Marsquakes: A Martian Farmer's Daughter Volunteers to Fight for Martian Independence from Earth's Repressive Authority

By Kevin F. Owens

United Nations political animosity towards the immigrant settlers that make up the Martian Colony explodes into a Martian War of independence from Earth. The United Nations Military Space Force is surprised to find that the Marsquake rebellion is ready to challenge their efforts to suppress the insurrection.

When Terra Antoni, a teenage Martian farmer's daughter, is mistreated by United Nations Secret Police, she decides to join the rebellion. Before she goes into training she watches the aerial combat death of a friend. Her reaction before a media camera makes her a public relations star of the Marsquakes rebellion.

Terra's adventure in military training while becoming a celebrity introduce new friends, including two would be suitors, but that adventure turns sour when war finally reaches her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491832363

Kevin F. Owens

Originally from Tacoma, after working several years with Boeing, Kevin Owens moved to Virginia in the 1970's for a new career with an electrical contractor. In Washington, D.C. he met and married a Filipina immigrant, and they raised two daughters, both now married with professional positions. A portrait of Kevin should include his separate fascination with space as a future frontier. As a kid he won a school science fair blue ribbon with a project on Mars. While his daughters were growing up he wrote a series of science fiction stories for them about Mars as a future frontier.

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© 2013 Kevin F. Owens. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   11/26/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3235-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3234-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3236-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919487

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

LIST OF CHAPTERS

Dedication

Author’s Prologue

Martian Stories By Kevin F. Owens

PART A    PROLOGUE MARTIAN DISCONTENT

1   Mariner Canyon

2   Stuttgart

3   Rimview

PART B    FARMER’S DAUGHTER

4   Martian Farm

5   Warrant

6   War Scare

7   Fugitive

8   Crater City

9   Swimming Pool

10   Depressed

11   Interrogation

12   Ambush

13   Troopship Down

14   Salvage

PART C    VOLUNTEER SOLDIER

15   Space Battle

16   Telecast

17   Hellas

18   Celebrity

19   Basic Training

20   Bivouac

21   Artillery Training

22   Frenchi’s

23   University Party

24   Commission

PART D    INTERPLANETARY INVASION

25   Home Leave

26   Reception

27   Olympus

28   Bombardment

29   Artilley Reserve

30   Space Force Landing

31   Combat Volunteer

32   Rescue Mission

PART E    COST OF WAR

33   Descent To Mars

34   Farmhouse

35   Cost Of War

36   Captive

37   P. O. W. Medic

38   Gambit

39   Mikiko’s Game

40   Ambush

41   Hospital

PART F    EPILOGUE

42   Recovery

43   Visitors

44   Water World

45   Bangkok

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to Maurese Oteyza Owens, my Filipino-American wife, and to our daughters, Tanya Owens Nuchols and Michelle Owens Martin. They were my inspiration.

Author%20-%20Inside%20Author%27s%20Prologue.JPG

AUTHOR’S PROLOGUE

The history of human enthusiasm for the Martian frontier began in the 1890’s, when American astronomer Percival Lowell published articles that described his observations of life on the red planet. From his Arizona observatory, Lowell saw agricultural regions that changed colors with the seasons. He mapped webs of canals designed by an indigenous civilization to move water from the melting polar ice to thirsty vegetation nearer the equator. Other reputable astronomers, not all, supported Lowell’s Martian life observations. Enthused fiction writers then transformed Lowell’s Martian theories into stories about Martian civilizations with tales like H.G. Wells’ 1898 War of the Worlds and Edgar Rice Burroughs’ 1912 Princess of Mars. These adventure stories motivated young engineers, like Robert Goddard and Werner von Braun to attempt to build spacecraft capable of going to Mars.

Early space probes were a disappointment. The canals mapped by Lowell proved to be illusions. There were no Martian crop fields or cities. Mars, the planet most similar to Earth, proved to be a small, cold, dry, nearly airless world too harsh for familiar life. However, more space probes revealed evidence of permafrost below ground; water that is essential to all life forms we know about. Even if the first astronauts find no life on Mars, the existence of water sources will make it possible for explorers to bring civilization to the red planet. Immigrants will breathe life into the Martian landscape creating the next frontier, similar to the European development of the Americas.

Those settlers will always need pressurized outfits and homes to protect them from the lack of air, the intense ultra-violet radiation, and the frigid temperatures. Biological engineers will have to modify crop limitations so food crops will grow there. Calendars and clocks will have to be reinvented to be able to track Martian time. Life there is difficult, but when the early explorers uncover what wealth is waiting there, then immigrants will go there and make Mars a frontier. When spaceflight travel to Mars becomes commonplace, the human wonder lust for yet further frontiers will still be beckoning.

Over time those immigrant who adapt to Mars will develop a unique frontier civilization that the governments of Earth do not understand. When the differences evolve into animosities, the new Martians will grow weary of perceived mistreatments and opt for independent rule. The Martians, dependent on cutting edge technologies for food, transportation, and life support will not be an easy people for Earth to maintain control.

MARTIAN STORIES BY KEVIN F. OWENS

A Martian farmer’s daughter volunteers to fight for Martian independence from Earth’s repressive authority

AUTHORHOUSE Book ID 495938

The accidental death of a Martian businessman in a Martian Polar Ice Processing Town, threatens to expose radical technology secrets he was developing for the military.

AUTHORHOUSE Book ID 495939

An epidemic begins when a young Filipino prospector escapes from Mars infected with a Paleolithic virus

AUTHORHOUSE Book ID 65096 (© 2009)

PART A   

PROLOGUE

MARTIAN DISCONTENT

CHAPTER ONE

MARINER CANYON

The dawn sky was brightening by the minute, with bright bands of pink above a silhouetted eastern horizon. From the winding highway, meandering along the bottom of Mariner Canyon, the pastel colors added dim illumination to the cold morning shadows. Twelve-thousand feet up, the canyon rim already glistened in the brilliance of the morning sun. Despite the pinkish hues of those early hours, Dax Epsen’s overland truck needed headlights. The deep shadows obscured landslide dangers, and patches of hazy, frigid carbon-dioxide fog hid curves in the road. The vehicle, pulling several ore-loaded trailers, continued rolling west towards Crater City.

Oncoming headlights announced normal sunrise traffic, but something about the lights made Judy Epson nervous. This stretch of highway was noted for cargo high-jacking. More troublesome than possible criminal threats were the United Nations Patrol detachments in the canyon. They were attracting considerable press attention for arbitrary arrests of Martian citizens.

Sam. Judy spoke to the truck’s computer, Check traffic control, and I.D. the traffic ahead.

Martian trucks were overland rovers pulling cargo trailers. The rovers had quarters, air, water, and food enough to sustain a crew for several weeks in the event of breakdown. Martian travelers had to be prepared for survival against the deadly hazards of the frozen, rarified air of the Martian surface.

Three trucks eastbound, the computer responded, and a United Nations Patrol van parked alongside the Black Rock Bridge, two miles ahead. A dashboard displayed the data the computer had called in via satellite from the traffic control central in the Capitol. A map displayed vehicle traffic in the vicinity.

Thank you, Sam. Continue at speed. Judy stood and walked to the back, where Uncle Dax was sleeping peacefully. Knowing he needed sleep, she did not want to wake him. She did an about face and returned to the driver’s seat.

Judy, the computer said, The Patrol has signaled us to stop before the bridge. Do you wish to respond?

Judy was uncertain. She returned to her uncle. Within moments he was awake and at the driver’s seat. The computer confirmed the identity of the Patrol unit; it was a legitimate police vehicle. He had the computer stop the truck as instructed.

A barricade of telescoping steel rods stretched across the bridge, forcing all traffic to stop. Once the vehicle was stopped at the checkpoint, a pressure-suited U.N. officer plugged his communicator into a communication jack adjacent to the vehicle entrance airlock.

Dax Epsen, The officer’s baritone voice was without emotion. We will come onboard.

By all means, Judy’s lean-faced uncle responded. Nothing else to do at the moment. He reached to the dashboard to release the latch to the airlock.

Three pressure-suit-uniformed Patrol officers entered via the airlock. Once inside they opened the faceplates on their helmets. Mr. Epsen, a Lieutenant said, Government files list you as a tax evader. I hold a warrant to seize your vehicle. He handed Flex an electronic clipboard with the information.

Me? Tax evasion? Dax smiled. He read the legal form, then winked and said, This has to be a mistake. My Martian taxes are paid up to date.

Can you verify? The policeman’s tone did not change.

Certainly, He then spoke to the rover’s computer. Sam, display my tax files.

A financial report appeared on the monitor.

The officer studied the display for a few seconds. You paid local taxes, The officer continued staring at the monitor. He was obviously of South American descent. "But, there is no United Nations receipt.

Barston and Stern do my finances. There must have been an oversight.

Mr. Epsen, the officer looked back at his suspect, Barston and Stern have not paid your account. Do you claim that this file listing of an escrow account for the U.N. is your payment?

I’m a Martian. On the advice of Governor Farber, the taxes you are asking about are not considered legitimate. If the Governor instructs Barston and Stern to release the money to you, then I’ll agree. Otherwise, I can not release the monies.

I hereby confiscate your vehicle.

Judy was nervous and angry; she despised the United Nations, especially the Patrol. She did not speak, but leaned against the communications console and quietly pressed the ‘mayday’ button.

Officer, Dax spoke slowly, Your warrant has not been signed by a Martian magistrate, as required. It is not legitimate.

The Lieutenant pulled a side arm from his belt. This was approved by U.N. Commandant Shale. You are under arrest.

Dax smiled at his nervous niece, and then cautiously studied the two muscular patrolmen. The human guerillas silently watched their lieutenant, waiting instructions. Dax said without inflection, Arrest me, officer. Please note that I consider your action an illegal intrusion.

The officer smirked. You think the United Nations is a joke? I’ll show you how funny this is.

Carlos, a voice was audible from his helmet communicator. The vehicle is transmitting a ‘mayday’ signal with a Marsquake code.

Lieutenant Carlos Guadalupe’s brief smile disappeared. He swung his weapon to hit Dax at the side of his head. Marsquake Mayday! He watched Dax stumble backwards into the dashboard. I’ll give you reason for a Mayday… He stood, stern-faced, waiting for Dax to stand again.

Relax, officer. Dax slowly stood. This vehicle is secured by the computer. You are not taking it anywhere.

You will come with me.

I am not resisting. I demand the right of counsel.

You’re real smart, The Lieutenant yelled. You think the Marsquakes will rescue you. The Lieutenant slapped Dax across the face.

Leave him alone, Judy screamed. You worm dung.

Lieutenant Guadalupe turned to the young woman he had been ignoring. Who are you?

Judy’s expression was rage. I’m Governor Farber, worm dung.

Judy, Her uncle spoke calmly, Stay out of this.

The three police studied their captives.

Essor, Lieutenant Guadalupe said, The girl is a rebel. Search her for weapons.

One of the patrolmen reached for Judy’s collar. She knocked his hand away.

A swift moving fist caught her midsection. When she folded over immediately, he grabbed her hair and lifted her back up. Reaching with his free hand to his belt, he pulled out a laser knife. With a practiced one-handed dexterity, Essor set the laser for a quarter inch depth. Putting the glowing end to Judy’s collar, the laser sliced down through her thermal wear. The outfit popped open. Glistening blood welled from minor laser cuts on one of Judy’s breasts.

Judy grabbed the barrel of the weapon, and forced it into his leg.

Releasing her, he yelled, Damn, witch. You cut my leg.

She spit in his face when he glanced down at the trickle of red oozing from the puncture in his pressure suit.

He raised the laser knife, adjusted the length to several inches.

Judy began backing away. Patrolman Essor followed.

Don’t kill her, Lieutenant Guadalupe yelled.

Dax attacked. With one hand he grabbed the lieutenant’s arm holding the pistol, and then swung an elbow to the officer’s chin. As Guadalupe stumbled, Patrolman Garth grabbed Dax from behind with a neck lock.

Patrolman Essor pulled back his weapon, turning to watch Dax fight the other two. He retracted the laser cutting beam.

Lieutenant Guadalupe straightened himself while feeling his chin. He glared at Dax. Take Mr. Epsen outside.

Where’s your pressure suit? Patrolman Garth, holding Dax with the strength of a boxer, lacked the anger of his companions.

He doesn’t need it, Guadalupe blurted.

Dax stared in disbelief. The Lieutenant was going to kill him. He struggled to break the hold, but Garth tightened his neck hold, pushing Dax toward the entrance. Dax forced a foot to the frame of the airlock, blocking further forward movement. Garth used his free hand to slug Dax in the kidney. Dax dropped his foot, and was immediately pushed into the airlock.

Lieutenant, Dax screamed just before the interior airlock door closed, Don’t do this. Don’t kill me.

Judy was panic stricken. Uncle… don’t go…

Patrolman Garth dragged Dax out of the airlock to the dusty surface beyond.

No, Judy screamed. God, don’t. She tried to push forward, but Patrolman Essor grabbed her hair. She swung at him. He clamped her wrist with a vice-like grip. She kicked his leg, but his pressure suit protected his shin. She shook and twisted, but was unable to break free. She started crying when she looked through the window at her aged uncle. In the freezing miniscule air outside Dax could not go far without a pressure suit. His body swelled from the internal pressure, his eyes bulging. He reached to cover his mouth, but it was too late. The pressure differential had burst his lungs. He was spaying blood from his mouth, nose, and ears. He coughed involuntarily, spitting more blood. The bright red fluid steamed as it flew through the air, and then froze instantly when it hit the frigid ground. Within seconds, Dax was dead.

Tears welled in Judy’s eyes. She began screaming. Essor backhanded her across the mouth. She stumbled, briefly stopping her yelling; she tasted her own blood from a cut lip.

You butcher. She looked for something to hit him with. I hope the Marsquakes kill every one of you slimes.

Essor backhanded her again.

Essor, Guadalupe stared out the window at Dax’s corpse. Search her well for weapons, and then join us. This will be something for the Martians to think about. He did not look back as he entered to airlock.

Judy gritted her teeth. Essor’s physical strength was beyond her ability to defend herself. Once again he used the laser knife, set just deep enough to strip her of her clothes.

CHAPTER TWO

STUTTGART

A drenching rain had been pouring all day with little wind. Thick gray clouds covered the sky like a dark carpet. At least the coffee was hot, and the flight line cafeteria dry. Music floating on the air masked private conversations coming from the tables. Colonel Andrew Potter leaned back from his own conversation, and casually glanced at the only other occupied table where a couple was laughing at each others humor. Potter knew the couple. She was Lieutenant Mary Olsen, a fighter pilot from the Shamrock Squadron. Her friend was Captain Blue Hiedelburn, a shuttle pilot. Potter knew them because at one time both had been his students at the Academy. He smiled, watching as Blue slipped an arm an around the Lieutenant. Potter then returned his attention to Colonel Dave Johnson, sitting across from him. Johnson continued telling a story about a recent fishing trip. Potter didn’t care about fishing tales, but it was something to talk about until Jack Conners arrived.

Colonel Potter was not sure he should be there waiting for Conners, but Colonel Johnson was his friend. Johnson trusted Potter’s perspective on sensitive issues. Andrew Potter was an instructor at the United Nations Space Force Academy, while Dave Johnson was a staff officer on General Jason Keith’s Headquarters. Though the rain-streaked window, they watched across the flight line as a six-passenger shuttle taxied into a hanger. Johnson assumed Conners was onboard. They waited.

Jack Conners, a thin man in a dark trench coat, scurried across the flight apron toward the cafeteria. On the far side of the field two space fighters emerged from their pneumatic launch tubes at high velocity. The area brightened considerably when their fusion engines ignited to propel the two craft into orbit. A moment later they disappeared through the clouds and it was dark again. Conners entered the cafeteria, removed his drenched trench coat and hung it on a hook near the door. He got a coffee at the food line, and then joined Johnson and Potter.

Dave, Conners took a chair, how’s Stuttgart? I forgot what rain was like.

Johnson put his coffee down as he introduced Conners to Potter. Jack Conners was a civilian intelligence analyst with the Murdock Corporation. Following a handshake, Conners asked, Is Potter part of Cowboy?

Potter wasn’t sure what to say. He was an academy instructor, not an operations officer. General Keith had briefed him on Operation Cowboy, but since he wasn’t part of it, he felt he should keep his mouth shut. From what he had heard, he wasn’t sure what to think about the plan. Cowboy was a Space Force plan to restore order to the maverick colony using military force.

The coffee in this place could be used as fuel, Johnson added more sugar. Potter’s been briefed. He’s cleared for top secret. What do you have from Mars?

Jack added sugar to his own drink. There was no change in his casual expression. His gray eyes remained alert. Is the plan the same? Does General Keith still hope to just drop in secretly at Crater City?

No reason to change the plan. Everything appears quiet, and the Militia hasn’t been mobilized. I think we have them by surprise.

Don’t bet on it. Not with Augusta Boch heading the Militia.

You talked to him? Johnson asked. I thought he disappeared?

No, I didn’t talk to him. I tagged along when the Patrol went to search his home. General Keith’s book on U.N. tactics against rebellions was next to his bed. His video library included plugs on every major military conflict since the American Revolution.

All command officers review those. So?

Conners spoke with a deliberate lack of emphasis. I knew Boch fifteen years ago, when he was a Captain in the Space Force. Before there was a Martian Militia, I was on Mars to evaluate war games in Argyle. You ever heard of ‘Rust Bucket’?

Barely. I was a lieutenant in Santiago then. We weren’t involved.

Potter remained silent. He remembered a little about Operation Rust Bucket, an exercise on Mars. He and Dave were junior officers in South America at the time. He had not been off Earth then.

Boch’s Company was part of the Martian defense team, supposed to protect their ‘hidden’ headquarters in the Burroughs Valley. He planted friends on the Earth attack team staff before the war games even began, before they ever loaded any ships for Mars. He knew where and when the landing would take place. He recruited a Sagan City college to conduct an archeological field trip near there, and added prostitutes to that field trip to act as eager school girls. When the Earth team landed, Boch had a fraction of his forces draw the assault force into the college field trip, then surrender. Since the surrender took place at sundown, the Earth team took advantage of the Martian hospitality provided by the eager school girls. Come morning, the blue team was in no shape to fight, and Boch’s defense force captured them without firing a shot.

Boch got away with that type of shenanigan in a…

No regulations against it. Boch now commands the Martian Militia, and we don’t know where he is. We have no idea what he knows about us, or if he has spies, but you’re about to quietly land four-thousand troops in Crater City and declare martial law. The Martians have had reason to expect this move for several years. Unless Boch has changed, he probably has someone on headquarters staff.

Colonel Potter felt an acidic queasiness. It wasn’t just the bad coffee. Jack Conners was implying that General Keith’s master plan could backfire as a trap.

Other than memory lane, Colonel Johnson questioned, Do you have anything solid?

I checked the spaceport. The frame of every Martian shuttle was reinforced. Mounting brackets have been added. This was done as part of a general product recall to repair a faulty hydraulic line. If that was the problem, why have they replaced every engine with a new FM-16?

FM-16? That’s our fighter engine. Mounting brackets? Why mounting brackets?

Probably to add armaments and shielding. Right now, it would take about two hours to turn any Martian shuttle into a combat-ready attack craft.

Jesus. How come we didn’t know this?

Not only that, all privately owned land rovers on Mars are being reinforced during normal overhaul operations. I took a rover into a manufacturer’s garage in Horsehead. They told me the frame was showing stress, and needed to be reinforced. They did not charge me anything, saying it was company orders. The brackets were also added. Those rovers can now carry several tons of additional load.

How did they do it without attracting suspicion from the Patrol?

Conners stared in disbelief. You’re kidding. The Patrol on Mars is hated. You’ve seen the press reports of Patrol abuse of citizens. New York knows that, and does nothing to calm Martian emotions. The Administration only sends their misfits to Mars, with predicable results. The agents they have wouldn’t recognize a tank if it ran over them.

Andy, a different voice distracted Colonel Potter. I don’t see you at the flight line often. Captain Blue Heidelburn had approached their table with the attractive Lieutenant on his arm. Need some flying time?

Colonel Potter leaned back. Afternoon, Blue. I’ll pass. He studied the woman, and then said, I’m getting too old for fighter maneuvers.

Lieutenant Mary Olsen smiled.

Blue said, You’re missing a great opportunity, Andy. This Lieutenant has some mates willing to have a spot test on their ability. He looked to Dave Johnson, Colonel, how’s Cowboy going? You have it settled yet?

Blue. Dave had a terse tone. That isn’t something to talk about openly.

Captain Heidelburn shifted his stance, looked at Mary, and then responded, I’m assuming that’s why Jack Conners just returned from Mars. Mary… I mean Lieutenant Olsen says her cousin is landing next week at Crater City with General Crane for an indefinite tour. What’s the secret?

Jack Conners reached to shake hands. Captain Heidelburn, it’s my pleasure to meet you. What did you say you do?

Shuttle pilot. He took the hand in greeting. It’s nice to meet you, Jack. If you excuse me, I’ve got a refresher course in fighter flying waiting for me. He nodded toward Mary.

Colonel Potter winked. I expect a report on how well you handled the equipment.

Sorry, this is a classified mission. He smiled, took Mary’s arm, and then turned to leave. Won’t be any reports.

After the pair left the cafeteria, Jack Conners spoke with foreboding. If General Crane’s schedule is discussed openly by the Shamrock squadron, and they have no involvement in Cowboy, then the security for this project is non-existent.

They’re bound to pick up the gist of it around base. Dave Johnson drank more coffee. That doesn’t mean its public.

If I were you, I’d have the Patrol move quickly to detain all Militia pilots now. Cowboy is no secret. You can be sure Boch will be ready if he knows as much as we just heard from you shuttle pilot. I hope you won’t regret not including escorts for Crane’s troopships. I’m willing to bet if Cowboy is this open, then Lieutenant Olsen probably won’t see her cousin alive again.

CHAPTER THREE

RIMVIEW

The mine office’s large picture window offered a panorama of the landscape looking down slope. A number of green squares of farms were scattered across the rocky rust-colored desert beyond the mountain slopes. The dusty sky overhead was darker than what would be seen at the lower elevations. Mount Olympus was the largest volcanic peak on Mars, and its caldera rim stood at least eight miles above the surrounding plateau.

Startech sales representative Jim McBride ignored the view; instead he was focused on the U.N. Patrol rover parked on the far side of the road. He turned back to mine Superintendent Byrn Chauncer, The Patrol parked out there… are you under surveillance?

Byrn glanced up from the computer pad invoice McBride had given him. The blue and white United Nations vehicle sharply contrasted the ochre-colored rocks. He pursed his lips and blew. Surveillance? They’ve been harassing my miners about taxes. They wave warrants in my face, and then go through my books looking for I’m not sure what.

What do they want?

Byrn gave a look of comic disbelief. What are they always looking for? He handed the order forms back to McBride. After we check your shipment, I’ll take you to the mines.

I’ve already unloaded the ceramic braces in mine six, Jim McBride said. He glanced at the instruments on the wrist of his pressure suit. There were listening device transmissions from somewhere in the room. The lighting system with two thousand foot of cables is with that delivery. He looked at the invoice again. We have a problem with your smelter elements. Since the boycott, we can’t get a replacement thermostat. It comes from Calcutta.

Damn, Byrn spit out his response. I need that.

I didn’t say we couldn’t get it. It’s just delayed.

Byrn gave a comical expression.

We have the specs. We’re modifying a Gerard reactor thermostat. We should have it next week.

Byrn winked. This going to cost extra?

McBride patted his shoulder. Startech quoted a price to you. We’ll provide it for what we promised, if you’re willing to take the Gerard.

Willing? Byrn laughed. I’d accept a furnace thermostat if it would get the smelter back on line. I’m losing money. His laugh disappeared. Three men dressed in U.N. Patrol pressure suits were entering the lobby from the exterior airlock. A Captain ‘Flannigan’ was followed by two sergeants, ‘Sampson’ and ‘Ryder’.

McBride turned to watch them enter and open their faceplates.

Good afternoon, officers. Byrn smiled. What can I do for you?

Captain Flannigan hand-signaled the sergeants before he spoke. I’m here to speak to Jim McBride.

McBride responded, Did you want to buy something? I have a catalog if you need it. He held up the computer clipboard.

The Captain removed a cigarette-pack-sized packet from a pocket, unfolded it into a computer clipboard, retrieved the display he wanted, and then turned it to Jim. Jim McBride, Space Force pilot, retired. This is you?

McBride looked, maintaining his salesman smile, then agreed. That was me six (eleven Earth years) ago. I take it you’re not looking for a Startech pollution control unit."

We need for you to come with us.

Sorry, Jim slowly slid his hand into a side pocket. If you make an appointment, I can see you in a couple of days.

Jim McBride. Captain Flannigan raised a hand to signal his troops. Both pulled side arms from their belts, pointing them at McBride. You are under arrest.

Continuing his smile, he slid his right hand in a pocket as he said, You’ve got to be kidding. What’s the problem?

Flannigan adjusted the display on the