Chapter 26

Dr. Nguyen stormed out of the room. "It should have been imposed." She repeated that over and over, as she strode down the hallway toward the transport room. Three other members of her delegation followed her. The other four members sat dumbfounded. Matt seemed lost. He slumped into his chair, his face devoid of emotion. All others stared at Father Tomonaga.

He walked over and closed the door. "Dewey, could you and Colinda, ensure our privacy and monitor those four."

"Governor, do you agree?" The inquiry came from Colinda.

Marsha visually surveyed the remaining scientists. "Yes, Colinda." Turning to the priest, she raised an eyebrow. "Father?"

He sat down. "I guess I need to explain my outburst." The father intertwined his fingers. "Part of the sleep studies that were suggested for me by the Kon Tiki AI was an overview of how the Confederacy handles personal and medical records. Once a person is a volunteer or concubine, whatever accessible medical records are used to create a baseline file. During any subsequent trip to a med-pod or a sleep trainer, that file is updated." Heads began to nod. "That means the data they are seeking is readily available."

Leslie turned to her former student. "Matthew?"

"Ms. Howard, I mean, Ms. Jenkins his premise is sound." Matt held his hands up showing he believed Father Tomonaga's appraisal.

"Young man," Marsha Danvers sounded both commanding and reassuring. "Could you explain why part of the team stormed out?"

Matt glanced at the remaining Confederacy personnel. One of the remaining women nodded and held her hand out. "I am Decurion Inga McTaggart. I've been sent to observe and inquire about Wayward's intermediate simulation training." She looked directly at Danvers and Father Tomonaga. "I really need to talk to the kids before and after an exercise." She turned to the man on her right. "Commander Green has several scenarios he wanted to integrate into your simulators."

That left Matt and another woman dressed as a Civil Service Signifer. The name Enfield showed on her nametag. "My mission is to talk to you, Mr. Jenkins." Everybody looked at Bill as he tried to will himself somewhere else. "During an audit of the very records the good Father referred to, it was discovered that you gave permission to not only modify a minor but shorten her pregnancy."

"Eve?" Bill sort of half-whispered, half-mouthed.

"Yes," she smiled a bit. "It is somewhat of an AI taboo to augment or alter a pregnant female. Yet somehow Eve had her hip structure changed and she delivered three weeks before her hormone level was projected to cause labor."

Bill looked around the room. "I didn't ask for that."

"The Moon Base AI will not discuss this matter. It only acknowledges that Bill Jenkins authorized the changes."

A dead silence wafted over the room. Bill was the center of it. Matt rescued him.

"I was asked to facilitate between my former teachers and the decurion and the commander." Matt sat back down.

"Matt," Marsha used her leader tone. "Why did you assist Dr. Nguyen?"

Matt looked at Leslie. "Ms. How" Ms. Jenkins flashed me a 'you're-losing-them' look I used to get in her class." He smiled sheepishly. "I fell into an old habit."

"I used to pair Matt with students who were shy." Leslie explained. "He has a gift for translating research by others into something everyone could understand. He often would do parallel research to assist his peers."

The father turned to look at the governor. "Did you," he air-quoted with his fingers, "research these people?"

Matt's tone was a bit defensive. "Yes."

Father Tomonaga glanced at Leslie. Then back at Matt. "Did anyone here today seem to be researching something that doesn't fit their background?"

Matt stared for about two seconds. It seemed much longer. "Decurion McTaggart has a Doctorate in Curriculum and Instruction from Tulane. Commander Green was a game developer at Electronic Arts. Signifer Enfield works for the Office of the Chief of Colonial Civil Service. She is working out of the Population Control Section. PCS has been charged with finding ways to increase the birth rate."

Matt froze a moment. Father Tomonaga started to stand. Marsha turned to Leslie. "Is he OK?"

"He's just thinking," Bill interjected. "Matt does this when he is recalling data."

"Mr. Jenkins is correct," Colinda confirmed. "We are accessing data from the ship Dr. Nguyen and her colleagues returned to."

"I am at a loss." Matt's tone was apologetic. "Dr. Nguyen has most of her experience with neonatal spinal defects." That little bit of information explained the loss. "The other two were a neurologist and pathologist." Matt then turned and stared at Bill. "They have been going over the records for the recovery of a Tiffany Jenkins."

The DE048 Sandgate maintained a geosynchronous position above the main settlement. Somebody at Central Command had a stick up his or her ass. Commander Rich Mead wished it were a swarm force knife. The doctor bitch and her two shadows had spent all afternoon monopolizing his long distance communication station. Even with explicit instructions from the Rear Admiral, he pondered the repercussions of spacing them, personally.

"Commander," Nguyen sounded smug. Whatever was to follow, Mead doubted he would like. "I have authorization to remove a concubine from the planet." As she strode past him, she handed him a set of orders. "You need to come with me."

Reading the papers, he slowed. He almost spoke aloud; then asked sub-vocally. <"Ship does she really have this authority?">

The AI quickly replied. <'That is the authorization she was given.'>

<"In the mission briefing it was made clear to me that this colony has a unique charter. Am I endangering my ship or crew?"> Commander Rich took seven steps. The silence after the fifth step troubled him. It never took this long to receive an answer.

Martha worked tying the final knot in a wall hanging. Her first commission as an artist. It came from a one of the other Confederacy member races, the Thring. A request from a gallery somewhere on the third planet she thought. Created with yarn, made from the first wool sheared and spun on Wayward, the beige colors varied in the knots as they, twisted and spiraled through the piece. For the first time Martha could see a beauty in something she created. This is how her man Alan must feel when he finishes at item at the forge.

"Are you done?" The voice belonged to Tiffany Jenkins. She was filling in for her sister concubine, Joyce. Today Joyce's daughter Lilly had invited her to a class party. Tiffany was labeling boxes for packing and delivery.

"I think so." Martha backed away to better view the one-and-a-half-meter by two-meter macramé. "I want Joyce to check the final knots."

A short dark haired woman entered flanked by a man in a naval uniform. "Tiffany, you need to come with me."

Martha looked at the woman. In those few seconds, every hackle she had stood on end.

"Corporal." The woman called out the door. A Marine that Martha could not identify stepped through the door. "Take these women to the nearest transporter."

He moved gracefully to where she and Tiffany stood. "Signorinas," he smiled placing his right hand on the middle of his chest. "Come with me, please." His left hand openly pointed at the door.

Seeing that Tiffany was starting to comply, Martha touched her arm. "I think we should stay here." Tiffany turned to look into Martha's eyes. A small nod from Tiffany showed she would follow Martha's lead. Martha interposed herself blocking access to Tiffany. "Vulcan, get Alan." Martha barked. Tiffany squeezed her elbow, "And Ray-ray."

"I have authorization from Central Command to take possession of the concubine, Tiffany Jenkins!" Martha swore the little woman hopped at each syllable. Her face was turning a darker brown. She was beginning to breathe through her clenched teeth.

"Doctor!" The naval officer turned to the woman. "Calm yourself!" They faced each other in a battle of wills.

Turning to face the others, the Hispanic Marine gave an instruction. "I'm not going to hurt you." He took a step away, toward the arguing pair.

Martha felt a tug at her elbow. "Shh," came from Tiffany as she pulled her toward the storage room. "In here."

As soon as the pair cleared the door, it closed. "Run the package sealer across the door." Vulcan's instructions were followed quickly. The seam between the door and the jam melded together before their eyes.

The power to the welder died. "Alan," the manufacturing AI, Vulcan called aloud. "Your concubine Martha is in potential danger at the Macramé Hut."

Even as Alan Rey shed the protective welding hood and gloves, his apprentices Freddie and Patrick were making a beeline for the door. Passing by the anvil, he grabbed his favorite five-pound ball-peen hammer. Martha was only three blocks away.

This new body wasn't designed for speed. Both of the apprentices had adopted Martha as their matriarch. Before he rounded the corner, Alan could see Ray-ray and Joshua, the colony cops, sprinting toward him. Every fiber panicked, Alan found a new burst of speed. He heard the sound of a stunner firing twice.

Entering the door, Alan saw the Marine spin toward him. He tossed the hammer and charged. His target sidestepped the missile attack. Alan closed the distance. A stunner swung toward him. It never fired. A Marines augmented body was designed to fight against an alien threat. Alan Rey was not an alien. He too possessed an augmented body, one designed to be a blacksmith. The Marine was trained to fight. Alan had fight experience too; he had finished third in the two Junior Golden Gloves Tournaments in Cleveland when he was a teenager.

The Marine swung the stunner toward Alan, using it like a set of brass knuckles. Alan ducked under the flailing blow. Shifting his weight to his toes, Alan moved close. A knee strike sought Alan's solar plexus. Dancing left, Alan caused his attacker's knee lift to slip along his torso. Pivoting into his opponent, Alan attacked. The right uppercut caught the Marine in his floating ribs. Instantaneously, they were no longer whole or attached to the costal cartilage. Stunned, the Marine had no defense. Alan's trainers had instilled in him rules about where not to strike. Even though the windpipe was open, his left hook battered the jaw.

Standing over the crumpled man, Alan relaxed. He turned, surveying the room. Other than himself, only a Naval Officer and a woman stood.

"You bastard!" The little woman locked her gaze on Alan. "I have authorization from Central Command to dissect that bitch! Your will get out of our way!"

He never responded. Why waste oxygen capacity on talking. Once more, the lessons ingrained by the boxing training from his youth came forward. 'Don't talk, punch.' Moving back to his toes, he powered toward her. This bitch wasn't getting near his Martha.

The Naval officer moved to intercept him. Alan began to press his attack. The officer shifted to a defensive tactic, slipping punches and blocking jabs. Alan probed for weakness. The officer was trying to lure Alan away from the doctor. That was his mistake.

"Freeze!' That voice belonged to Ray-ray. Alan pulled the arc of the right cross tight, missing the officer's exposed chin. The target bounced back. The counter punch connected with Alan's withdrawing left hand. Very little power transferred to Alan, the officer was responding to Ray-ray's direction. Neither of the combatants completely stood down. They backed away, ready to resume.

Coming into his field of vision slowly was Josh Polanski, the colony's chief law enforcement officer. Over the months, Alan had begrudgingly begun to like the man. His deep Georgia drawl proved to be a surprisingly effective weapon in diffusing confrontations.

"Gentlemen, step back a bit farther." The naval officer moved to shield the woman. Alan backed toward the storeroom door. "Thank you, we'll get to the bottom of this shortly." He looked back and forth from both men, making eye contact.

No one would listen to her. Dr. Nguyen had authority from Central Command. She called sub-vocally to the AI aboard the Sandgate. "I am invoking sealed orders subsection 3." She had tried to do this simply but these local idiots would not listen.

Josh looked at the color draining from Commander Mead's face. Josh moved forward ready to catch him if he collapsed. The commander turned to look at Josh mouthing 'My ship, fuck.'