Freedom Reigns: The Complete Series

By J.J. Mainor

Collects all 6 books in the Freedom Reigns Series and the 4 bonus short stories.

Dr. Remy Duval is a UN inspector assigned to accompany the Republic Ship Freedom on a simple mission, but the civil and human rights abuses he witnesses horrifies him into action. Before he can report back to Earth, he must not only escape his Republic captors, he must contend with other hostile nations, man-eating aliens, killer robots, and even a time traveler bent on erasing the timeline altogether. The more he struggles, the larger a mess he himself creates; and the only way to save humanity itself may come at the expense of his own moral character.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.J. Mainor
• Release date: Mar 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310870965

J.J. Mainor

I can talk about my characters and stories far more easily than I can talk about myself. The best way to learn about me is through those stories. Writing primarily science fiction, I enjoy worlds and universes that aren't so black and white. Every story has something to say, and every message is not as straight-forward as it seems. We tend to boil ourselves down and define ourselves according to neat labels, whether by race, gender, political identity, or whatever; and the truth is, we're more complicated than that. I try to write worlds and characters that reflect that complexity and diversity of belief.

Book preview

Book 1: The Siege of LX-925

Chapter 1-1

A being materialized on the medical bed, human in form, with a green, scaly skin, looking more lizard than man. It opened its mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It tried to move from the bed, but found its arms and legs ending in worthless stumps. Panic set in its eyes as it explored the surroundings.

Across the room, a man turned from a control panel and approached the subject. His long, white lab coat suggested he was a doctor, while the cammies peeking from beneath, and the insignia on the collar suggested military. The creature recognized the metal pin. This man was a Major. If he was a doctor, he must have been an experienced one.

The Major leaned over his subject, studying the creature close up.

Remarkable.

The creature looked into his face, pleading with his eyes. This was not how he remembered himself. He was supposed to have a voice. He was supposed to have arms and legs.

I’m sorry about all that, the Major told him rather matter-of-factly as he took up a clipboard to make notes. But the experiment doesn’t require you to move or speak. He looked up from his work to the creature as if a truth just came to him. Not that you could go anywhere if you tried to escape, or alert anyone if you tried to scream.

The Major ran his fingers across the lizard skin with fascination. The creature tried to struggle against him, so the Major backed off to get to work. He took up his scanning equipment to get a look inside his subject. Heart rate was elevated, and pulse was racing, but that was to be expected given the shock to his system.

Body temperature seemed to be dropping. Unlike the individual beneath the surface, the skin was cold-blooded. The warm-blooded organs pumped heat outward, but the scales were losing it faster. This creature’s systems were not compatible with each other, but the Major was not willing to give up on it yet. He returned to the controls. Pushing a few buttons, a heat lamp materialized beside the bed.

This should keep you alive just long enough to collect my data.

The Major continued with his work-up on the creature, taking blood samples, tissue samples, even fecal samples. All the poking and prodding did little to assuage the creature’s tensions and fears, though his spirits were lifted when someone called for the Major from outside the room.

The Major gave his subject a look of annoyance, but interruptions were to be expected. He pulled his sleeve back to access a small device wrapped around his wrist. Pressing it and triggering a faint flash around him, the Major appeared to the creature to have grown translucent.

He watched his captor approach the far wall. With the push of a button, a door dematerialized, yet a wall remained in its place. Then, to destroy what reason remained in the creature’s mind, the Major passed through it like it wasn’t even there.

Looking back into the room, the Major spied the empty bed where his subject lay in some other dimension, out of sync with space-time as normally perceived. His secret lab had been constructed in this other dimension with its own walls, and its own equipment, and its own bed, all situated exactly where their counterparts sat in this dimension.

Light could pass one way from this dimension to the other. To the Major, having returned to normal reality by way of his wrist device, the bed in the room looked empty; but the creature in that dimension could see him, and watch his interactions with his patients so long as they were within these walls. If that creature could not figure out where he was, the activity around him would be more disconcerting than his newfound appearance.

The Major found two men waiting for him. The first was one of the new officers, Lieutenant Anders. The other man was unfamiliar, though he could guess his identity. He wore camouflaged cargo pants with a powder blue tee shirt bearing the letters UN on each sleeve. Certainly the medical records already forwarded to him were familiar.

Major Sadile, this is that UN inspector. The Colonel wants a full work up before we get underway.

Salut, Major, I’m Dr. Remy Duval. The Inspector extended his hand to the Major, and waited.

After an unsettling pause, Sadile decided to take the friendly gesture, offering phony glee in exchange. I was just going over your file. He led the Inspector into the same exam room hiding his secret lab, and motioned for his patient to take a seat on the bed.

In the secret dimension, the creature’s panic nearly induced a heart attack as he watched the new patient sit within his mutilated body. He knew Remy was there, even if Remy didn’t know he shared a bed with a monster.

Sadile struck up conversation as he took the scanning equipment, those versions that existed in this reality, and began his examination.

Tell me, Dr. Duval, how did the UN ever convince the Republic to allow an inspector aboard one of their space ships? He cast a brief smirk to the invisible creature. He knew how frustrating it must be to be so close to help, yet unable to reach it. Sadile was the only one with access. Even if someone managed to get the device around his wrist, he was the only one who knew that other room was even there…that is except for his subject.

You’re asking the wrong person, Major. I’m an inspector, not a diplomat.

Well then, what do you hope to find during your stay with us?

What I hope to find, Major, is the reason you and the other three spacefaring nations are so secretive about your programs.

The Major chuckled. The Confederation and the Eastern Imperium couldn’t be trusted if the fate of the galaxy was at stake, and the Independent Union had shifting loyalties. But if there was one thing all four nations could agree on, it was secrecy against the UN. It wasn’t as though the UN was irrelevant to those particular nations. The organization, after 270 years, had a very noble mission on Earth, maintaining order among hundreds of nations that felt they were being picked on by the other nations. They coordinated humanitarian efforts to civilian populations when disaster or war struck. And they made sure civility ruled on the home world.

But there was ambivalence toward the organization when it came to space matters. Only four powers had developed technology allowing travel outside the solar system. None of them felt the rest of the world had a right to the technology or the resources discovered out there. The space programs didn’t involve the entire Earth, so the UN was shut out. All four nations remained tight-lipped to the happenings, their ambassadors sharing winks across the chamber floor whenever talk of their programs came up in front of the General Assembly.

Every now and then, someone would agree to allow an inspector aboard a ship. They would be given a sanitized tour, followed by cake and tea, and then sent back to the UN with no more information than they started off with. Major Sadile figured they were taking a cruise to Alpha Centauri and back. Finishing the notations on this exam, he figured it was nothing but a ruse to placate Dr. Duval. Anyway, he already had everything he needed from Remy to do his job.

I hope I didn’t violate you too much, Doctor. Sadile gave him another broad, toothy grin to keep him happy, before returning him to Lieutenant Anders and whatever activities the two of them had planned.

After the door to the medical bay was sealed and he was again alone, he returned to the exam room. Feeling for the device around his wrist, Sadile returned to his hidden lab and the creature lying terrified on the bed.

Now we can get back to work. He took up his scanner and examined the creature. The heartbeat raced faster than before, his breathing had grown strained, and the heat lamp had been unable to slow the heat loss.

Oh dear. Sadile recorded the last of his figures and approached the control panel on the edge of the room. It looks like this blending was a failure. The good news, my friend, is I’ve learned enough to start over again.

With a flick of a switch, the creature vanished in a flash of white light. Its atoms were returned to storage. Sadile didn’t bother to save its pattern into the computer.

Chapter 1-2

Led through the corridors of the R.S. Freedom, Remy considered his liaison, Lieutenant Anders. He had been through a number of inspections back on Earth. Sometimes the military would pair him with an officer, sometimes not; but the liaison always had experience. Every government in the world under UN scrutiny wanted an experienced individual babysitting the inspectors to make sure state secrets weren’t spilled or hidden facilities weren’t accidentally discovered.

One time, Remy had been sent into a tiny African country. He couldn’t remember the name of the country; the region had been divided and divided again too many times to keep track. Eventually there were so many nations carved out, none had the resources beneath the ground to support a fully functioning government. Many of these nations didn’t even have enough land for crops. Infighting would break out within a village and the solution was always to split the village and carve out two new nations. It never worked and the wars and conflicts always intensified as the new nations scrambled for survival.

It was rumored the army indiscriminately slaughtered resistance forces to keep them from rejoining the fight later on, so the UN sent in a team of inspectors to investigate the claims. Remy remembered their army paired them with a salty old Colonel, a veteran who went back to when the dozen or so surrounding nations used to be a single entity.

The Colonel was a man who knew how to keep secrets. He knew where the skeletons were buried and was a master at diverting the inspection team. This Colonel could not be bought, he could not be threatened with international prosecution, and he could not be loosened with alcohol. He had been playing this game long before Remy was born, and he had been chosen for the duty because his loyalty to his own people was unshakable.

Anders was such a different man. He was young and inexperienced. His dossier claimed he had been commissioned only a couple months before his assignment to the Space Force. Though he had finished college before joining the Marines, he was still green as the eighteen year olds coming out of high school, and probably unaware of just how secretive this branch of the military was.

He considered the possibility that Anders’ inexperience made him the ideal liaison. If he didn’t know anything, he couldn’t spill any secrets. No doubt, he had been briefed on what areas of the ship were off limits and what technology he was prohibited from discussing. But without a prior space deployment under his belt, he had no knowledge of or experience with anything beyond the home system.

Still, Remy remained confident he might obtain more information from a Lieutenant than he might from a major or a colonel. Anders had already been more helpful. He had been engaging in conversation, explaining all the technology he had been exposed to.

That transporter, for instance, was a foreign concept. It had been a science fiction staple for more than two hundred years, but there had been no knowledge on Earth of it being successfully developed. Yet, Remy had been taken from the military base to the R.S. Freedom in an almost instantaneous flash of light. This kind of technology could have revolutionized the civilian travel industry. Hailing from Candia, he had visited the Republic to the south hundreds of times and never once saw evidence this technology was in use.

It’s called the molecular scrambler, Anders had corrected him when their journey aboard had begun. Some of us affectionately call it the blender.

Remy imagined the kinds of horrors that must have unfolded to earn that nickname: people rematerializing incorrectly, rematerializing within a solid object, or not rematerializing at all. But Anders put his mind at ease, assuring him the scrambler had been perfected.

The reason we haven’t introduced it on Earth is because there are too many communications signals zipping through the atmosphere. The scrambler signal can’t penetrate all that noise.

They reached the quarters assigned to Remy and Anders pressed a button, dematerializing the door. Remy had seen the same thing in the medical bay and wondered if this was a variation of the scrambler.

It’s the same technology. The Lieutenant pointed out the devices fixed within the door frame. We use a Class 3 scrambler for the doors. The transportation unit is a Class 5. He led the inspector into the room, a modest yet sufficient suite with a standard bed to the back next to a private bathroom. A work station rest against the wall to the right, and a dining area rest against the left. Anders showed him the table had a scrambler plate built into the surface with a small control panel at each place setting. That is a Class 3 at your disposal for food and drink. This one is programmed with a limited selection. Because we have to store the material for any replication, your choices are going to be pretty simple; no five star meals coming out of this thing.

The Lieutenant left Remy to settle in before he would introduce him to the Commander. The first thing the Inspector did once alone, was activate the scrambler and explore the menu. Like a kid who couldn’t resist a new toy, he had to order something from the unit. Anders wasn’t kidding though when he said the selections were limited. He ordered a water and received a glass with only 100 ml. His turkey sandwich looked like it had been freeze dried; the turkey was bland, the slice of lettuce was the strangest shade of green he had ever seen on a vegetable, and the scrambler wouldn’t give him mayonnaise. It was as though this thing was programmed to create field rations.

He left the food on the table, and moved to the work area where he set his bag. His luggage had been sent ahead, and he was glad to see it resting by the bed. No doubt security had ruffled through everything looking for his secrets, which was why he insisted on carrying the work bag personally.

A computer was removed from the bag. Remy started it, and pushed it aside while it booted up. He couldn’t help but wonder if in addition to the scrambling technology, the Space Fleet hid computers from Earth that booted in under ten minutes. No matter, it gave him time to go over the Commander’s dossier one last time before meeting the man.

Colonel Freedom. The name almost smacked of arrogance that the concept of patriotism and liberty were unique to the Republic. It was common practice in some African countries for leaders to take names that evoked positive feelings such as Joyluck and Goodtimes, but at least they didn’t run around accusing their neighbors of being miserable after the slightest criticism of their policies. What seemed to elevate the arrogance further was to name the ship after the Commander.

Freedom’s dossier, like many he had received, were highly selective in what aspects of his military career it chose to highlight. No doubt there were accomplishments the military chose to classify, but from what he read, the man hardly had a career worth honoring with a ship’s name.

In his nation, ships were usually named after places or animals. Remy still remembered visiting the Snow Leopard every summer as a child. Decommissioned and turned into a museum, the Snow Leopard was a look back at a time when his country took a more active role in the world order, before the rise of the Eastern Imperium and their war with the Republic. Even through his youth, Candia was a nation that believed in world peace. The Snow Leopard wasn’t built with fifty missile banks, or 100-gigawat phase cannons. It was a more pragmatic ship from a pragmatic nation. If Candia had ventured into the stars their ships wouldn’t bear the names of their commanders, nor would he likely find the UN trying to get inspectors aboard.

Lieutenant Anders returned just as the computer finished booting. Colonel’s ready to see you. At least it would be ready to go when he got back.

Remy followed his liaison back into the hallway. How well do you know your commander?

Well enough not to make fun of his name.

Good advice, Remy thought to himself. He followed in silence, studying the ship around him. Even in space, these vessels were stark and utilitarian. Battleship Gray was a color so loved, it followed these men into space. And with no carpets, he’d have to remember not to go around barefoot. If there was one positive to the design and décor, it was that the hallways were large enough to move in, not at all tight and cramped like some of the battleships he had to tour.

Anders brought him to the Colonel’s briefing room, a large, yet cozy room with a metal table bolted to the floor surrounded by fixed chairs. It seemed a wise precaution so that the furniture wasn’t thrown around in heavy turbulence.

Remy sat at the end of the table observing the large screen on the wall behind the head chair, wondering if it too was some advanced form of those on Earth. Instead of a 3-D image within the screen, maybe it projected the image as a physical hologram on the center of the table.

I plan to get one of those myself if I ever retire back to Earth.

Startled, Remy turned to find the Commander had snuck up behind him. He was a grizzled old man, his face wrinkled, yet hardened. The top of his head had been shaved as cleanly as his face. His combat fatigues hung comfortably from his trim frame. Maybe it was because of the scent that hung with him, but Remy imagined this old dog enjoyed chomping on a cigar. This was an image of a leader stolen from his textbooks.

I’m Dr. Remy Duval. He extended his hand, then quickly wished he hadn’t after the Colonel crushed it in his own grip.

Colonel Max Freedom. He took a seat at the head of the table, fishing a tiny computer device from his vest pocket. As Remy took his seat, an image of an alien world came up on the large screen behind the Colonel. To his dismay, it didn’t dance on the tabletop as he imagined.

"This is LX-925. We set up a mining operation about two years ago, and now the surface has been stripped down almost to the magma layer. The miners were supposed to be off the planet a week ago so we could trade it to the Independent Union for a world they control. However the miners refuse to leave. My orders are simply to remove those miners. My government has authorized you to observe the operation on behalf of the UN.

You will have access to most areas of the ship, but Lieutenant Anders must accompany you at all times. My ship may seem easy to navigate, but it’s even easier to get lost. You will have access to my bridge during the operation, but you must remain in the back. Things can get heated and my men don’t need you in the way. Any questions you have, I am yours for the next thirty minutes. After that, if Anders can’t answer something, he can find the answer.

Remy knew the game; anything damaging that his government wanted kept secret, would remain so. He expected to hear that’s classified, no less than a hundred times in the next half hour, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. Still, being new to these goings on, it was overwhelming trying to decide which questions to ask. Just a day ago, he didn’t even imagine humans were mining other planets, yet the Republic was capable of stripping away the entire crust of a world in a mere two years.

And then there were the miners. What kind of habitat were they living in? Did this world have a breathable atmosphere, or were there self-contained environments? There were so many questions. Reminding himself he worked for the UN, and human rights were a prime concern, the miners’ squabble seemed to be the most pressing matter.

Tell me about the miners. Why won’t they leave? What is their grievance?

The Colonel’s eyes never left Remy’s face. It felt like he treated this as a game of chicken waiting for the Inspector to blink first. He was studying his opponent, looking for the twitch of an eyelid, a bead of sweat on the forehead, a tightening of the lips, anything that might betray the next move, or in this case the next question. His first was to be expected. The miners of course were the obvious starting point to discovery.

We don’t know exactly, but it’s usually a ploy to squeeze more money from the government. In rare cases, they lose their minds and think the planet is theirs.

Remy distrusted this intense look from the Colonel. He knew the man wouldn’t be straightforward with him, but there was something worse coming from those eyes. It reminded him intensely of that phony smile the Major gave him. Maybe he should have been more understanding of these people. This ship and this space program was their world. They had been operating outside of scrutiny for so long, he was nothing more than an intruder to them.

Assuming they want to stay, why not let them stay and become citizens of the Union?

They can’t. I told you the planet was mined down to the magma layer. Within a couple months the internal heat will melt the surface and that world will be a ball of molten lava. Those miners couldn’t stay if they wanted.

If the world is useless, then what does the Union want with it?

It’s not useless. They have the technology to safely extract material from the top of the lava flows. We’ve been working on it ourselves, but we’re not there yet. We could hold onto the world until we get that ability, but the Union is offering us a world with a high strategic value.

Remy could not escape those eyes. They had locked onto him and wouldn’t let go. Though he had been the one asking questions, he felt like he was under an interrogation. In his business it wouldn’t be the first for him, but it was certainly the most awkward. That planet was still on the screen behind the Colonel, providing a distraction from those eyes. The line of sight was so close, at least he wouldn’t get caught looking away.

What does removal entail? How are you going to take them off that world?

We use the scramblers of course. Scoop them right off the surface, put their patterns in storage, and restore them on their next job.

Just like that?

Just like that.

Remy’s chin followed his eyes to the world on the wall, and the Colonel noticed the crack in his confidence. It didn’t matter if the world was falling apart, those people still had basic rights. Perhaps the Republic chose this mission for him to observe because of the moral questions involved in a forced removal. He wanted to believe Colonel Freedom respected the miners. He wanted to believe there was nothing to worry about with the lack of oversight these space programs had been operating under. But that stare from the Colonel’s eyes and his frank candor left Remy with a dry, foul taste in his mouth.

Chapter 1-3

Remy sat at his workstation, pouring through the UN Charter, treaties, and rules to find anything that might guide him on Freedom’s mission. The forced relocation didn’t bother him as much as the thought of those miners being dematerialized and stored in the Freedom’s computers.

He had noted to Anders the lack of personnel aboard. Only a handful of officers had been spied around the ship, and Remy hadn’t noticed a single enlisted man since he came aboard. His liaison explained that most of the crew was stored as the Colonel planned to do with the miners. Resources were tight aboard a ship, even though half to three quarters of the ship was used for storage of the raw materials the molecular scramblers needed. Because they needed so much room for storage, living space was also at a premium.

Nonessential crewmembers had their patterns scanned into the computers. They were dematerialized only when required. The idea left Remy with a cold knot in his stomach, imagining himself removed from reality and stored in a computer like his software. But Anders assured him everyone knew what they had signed up for when they trained for the Space Force.

Like the military, the miners signed up for the same thing. Remy understood their life patterns had been stored for the journey to their job to save space and resources during transport. The closest he could find to a conflict with UN standards was the Convention on the Treatment of Prisoners, but feeling no pain in storage, it was clearly not inhumane. Since the reality of space travel forced rationing, he doubted he could make the case that this was unusual punishment. As long Colonel Freedom kept his word that those men would be rematerialized, he didn’t see the proposed solution leaving the nebulous gray area he found himself navigating.

Anders buzzed the door, and Remy went out to greet him. Before retiring to his room, Remy had asked his babysitter if they could get a beer on this ship. Though the crew was but a handful of officers, he had yet to meet a military man of any rank who could go without alcohol for long periods of time.

Anders seemed delighted by his request and divulged they had an unofficial officers’ club aboard. One of the scramblers in one of the vacant quarters had been loaded with the programs for some of the crew’s favorite beers. Though it was against regulations, their Commander pretended ignorance to keep up morale. After all, he had his own unauthorized vices and refused to become a hypocrite by keeping his crew from enjoying theirs.

Remy stepped into the club to find one member already at the table enjoying himself. Who do we have here? The officer rose from the table, pleased to find he had company.

Dr. Duval. Remy extended his hand to the officer, who uncapped his beer and placed it in the open hand.

I’m Lt. Pittman, your armory officer.

Remy found it comforting they expected so little trouble as to allow the armory officer to get drunk. He couldn’t imagine this guy leaving here to operate a high-output energy weapon.

Pittman ordered two more beers from the console and gave one to Anders. Given these two men were almost half his age, Remy felt old and unsure how he was going to relate to them.

I noticed there are no women aboard.

Pittman face was aglow, misunderstanding the comment. You’re looking for companionship?

Not for that, Remy backtracked. Don’t you let women in the Space Force?

With a clearer head, Anders decided to field the question. Not that we don’t let them. Our traditional services are 40% female, and every recruiting class has its share of applicants, but so far we haven’t had one woman complete the training. As if he could see Remy counting the equality complaints within his head, Anders went on. 95% of the men don’t even make it.

Yeah, Pittman piped up between swigs from his bottle. We’re not just the best of the best, we’re the best of the best of the best.

It’s dangerous out here. We can’t lower standards for the sake of diversity.

Pittman leaned in to their new comrade. But if you’re still looking for companionship, the Imperium has some female officers.

How encouraging that sounded to Remy! Though he had to wonder if a man’s pattern and a woman’s pattern were stored too closely in the computers, would it constitute sexual harassment? Given what he had seen so far, the entire rule book would have to be rewritten when he reported back to his bosses.

As he took a drink from his beer, Remy swore he heard a scratching at the door. It was after Anders got up to check it out that he knew he wasn’t crazy. The door melted away and a bulldog ran in.

What the heck are you doing aboard? Anders picked up the animal as its owner raced in behind it. Murillo, I thought pets were banned.

The new arrival spied Remy at the table and lost himself in the stranger. The dog no longer existed. Anders no longer existed. Remy felt a bit uncomfortable as the gaze lingered too long. To him, it seemed as though Murillo might have recognized him, but couldn’t be sure. Yet that was silly, because like his fellow soldiers, he was too young for their paths to have crossed before. It was only when Anders snapped the young man out of his daze that Murillo broke the awkward connection.

Please don’t tell. Murillo snatched the dog and clutched it protectively in his arms. The Colonel said he’d scramble Hedley here if I didn’t get rid of him.

Then why do you still have him?

Murillo looked into the pet’s vapid eyes. The creature’s tongue panted as if nothing was wrong. Hedley’s important. I can’t get rid of him. Besides, he’s my friend. He keeps me company. With that, he took the dog and left their club.

Pittman described Murillo as a bit of a simpleton. If women were kept from the service because of training, there was always a man like Murillo leaving everyone to wonder how he survived the program. Either someone took pity on him and carried him through, or he completed the program out of sheer luck.

But Anders refused to dismiss him as Pittman had. He had seen too many guys like him when he was still in the Marines back on Earth. The simpleton routine was nothing but an act he put on so his superiors wouldn’t look to him for anything challenging. He would do his job competently, but screw it up just enough so the Colonel would look to someone else next time. He skated by so he wouldn’t get in trouble or get put in a situation that might get him in trouble.

Anders was inclined to report the dog, but in the short time he had been aboard the Freedom, he noticed the guy tended not to socialize. Whenever he said hi, Murillo would greet him back and rush away. If he couldn’t rush away, he would avert his eyes as if he was in the middle of something too important. Nobody on the ship counted this guy as a friend, so Anders figured he needed the dog to keep him company.

Remy tried to keep these two officers, talking. He suggested more beer every time a bottle fell empty. He had been such a pro with alcohol, he made the mistake of trying to keep up with the younger men, forgetting no matter where he went, military men were the end all of alcoholic consumption.

It occurred to him briefly that they may have been playing him, that they were the ones getting him drunk for information, but that was ridiculous. They couldn’t have been ordering nonalcoholic beers for themselves. He had taken the bottles and handed them out many times throughout the night, hadn’t he? It seemed unlikely, but it was enough of a suspicion to test it out the next time they scrambled up a round.

The indifference he received when he took the bottles eased his mind. Remy wondered if the secrecy of these space programs led him to see conspiracies around every door, on every face, in every smile. He had been on enough of these inspections to know better. He knew all the secrets rest at the top of the chain of command. Wherever he went, guys like Anders and Pittman were only out to do their job. If there was secrecy among these lower ranks, it was only because they were not kept in the know.

These lieutenants, were fresh with power. Though still officers, they weren’t trusted with any serious responsibility until they proved themselves and earned it. When all they had to do was monitor the power to the cannons or babysit the UN representative, the enlisted men became the targets of their authority. They were the ones running around making sure salutes were properly given. These were the officers concerned that sleeves were rolled, hats were worn or removed when they were supposed to be, and camouflage colors appropriately matched the situation.

As he ordered another round from the scrambler, Remy almost took pity on these boys. He was sure the Space Force was highly coveted, but the lack of subordinates must have been frustrating for someone that came in as an officer looking to lead.

Pittman decided he had enough. He gave his beer to Anders and stumbled from the table. Though he claimed he was off to bed, Anders smirked sheepishly as if the two shared a secret. Anders was growing tired himself, so he scrambled both beers back into storage.

Think you can find your way back to your room?

Remy couldn’t believe his escort was trusting him to roam the hallways alone, though he was beginning to wonder if there were any secret areas to discover. He gave Anders about ten minutes to reach his quarters before scrambling his empty beer bottle and venturing out on his own.

The corridors were quiet, and eerily dark, more so than usual. Remy glanced down toward his own quarters, then turned down the other way. As he took in the nondescript doors and unremarkable corridors, he understood what the Colonel meant about getting lost. He would have to keep a map in his head because there were no distinctive landmarks by which to navigate. There weren’t even names to the quarters. It was curious how the men knew where they were supposed to sleep.

He neared one door and heard scratching at the base, imagining Murillo’s bulldog trying to get out. Remy thought the creature’s determination to leave the room rather strange given bulldogs weren’t known for their activity. He chalked it up to discomfort in space, unless its owner was miserable company.

A couple doors further along, and he heard activity. The noise was faint, but he made some of it out when he pressed his ear to the door.

Come on baby. Come on. Give it to me.

It seemed Pittman wasn’t as tired as he let on. Strange, though, the moaning from the second individual seemed to be feminine when they had said there were no women in the service. Apparently girlfriends and wives weren’t held to the same high standards the servicemen were held to.

He left Pittman’s quarters behind and rounded a corner into another corridor that looked identical to the one he left behind. His head spun from the alcohol. As much as he tried to tell himself he could remember his way back, Remy knew he couldn’t risk losing his way. Nor could he get caught wandering around or he would lose any trust the Colonel had in him. One snafu could mean the UN never gets another inspector into space.

Remy turned back and stumbled to his own quarters. He took off his shirt to prepare for bed before realizing how cold the temperature was kept aboard the ship. Beyond food and drink, power was also rationed. That blanket on the bunk didn’t look too warm, so he figured he better sleep in his clothes for the extra warmth.

As he climbed beneath the blanket and drifted toward sleep, he thought about the dog. Out of everything he had seen and experienced on the Freedom, it was odd a simple animal should be the last thing on his mind at the end of the day. But it was a creature as out of place on this ship out here in the emptiness of space as any of the officers were. It was a creature typically lethargic, but loyal. Hedley should have been content with his master, unless it wanted to be scrambled as Anders warned.

Remy’s last thoughts before the lights went completely out in his head was an imagination of that dog sitting on the tabletop. Taking a swig from a beer, Anders tapped the panel in front of him, and poor Hedley faded away in a slow flash of white light.

Chapter 1-4

Remy was shaken awake. He wished there had been windows on this ship so that he might peek out and see what was going on. Though it wasn’t a wise idea given the possible reasons for the jolt, he jumped from the bed and ran out his door. Anders was already on his way down the hallway to retrieve him.

I’m ordered to take you to the bridge.

What was that? What’s going on?

We’re under attack.

Remy was no stranger to conflict. None of his African missions passed without him taking some sort of weapons fire. He never went into a hostile country believing the letters on his shirt would shield him from harm. Still, opposing forces rarely targeted the powder blue shirts and flak jackets intentionally.

Out here, Remy made no illusion about what dangers he could face under this attack. A hull breach and venting atmosphere didn’t discriminate between uniforms. Power outages wouldn’t exclude certain individuals from the plunging temperatures. He was every bit as vulnerable as Anders was.

The ship shook again as the pair stepped onto the bridge.

We have a hull breach!

Where, Freedom demanded.

Storage pod A-17.

Remy’s eyes fixed on the ship in the view screen. Freedom had his own monitor beside his console, barking orders as the ship circled their own.

Where are those inhibitors?

Anders pointed out another old salt at the station behind Freedom’s shoulder. That’s the XO, Lieutenant Colonel Fortune.

You’re kidding.

Freedom craned his neck upon hearing the newcomers. Doctor, I’d like you to meet the Confederation.

Another quake nearly knocked Remy off his feet. He found it strange that they should be hit when there had been no weapons fire from the other ship.

They got another primary inhibitor.

Then get the back-ups online. And where’s my armory officer? Why aren’t we firing back?

Remy looked to Pittman at his console, amazed he had a clear enough head for his job after their little party and his afterhours workout.

I’m trying to scramble the artillery, but pod A-17 held the silver for the firing pins.

Firing pins, Remy thought to himself. Artillery? He must still be drunk.

Before he could finish his confusion, Anders clutched his chest and collapsed to the deck. Remy knelt down to help him. Without a pulse, he ripped his shirt open and began compressions to get his heart started.

Man down back here, he cried out seeking help. But no one answered. He glanced up from his hands briefly, seeking assurance that someone was going to help him save Anders life. All eyes were on the consoles and the ship on the view screen continuing an unassuming attack. Fortune was the next one to grab his chest and collapse behind his station. In some way, Remy understood they had to prioritize between the injured and their ship, but he could not believe these people were so jaded by this life that their own friends didn’t even earn a cursory glance. There was no amount of training in the world…or in their case the galaxy…that could shut down emotions and personal feelings for the greater good.

I’m losing him! Remy pleaded louder as his compressions grew stronger and faster. Surely one of them could be spared to save a life. Freedom finally rose from his chair to address the Inspector’s cries. What’s happening to them, Colonel?

Freedom brushed the hands aside so he could inspect his young officer’s chest. He too felt the lack of a pulse, but more, he felt the lack of the entire heart. No amount of compressions was going to save Anders’ life. He was gone, and if he had inspected the XO, he would find Fortune beyond saving as well. They’re scrambling their hearts. I want those inhibitors up yesterday!

Freedom returned to his chair to page Sadile, leaving Remy to ponder on the deaths. Anders had shown him some of the wonders their technology could fabricate. The molecular scrambler had seemed like such a miraculous piece of technology, he never imagined it could be weaponized in such a horrendous manner. Nor did he ever expect to see the day when humans would become so desensitized to death.

Colonel Freedom continued to bark orders, and his officers announced updates as if this was normal for them; as if the officers they just lost meant nothing. Freedom didn’t even give his second-in-command a second thought.

Inhibitors are online around the bridge, one callous officer announced, to be answered by more shaking. They got one of our generators that time.

As Remy took in the reports of this strange battle, he considered that they were all dead already as an explanation for their disinterest in the casualties. It seemed a matter of time before the Confederate ship had dematerialized the entire vessel. As he looked to the ship in the view screen to take in his would-be killers, he witnessed an explosion blasting apart one of their lower decks.

What happened, Freedom demanded.

Pittman turned to his commander with triumph. I scrambled their reactor casing during their last volley!

Freedom leaned forward on the edge of his chair, excited for the first time during the engagement. When they drop their inhibitors to contain it, scramble their bridge!

Before he could get the words out, his panel beeped. The enemy commander signaled he wished to talk, so the Colonel obliged.

Colonel Freedom, his counterpart greeted when the weathered face of another old veteran flashed on his monitor. Or should I say Colonel Oppression. He erupted in laughter, joined by that of the crew off screen around him.

Freedom added his own patronizing chuckles to the din. General Mizenov, that joke gets funnier every time you tell it. Now tell me, why did you have to attack? We both know what you want, and you know I’ll give it to you.

I’m up for a promotion. You don’t get the seventh star through peace.

Remy looked up from his dead partner with disgust, wondering how these two commanders could make such jokes with each other. Freedom had two dead officers on his bridge, and who knew how many were lost in that blast on Mizenov’s ship. It was no wonder the UN was kept out of their affairs when life was treated so lightly. He glanced over the Commander’s shoulder to the man on his screen. Beyond the ridiculous number of stars on his collar, the man had so many service ribbons, they barely fit on his shirt. As he moved in closer behind the Colonel to get a better look, he caught the attention of the General on his screen.

Is that the inspector, he lit up. I heard you let the UN place one on your ship.

Freedom turned sharply around, nearly knocking Remy backwards on his rear with the look alone.

Yes, and I’m sure you don’t want him reporting this attack. Freedom worked his control panel, returning his attention to his counterpart. Take a look at that file and tell me if your attack was worth it.

Remy closed in again as the General inspected something off screen. Then the hardened face went wide and returned to the Colonel. I thank you my friend. This is everything I expected it to be.

The screen went dark, and Freedom turned to his crew. Disable the inhibitors and begin repairs. He cast an angry glare to Remy, then turned to his two casualties. Someone scramble the bodies. I’ll be in my office.

As he rose from his chair and headed toward a door off the side of the compartment, Remy looked to him in disbelief before following after in his own fit of rage. He had managed to cross the threshold before Freedom rematerialized the door behind him."

Is that what your people are worth to you? Remy shouted. A human being is something to be scrambled when they’re broken?

Doctor, you have no idea what you’re talking about, the Colonel warned. Things are a lot different out here than what you’re used to back on Earth.

The only thing different I see is the weapons you use to kill each other.

Freedom cut him off. Before you say another word, I want you to go the medical bay.

Why? Are you trying to say there’s something wrong with me? You think my outrage is a disease you can cure? Maybe that’s how you do things out here; when someone disagrees with your command, you scramble their brains so they’re more compliant.

Freedom took a step toward Remy and placed his nose in the man’s face. You are here as an observer. If you want a reason for our attitudes, then you get your ass to that medical bay and observe our casualties for yourself. Otherwise, you can return to your quarters and skulk; but you make sure you have all your facts straight before you start on the strongly worded letter you’re planning to write to my government. The Colonel opened his door once again and stared down the Inspector until he left.

Remy made a slow procession toward the exit, looking around from officer to officer for any sign of remorse for their comrades. Instead, he witnessed a crew going about their jobs as if that battle was nothing but a light rain storm. Maybe Fortune didn’t mean anything to these men. As the XO, the man could have been a complete prick for all Remy knew, and his death could have been a silent relief. But he had seen Anders with some of these guys. He and Pittman got along well; they seemed like friends when they were all drinking together just a few hours ago. Even he seemed no more concerned for Anders than the Colonel had been.

He skulked back to his quarters alone and unescorted. He didn’t care about what was going on in the medical bay. No amount of humanity toward the injured would make up for their callousness toward the dead.

Remy fell back into his bed and pulled the covers over his head. Murillo’s dog was gone from his thoughts, replaced by that desperate face staring up from him on the bridge. He got over the anger from the attitudes and shifted to the unexplored possibilities. With the technology aboard this ship, he couldn’t help but wonder if they might have kept him alive if they could have gotten him to the medical bay the instant his heart was stolen. They already had the technology on Earth to keep his blood flowing. If they had acted, they could have put him on an artificial pump. Freedom didn’t even try to save his men. That was the worst part for Remy; a young man was dead and no one cared.

Chapter 1-5

Remy sat at the table and ordered a vegetable omelet from the scrambler. Picking up the fork and poking at it, he wondered how much of it was made up of Anders. It seemed a ridiculous thought, but once it was in his head, he swore the thing tasted like human. Even if that wasn’t the case, it certainly didn’t taste like vegetables or eggs. He couldn’t stomach the thing, so it was returned to the scrambler.

Technically the indifference shown on the bridge during the night wasn’t in violation of any treaty or UN convention. However, Remy was not going to apologize to Freedom for his outburst. Instead, he planned to write a condolence letter to Anders’ family. As he took up a pen and piece of paper, he found he had no idea who to address the letter to. His first day aboard the Freedom, he had been busy with understanding their ways and this conflict with the miners. He had not yet grown comfortable enough with his liaison to start talking about family.

He had no idea if Anders was married with kids. Did he have a girlfriend? Were his parents still alive? Remy’s life was spent making sure people all over the world were treated with dignity and respect. Yet somehow he had lost track of who these people were. Anders was more than an officer. Somewhere he had a life off the Freedom, and friends back on Earth who weren’t bound to the military. More than the Colonel, Remy hated himself for the way he treated the young Lieutenant.

A tone indicated someone was at the door. He rose to answer wondering who had been assigned to him now. Given the attitude he gave the Colonel, it was probably the coldest, toughest bastard aboard. He was likely to get someone who would treat him as a Drill Instructor would treat the new recruits on the first day. Remy couldn’t imagine the rest of this mission being pleasant. Nor could he imagine the surprise waiting for him when he dematerialized the door.

Ready to go? It was Lieutenant Anders! Alive and healthy. No sign of pain or weakness as he stood at the door with his hands behind his back. Whatever magic they used to replace his heart and restart his system, left him no worse off than he had been when they went to the makeshift officer’s club.

How are you alive?

The Lieutenant took his question quizzically, as if even a school child should have known the answer. He got over the surprise, when he remembered their technological miracles remained largely a mystery to his charge.

Every day at the end of our duty shifts, we’re required to save our life patterns in medical. In case something happens, the doctor can use those patterns as a template to repair any damage. Even if we’re killed, that pattern can be used as a backup. We lose all memories accumulated since the last pattern was saved, but we live.

It seemed so obvious, Remy hit himself for not considering it. It certainly explained the lack of concern on the bridge. Freedom didn’t care if Anders or Fortune had died because they could be brought back. Their comrades ignored his cries because death was no longer a consequence for these men.

But the whole thing raised an interesting question for Remy. As with cloning more than a century past, the new individual would be a different person. Without the missing memories of last night, without those memories he and Anders shared over their beers, without his compassion toward Murillo and his bulldog, and without the experience he had picked up in that one combat situation, was this Anders really the same Lieutenant Anders who had served as his liaison yesterday?

The whole thing didn’t seem to bother the Lieutenant, though. Living in this system, those questions had likely already been addressed and brushed aside during their training. Anders explained a part of that training involved being dematerialized and stored for a few days before being rematerialized, just so they could get used to the feeling of missing time. For him, having been restored in the medical bay after last night’s battle, it would have felt as if he had just finished scanning and storing his life pattern after the last duty shift. His mind would have to reconcile the reality that combat had just ensued and that he had been killed. According to Anders, nearly a third of all candidates for the Space Force drop out because their minds couldn’t handle those gaps.

Last night you told me there were no women in the service.

If you say so, Anders gave him casually, as another reminder that the person escorting him today was a different person. Whatever camaraderie he had forged with the Lieutenant over those beers was gone and he’d have to start from zero. He wasn’t sure how uncomfortable Anders would be if he started bringing up personal matters, so it might have been better to keep their conversation professional for now.

What about wives and girlfriends? Are they allowed to come aboard?

Absolutely not.

Is there any way you could sneak someone aboard? I thought I heard a woman in Pittman’s quarters last night. And Murillo’s dog; how do they get aboard?

I don’t know. Someone notices whenever a scrambler larger than a Class 4 is used. And you can’t transport people with anything smaller than a Class 5. Depending on how small Murillo’s dog is, he might be able to sneak it aboard by hacking the scrambler in his quarters, but Pittman couldn’t get a girl into his quarters without anyone finding out.

Remy thought hard about it. He was sure that was a woman on the other side of the door, though he had to admit it could have been another man. With the time they spent in space, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of the crew found release in each other. Still, he understood even that would get someone in trouble, and he felt it a wise idea to change the subject before Anders got the idea.

So that attack last night, what was that about? I mean, the Confederation attacks us, and all they want is a computer program?

That’s about it.

Anders laid out the history of the relationships between the four nations. Access to space created a planetary land grab, and there were more than enough planets and other bodies to keep the four nations busy. As time went on and the resources on these worlds had been exploited, all four wanted for nothing. Precious and base metals were in overabundance, fuel was plentiful, and there was no shortage of oxygen, water, or food. Though space aboard ships was limited and resources were tight during travel, there existed no shortage of resupply points.

The individual commanders had no reason to mistrust each other. As Remy had seen, even enemies remained on good terms. However the leadership back on Earth could never shake the old hostilities. Proxy wars were waged in space regardless, and the commanders used their battles as a cover for exchanging something they couldn’t necessarily find on the supply depots: computer programs.

The scramblers could create anything the troops wanted from food to clothing to decorative objects. The only restriction was the programming within the individual units. They still needed the patterns in order to create specific things. Since the Space Forces and their comforts weren’t given much consideration, the ships were given programs only for necessities. The extras had to be obtained in other ways. Since trips back to Earth were infrequent, a crew had to increase their library through trade.

Apparently, the Confederate General had heard of a new program Freedom had obtained. Anders speculated it was probably some new recipes. As even recipes and food choices are coveted, Mizenov undoubtedly attacked as a pretense to expand his own culinary library.

As they trekked through the corridors, the pair came upon Lieutenant Murillo fiddling inside an access panel.

Aren’t you supposed to be in the engine room, Anders asked, startling the nervous Murillo. Like last night, his eyes locked onto Remy, though his stuttering responses were directed at Anders.

I was inspecting the power conduits. Some of them were damaged in the attack. I was just making sure they had been repaired and the power was flowing properly to the cargo pods.

The whole thing made sense to Anders. That was probably enough for Murillo since Anders wasn’t exactly a high ranking officer. Though they shared rank, their time in service likely favored Murillo as the senior officer. But Remy recognized the young man’s nervous twitches, especially the creepy look he continued to receive. Something else was going on with this guy. He wasn’t inspecting a power conduit, and his interest in the Inspector was too much.

Have you never seen a Candian, Remy joked hoping to break the tension between them.

I know you, Murillo stuttered, then pulled back his words as if he said something wrong. Remy certainly didn’t know him, but given the range of his work, it was conceivable Murillo recognized him from a previous mission.

You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t remember you. I meet a lot of people in my job. Where did we meet?

I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed to tell you. The more time he spent around this man, the stranger he proved to be. No matter how much he pried, Remy could not get any more information.

Anders finally had enough of the silliness and dragged Remy away.

Has Colonel Freedom issued a gag order to the rest of the crew, Remy asked when they were safely away from curious ears and eyes.

Not to my knowledge. But I wouldn’t put much stock in what Murillo has to say. He’s kind of the ship’s fool, though if you ask me, I think he only pretends to be odd so we don’t expect much out of him.

Remy remembered the assessment from the night before, and hoped these scrambled resurrections weren’t all that common, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over the repeated conversations and discussions.

Chapter 1-6

Freedom sat at the head of the table in his briefing room, while Anders filled him in on Murillo’s inspection in one of the lower decks. Remy remained at the other end of the table, uncomfortable with his liaison’s tattling, but pretending he didn’t hear the conversation.

He was near the D-block. Said he was inspecting a power conduit, but acted real strange around us.

Don’t worry about him. Murillo’s harmless. Though the Colonel acted like nothing was wrong, Remy spied him jotting notes down regardless. No doubt he didn’t want his subordinate feeling bad about ratting out his colleague.

As the other officers entered, including Lieutenant Colonel Fortune, Anders retreated to a seat beside Remy. Remy looked around at the brass on the collars and noted just about everyone bore lieutenant stripes. He was aware that as the militaries evolved with their governments, ranking structures were streamlined. The distinction between a First and Second Lieutenant disappeared since all lieutenants were regarded as boot (as the Marines liked to call them) regardless of the color of the bar. Remy always found it funny the military had decided to stick with the gold bar for the merged rank as if intending to perpetuate the butterbar slur.

Besides Anders and Pittman, Remy was introduced to the Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Drake, the Quartermaster, Lieutenant Bender (no doubt he received a lot of attention for that name over the years), and the Navigational Officer, Lieutenant Riggs. Besides Freedom