Pick Up

DATE: Year 308-B, Sol 478

LOCATION: NEC Frigate Custodian (Brig)

Captain Clinton sat handcuffed to a steel table. His flak jacket had been confiscated. Without the armor, he looked small. Just a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a bruise on his jaw.

Warden May sat across from him. He scrolled through a datapad with the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much paperwork.

-You know the problem with conspiracies, Clinton? May asked, not looking up.

Clinton didn't answer. He stared at his hands.

-They leave a paper trail, May finished.

He slid the pad across the table. It showed a financial transfer. A massive one, from the MTC Department of Asset Management to the EZM High Commission Charities Fund.

-That’s a forgery, Clinton croaked.

-It came off the block chain, May said. The account numbers are verified. Vanderpool was sloppy.

May swiped the screen. A new document appeared. A flight plan.

-And this, he said. The Dead Men protocol. We recovered this off the Defiance’s data core before your crew could wipe it.

It was an executive order signed by Vanderpool. Objective: Total loss of asset. No survivors.

-You sold them, Clinton. The MTC paid the EZM leadership to send that fleet to Earth. It wasn't a pilgrimage. It was a disposal service.

May leaned forward. His eyes were hard.

-Why?

-I just follow orders, Clinton spit back.

-Not anymore, May said.

He tapped the table. A news feed projected onto the wall.

MTC PRESS RELEASE: Rogue elements of the Earth Zionist Movement seize MTC vessel ‘Defiance’. Corporation pledges full cooperation with NEC investigation.

Clinton’s face went pale. He read the headline twice.

-Vanderpool disavowed you, May said softly. To the solar system, you aren't a corporate officer. You’re a pirate.

-He wouldn't, Clinton whispered.

-He did. And pirates don't get trials. They get sent to the sulfur mines on Io.

May stood up. He walked to the door.

-You won’t last six months in the pits, Clinton. Your lungs are too soft.

-Wait, Clinton said.

May stopped, his hand on the doorframe.

-If I give you the keys, Clinton stammered. If I give you the encryption for the Department of Asset Management. What do I get?

-Protective custody, May said. A cell with a window. And real air.

Clinton swallowed. He looked at the news feed, at the face of the executive who had cut him loose.

-The codes are in my implant, Clinton said. File 77-Alpha.

May signaled the guard.

-Process him. Extract the data.

May walked out of the brig and onto the bridge of the Custodian. It was a hive of activity. Officers monitored the shipping lanes of the Checkpoint Zone.

-Sir? the comms officer asked.

May handed him a data-chip.

-I have the encryption keys for the MTC Asset Management division.

-What are your orders, Warden?

May looked out the viewport at the distant stars. He thought about the refugee fleet limping toward Venus. He thought about the pilot who had stood up to a warship with a garbage truck.

-Execute a System-Wide Asset Freeze, May ordered.

-Sir? The officer blinked. That’s a declaration of economic war.

-They started it, May said. Freeze their accounts. Flag every ship on their payroll as hostile. Ground their shuttles.

May watched the command execute on the main screen. Red warning lights began to blink across the sector map as MTC bank accounts locked down.

-Let’s see how loyal their dogs are when the paychecks stop clearing.