned babies. Class2’s always looked after the Class1’s and their children until 3 years old, when they were sent for their education into whatever occupation the sperm donor had done. He knew that Sara could not conceive and have the babies, hence, her status, so being good to look at, was why that she had been selected to be used for ‘decoration’ purposes only, in hotels or bars. That is, until such times that her beauty started to fade, and then she would be dumped down to a Class4 at best. Sara’s near future was not going to be very good, and as he thought, the next time that they might meet, would probably be in the Class4 bars, or even in a Downtown bar!

For reasons that he could not fathom, a very weird feeling had been growing within him, that he did not like the idea of her plying for trade in the bars. However, he consoled himself with the fact that her time as a Class5 and Class6 that would follow, would be short, as they all seemed to disappear very quickly! To save on resources, Jason had often thought, that it would have been best to ‘snuff’ most of them out at the earliest possible time really.

Of Earth1’s histories, Jason had studied the extraordinary lengths the survivors of the business wars went to ensure the very survival of humanity. Ultra-strict breeding programs were put into place. The highest status a human being could rise to at that time was based on the ability to conceive. Male sperm donations were categorised on IQ ratings of the donors and the jobs that they did. The perfect match was the most productive women with the highest IQ rated sperms from at least fourteen donors. It was a haphazard process; mainly hits though, the misses were the Plebs.

At that time, he had read that Earth1 was awash with resources as the global business war weapons used targeted only certain genetic groups in the human population. The trouble was that every superpower had it and produced viruses to kill the majority groups in the others. There were no records on who had started it. It was more than likely an accidental release of viruses aimed at the leaders of some business conglomerate to wipe them out, to possibly gain an advantage over some business deal, but ended up hitting the country’s dominant race. It was a ‘just in case’ contingency that other countries had developed such terrible weapons themselves. Soon enough all but a few per cent among the human population made it through, simply because their genes were too well mixed up for the selective viruses to do much harm. There was nobody the ‘same’ left! Colour prejudice immediately died out as babies might pop out in any colour, dependent on the mixture of genes in their ancestor’s past. It was mainly the Pleb equivalent, the working classes, at that time that died out first simply because they did not have enough money, i.e. they were not rich enough to afford the serums that offered some protection against these viruses. The gene pool that eventually emerged was dangerously small, but the filtering processes genetically favoured those with an intellect and abilities to make money, i.e. through business, i.e. the rich.

The breeding contingencies eventually worked out, and the human population recovered.

Light speed travel was in its infancy at the time of the wars and later the research was carried on from when it had stopped. It was found that super-fast particles would start to accelerate through any mass. It was surmised that they would sling shot around other Atoms thus gaining momentum. This effect was minute, just measurable through, say, the Earth. As it was compact density that determined the acceleration factor of super-fast particles, it was the precious metals that would afford the most efficient process. It was hypothesized, that at light speeds, if space were compressed at ultra-high speeds in front of a spacecraft, the faster you went, then the acceleration factor would increase in proportion. Therefore, the faster you went the faster you went; it was as simple as that. A small craft like a space tug on its own could get to a planet 100 light-years away in about 0.2 years by hacking into, and piggy backing on the super-fast particle emissions from the ship's engines. However, hauling back 20 million tons of ore would take a full year and that meant cryogenics for the captain. Any Plebs on board would be housed in locked crates, and many would spend their remaining years in space until death. It did not matter much though, as a captain had an unlimited pool of the things at hand to replace any dead ones.

Many new habitable worlds were discovered and small colonies set up, including a pool of Plebs, on the same world order as things were on Earth1, simply because the same scenario existed i.e. a small population hence a small gene pool. For a hundred years there had been wars between the planets, curiously, it was found, that there was nothing to gain by doing so, as Earth1 ruled and would cut off the victor from the rest of the confederation, and the planet or planets gained in the conquest. Earth1 would then move in, ruthlessly eradicating everybody on those planets, the aggressors and the defeated, and then repopulate the vacant town. All weaponry science and technology had been erased from history when the new culture was founded; it was deemed not needed as universal peace was predicted, there were no references to war arms of any sort anywhere. The only obvious weapons for these wars were knives that mutated into swords and daggers, and hand-to-hand combat was perfected. The wars and their battles were conducted in the ancient Earth1 traditional ways, under the traditional traditions for that sort of weaponry.

It was obvious to Jason that Sara was merely a genetic misfit, a Pleb, simply because she had been selected as a ‘decoration’, indicating she could not have contributed anything towards the ‘business’ goals of the survival and expansion of the human race. During her present time there, she would be fed and clothed by the hotel, but this would not go on for very long. For Sara, she would be lucky, if luck you can call it, to get past her 20th birthday in Downtown, as there had been hunger in their population by all accounts, and nobody would like to eat somebody that they already knew. The normal healthy life span for an Uptowner was over 250 years. For a Downtowner, it was about 90 years because the Plebs matrix reports, no matter how urgent, were never responded to, as they were deregistered. Jason could expect about 200 Earth1 years of healthy waking life, as there was a high price to pay for long cryogenic travel, well, at the level of protection he could afford at the moment anyway. On a few trips, he had spent 50 years in cryo, and six years awake since his captainship started at 16, so his awake age was just 22. Depending on the cargo destinations, he would be around for another 700 years at least, 510 of those he would not be aware of, as he would be in cryo. Therefore, for him, time would pass normally until he reached about 200, and he would pass on. Everything around him would stay the same though, never changing, except there was little chance that he would ever meet the same people more than the once, although, he might meet their sons, their sons, or their sons in the future of course, doing the same work as their sires had done.

Even so, Jason liked Sara there; she was certainly a nice decoration to look at, and very strangely, the thought of her being a Downtowner did not sit comfortably in his mind?!

‘‘Sara, I would like a double Whiskey, not the Wisky but the real stuff mind you!’’

Apologetically, Sara spoke very carefully ‘‘Oh Sir; I am so sorry, but your money must be seen first. It is terribly expensive, and the hotel will not unlock the safe without that surety.’’

A bit irritated that he was not instantly trusted by a measly Pleb, he snapped out ‘‘How much is it, then?!’’

Very humbly, trying not to upset him the more, Sara said ‘‘Sir, it will be $8,000 for the double.’’

Pulling out his money wad Jason threw down eight $1,000 bills.

Picking up the bills, she fed them into a slot next to the safe, which then opened to reveal the very precious bottle of ‘real’ Whisky.

‘‘This is my first time with the Whiskey Sir...’’ Sara said softly ‘‘…and the first time I have seen so much money. Dare I say that it is a very interesting day for me?’’

Strangely, Jason let go her affront to be familiar with him, he was in a too good a mood, and did not remind her of her place as was expected.

Carefully, Sara went through the ritual pouring of the Whiskey, measuring out a double shot, and putting the shot mug down in front of him.

Only hearing about this stuff before, he just looked at it. This he knew was for the Aristocracy and some of their ruling Elite cronies. Picking up the shot mug, he brought it to his nose and inhaled its heady vapours. Sipping from the glass, he allowed the fiery liquid to purge the chemical bitterness of the synth beer out of his mouth. Pausing momentarily, he then shot it back in one. The effects stunned him!

‘‘Life is good…’’ he breathed out ‘’…that alone was worth being born for.’’

With her eyes averted, Sara had a small smile on her face for him.

For this second affront to be familiar, a slight surge of anger shot through Jason, but then it subsided.

But then, shockingly, she looked up, and her eyes held his while his gaze went deeply into hers. A feeling that he was freefalling into them came over him. His mind troubled him why he had not greatly angered when she had made eye contact with him, but he could not reason it through. To break the peculiar spell, he quickly shook his head.

Dazed and stunned now, Jason tried to keep his reasoning by carrying on in his normal way, but his voice became a little hesitant as he fought some strange alien feelings that were rising up in him. ‘‘Sara, this will be for me an experience that will last me until I die.’’ he then took out his wad, and leafed through the bills, counting up how much he needed for the refit of his ship, and the future expenses while he was here. His conclusion was that he had more than enough as the bribes he thought he would have to pay were nothing in comparison to what he had figured.

‘‘Once more, Sara!’’ he demanded, and threw down a $10,000 bill.

The second drink was as magnificent as the first. His appetite for the steak disappeared. Instead of a gnawing ache for food in his stomach, it was alive with a fiery glow.

Incredibly, as Jason looked up, Sara's eyes flashed into his once more, and he saw that she was sharing the moment with him. ‘‘How dare she!’’ went through his mind but landed on nothing and no anger rose up in him? Deep inside him, he felt a strange but fleeting stir.

Trying to find an answer, he looked into his empty shot mug. Then he looked up, and Sara’s eyes met his once more! What were these complex feelings? A mere Class3 was all she was, and that meant nothing in the scheme of anything?

Hoping that a few more double shots would settle his mind, he just pointed to the bottle and threw down another $10,000 bill.

After he shot back that double in one, another seven followed. His body and mind felt more tranquil than he had ever experienced throughout his life.

Although he knew no name for what he felt next, a great flood of pity surged through him when he looked up at Sara once more. So beautiful, and as a matter of course, she was going to be thrown away as trash, simply because she was useless in the business scheme of things. The thought that one day, Sara being picked up by the police and dropped alone in Downtown to fend for herself, frightened him so much that he wanted to cry out!

This was all far too much for him; his mind was in a boiling turmoil! Once more he looked at Sara, holding her eyes in his this time, and tears flooded his cheeks. As he got up from the bar stool, he saw Sara’s eyes glisten, and she let out a single forlorn sob. It was so surreal to him that, violently shaking and staggering, he headed toward the bar door and his room, to get away from the overpowering urge to hold her and kiss her, a crime that carried the death penalty on all the worlds! Almost falling at that point, he managed to get to his bed just catching himself before he hit the floor. There on the bed, in a neat pile, were all his weapons that he had dropped in downtown, all the money that he had spent in the bar there, and a single small red multi petaled filigree. In wonder and awe, he stared at it; never seeing anything more stunning. The thought of Sara flashed through his mind, followed by a massive surge of emotions that coursed and shudder throughout him, and then he passed out.

Chapter 2

With his personal droid in attendance, it was in a medic centre and not his hotel that Jason awoke in?

‘‘Report!’’ he demanded.

The droid answered in a neutral near human speech ‘‘Serious warnings were picked up yesterday when auto updating your matrix records. All toxins have now been removed from your body and supplements to your nourishment requirements have been administered. You are now back to your 100% work capacity. You will be free to go as soon as the police have interviewed you in connection with the weapons found in your hotel room. End of the report.’’

Abruptly, Sara’s eyes and face appeared in his mind, and he felt the start of another surge of emotion, which he immediately fought back down and blocked out. It was only a part of a second, so hopefully the matrix would ignore it and not send out another warning. Besides having to answer to that, he was in big trouble over his weapons, and it was going to be a bit of a job to get out of it.

After getting up, taking a shower and dressing, he then went down to the reception. There he reported to another droid who directed him to a quiet room asking him to wait there until the police arrived.

Sat in one of the armchairs he started to think hard. These new feelings that surged up into him every time he thought of Sara were terribly wrong! Incredibly, she had risked forfeiting her present comfortable life and had made eye contact with him, and he should have reported it, it was the law, so why hadn’t he?

As was normal for such an insult, Sara would have been deliberately pounded with fist and jackboot until her beauty was destroyed and then thrown into Downtown; after all, he had thought nothing of it before? His thoughts for her, he knew they were depraved, but he could not help himself. The need to protect her was all that there was, but he also knew he had to protect himself, and be very careful what he said to the police.

Three police officers walked in, two peeled off to each side of the room, and a third sat down in front of Jason; it was the very same Sergeant who had offered him the lift back to Uptown.

‘‘Good morning Captain…’’ opened the Sergeant

‘‘Morning...’’ replied Jason curtly.

‘‘Would you tell me what happened in the hotel bar yesterday when we dropped you off after your little skirmish in Downtown, please?’’ asked the Sergeant.

‘‘Why, nothing at all! I went to the bar and had a few drinks, I felt I deserved them after escaping certain death in Downtown.’’ explained Jason.

‘‘Were you alone?’’

‘‘Absolutely alone!’’ replied Jason adamantly ‘‘I talked to nobody.’’

‘‘Yes…’’ agreed the Sergeant ‘‘…we checked the security recordings and there was nobody else there so that is true. However, it looked, and I mean just looked mind you, that you were interrelating with that Class3 decoration behind the bar.’’

‘‘What…’’ shouted out Jason at the top of his voice ‘‘…how bloody dare you?!! My life and reputation have been threatened, and now I have suffered the deepest of insults. How bloody dare you! All this will be recorded in my ships log I warn you now!’’

The last bit Jason knew was a real stinger. When like Captains got together, they exchanged info on good and bad planets that they did business with. By giving this one a bad name, trade would be reluctant or even avoided all together and the prices would sharply increase for them.

‘‘Can you explain this to me, then?’’ the Sergeant asked defiantly, handing a pagescreen to Jason.

There he was, obviously talking and laughing with Sara. His heart started to miss beats and pained him when he saw her.

‘‘You bloody fool…!’’ he shouted out. ‘‘…the thing was only mimicking me that was all! When I burst out laughing at it, it did too! In truth, I thought it was all part of the entertainment.’’ Jason felt another new emotion, and that was a deep shame for what he had just said.

Continuing, but this time pulling out his status card ‘‘I tell you what Sergeant, if you ever approach me or hinder me in any way, while I am on business here on your planet, not only will I log all of this, but I will also send a report to the Ruling Elite and the Ships Captain’s Guild recommending any further trade between us be negotiated through them. You absolutely disgust me!’’

The faces of the three police paled a little, if a Captain mentioned the Guild in any way that meant big trouble for them for a long time. Anybody in the loop that caused it, especially if the Elite were involved as well, would get hard labour with the Plebs for sure.

Jason had called their bluff, but the matter of the weapons found in his room still had to be addressed, it was not over yet!

Springing to his feet and towering over Jason, the Sergeant, looking directly ahead of himself, eyes level, intoned ‘‘Captain Jason MacLain; it is my great regret that you have suffered anything other than our sincerest of respects since you arrived here. I extend my personal and professional apologies to you. Moreover, it will be our greatest honour to pick up all your expenses that will occur including those since your arrival. May I humbly suggest that you leave on your ship any personal weapons that you may normally carry with you, as such things found here could be badly misinterpreted, and terrible mistakes made? We beg your leave now Sir and hope that our apologies are accepted in good faith.’’

‘‘Get out of my sight!’’ demanded Jason. ‘’I have your numbers, and I will be keeping my eyes on you!’’

The police scuttled out of the room, and the door slid shut.

Inadvertently, he had now become an ‘untouchable’ in Uptown and in Downtown on this planet, instinctively knowing that the police surveillance was to get even more intense, not less because of this meeting. Their intention now would be to make sure he remained perfectly safe rather than trying to get anything on him for scam set-ups. Also, he also reasoned he could not take advantage of this, now, free ride on this planet by moving into a luxury hotel or getting drunk on ‘Whiskey’. This would cause a resentment, which could bubble up into anything. Their bribe to him, by paying his expenses for him, to stand down from his threats was going to be expensive for them anyhow. Best let them think that it was they who had had the narrowest of escapes and not him.

His mind then went straight to Sara. This was a perversion of society’s standards he was feeling for her, but it seemed as natural as breathing. It was the massive frustration of trying to find the reason why, that was driving him mad.

The door opened, and the droid came in and said that a matrix warning had been issued and was he all right.

Immediately, Jason closed down his mind and said ‘‘Yes, I am all right. I was a little upset over the meeting with the police, but it is all right now.’’

The droid scanned the readouts and said ‘‘An NFA has been issued, and you are free to go back to work when you please.’’

To Jason, that meant he was off all the hooks, for now, and he started to relax and think more clearly.

Leaving the medic centre, he headed straight back towards his hotel. Within a mile, he had identified at least a half a dozen plain-clothes police milling around in the crowds, shadowing him, simply because they were ‘acting’ normally, he paid them no heed.

Against his greater desire to go into the bar to see if Sara was safe, Jason went straight to his room. Such was the situation, he knew he must not link her to him, in any way, as even the smallest doubt in this complex equation would eat at the balance it was in now like an acid.

In his room, he found his weapons, but the filigree was missing; he wondered once more what it was. His weapons, he secured about himself and puzzled how they were returned and by whom?

How could he pursue this overwhelming urge to see Sara without giving them both away? If he just went back to his ship and left the planet, he knew he would be safe. However, the thought of Sara left alone to her fate would tear him apart as it was starting to do right now, he just could not abandon her! The resolve was so strong he would have had better success in voluntarily stopping to breathe.

Thus, he must carry on as if Sara did not exist until a solution could be found. More than anything else, he must not try to ‘act’ normally, and not change his normal patterns or his persona. The thought of going to the Uptown Class4’s