A couple of days had gone by since the crawdad boil at the Beaumont-Fortier apartment. The Shepards' apartment was now somewhat more furnished than it was before, although the furniture was a far cry from high-end décor. Also, Martin had finally caught up with his schoolwork. For the first time since the move, he had a day with nothing to do except a few chores around the apartment. And Martin knew exactly how he wanted to spend his free time.
His first order of business was to sleep in, but eventually the holo-clock that sat on a gently used nightstand at his bedside started beeping. Martin switched off the alarm, rolled out of bed, went out to the kitchen, and grabbed an empty bowl and a box of dry cereal from the cupboards and a container of milk from the refrigerator. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, put the food away, grabbed a spoon, went out to the living room, plopped himself down on a new yet fairly cheap loveseat, switched on the vid-screen and tuned it to receive the broadcast he wanted to catch. A banner at the bottom of the screen read "Halcyon Station Local News." Captain Shepard was seated behind a desk in front of the camera, in full dress uniform. Martin knew perfectly well that everyone on the station who had access to a vid-screen and the time to catch this important broadcast would be watching his dad.
"People of Halcyon Station," the Captain greeted his audience, "I'm Captain Michael Shepard, Commanding Officer of the local Alliance Military garrison. This station was once a thriving center of commerce and prosperity, and while I cannot make false promises of a return to some idealized fiction of a nostalgic past, I'm here today to inform you that the Systems Alliance will not abandon Halcyon to decay. As our first of several renovation projects planned for the station, the Alliance, along with our partners in the Da Vinci System's branch of Eldfell-Ashland Energy, have plans to construct an Aid Center in Sector Three for the purpose of distributing food supplies and providing medical care to those in greatest need. Starting today, Eldfell-Ashland Energy will be looking to hire additional employees in their construction department in order to build the Aid Center, and to work on their future collaborative ventures with the Alliance for the improvement of this station. For those who wish to apply but do not have extranet access, several public extranet terminals have been set up at the checkpoint between Sectors Two and Three. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to seeing what the inhabitants of Halcyon Station can accomplish when we work together to build our future. Shepard out."
Martin smiled to himself as he switched off the vid-screen. He felt as if his heart had been overflowing with pride as he watched his father's announcement. Captain Shepard knew exactly how to phrase his speech in order to bring a flicker of hope to the station's populace, especially to those who'd had no reason to hope for a brighter future for years. And he spoke of the Alliance's joint venture with EAE as if the two institutions were already united in a common goal of promoting the good of the station, even though Martin knew perfectly well that, just a couple of days prior, John Beaumont had been pulling for his own agenda and was reluctant to get on board with the Captain's plan; Michael Shepard's ability to turn enemies into allies just by reasoning with them seemed almost miraculous to his son. Martin could only wish that someday he would become just as heroic a man as his father, that he would make his parents as proud of him as he was of them, and that he would live up to the name of Shepard.
With those thoughts still in his mind, Martin went to take a shower, and then he put on his usual everyday outfit of a sweatshirt, a pair of those hybrid jeans/cargo pants, socks and athletic shoes. Before leaving the apartment, he went into the kitchen, made a peanut butter sandwich, slipped it into a sealed travel bag just big enough to hold it and stuffed the wrapped sandwich into one of his pockets, just in case he got too busy exploring the station's main street hallway to get back in time for lunch. Then he slid his apartment card key into another pocket, along with an ID card that showed he was a family member of Alliance Military personnel, a communication device in case his parents needed to get in touch with him for any reason, and a bank chit that linked to the minor's account that his parents had set up for him. He only had about a dozen galactic standard credits' worth of money from his allowance in his account at the moment, but he had a pretty good idea of where he wanted to spend it.
Martin left his father's apartment and headed out into the main hallway. He looked around for a moment in order to make sure of where he was going, and then he headed off in the general direction of the arcade he'd seen when he first arrived on the station.
He'd almost reached his destination when he saw a woman approaching from the opposite direction. She wore a tattered old miner's outfit, she walked with an obvious limp, her long white hair hung down in greasy strands, she smelled like she hadn't bathed in at least a week, and she had a vacant look in her light blue eyes. "The Lion has come," she proclaimed to nobody in particular, "to lead the beasts of the jungle into a new age of justice. His mighty fangs and sharp claws shall rend the flesh of his foes, and he shall rule with —" She cut her own rant short as her empty eyes took note of Martin's presence. "Hello, Cub," she greeted him. "Could you spare fifteen credits for a poor elder to buy a meal?"
"I-I don't have fifteen credits on me right now," Martin stammered, mentally reminding himself that this crazy lady was just another down-on-her-luck inhabitant of a space station plagued by poverty issues, "but I can give you this, if you need something to eat." He reached into his pocket, pulled out the sandwich in its bag, and offered it to her. "It's peanut butter, just so you know."
The woman grinned, showing yellowed teeth, as she accepted Martin's gift. "Truly, there is a compassionate heart within you, Cub. So many beasts prey on others rather than show them mercy."
"Hold it right there," a voice barked from the other side of the hallway. Martin turned to see an Alliance patrol marching towards them.
The patrol leader stomped right up to the woman with a scowl on his face and snatched the sandwich out of her hand. She let out a shrill screech, "NO! MINE!"
"What are you doing?!" Martin asked the soldiers, shocked and confused.
"Don't worry, kid," the patrol leader replied gruffly. "The Alliance Military is on the job. We won't let this thief get away with stealing from you."
"She didn't steal that from me," Martin protested. "I gave it to her. Leave her alone, or I'm going to report this."
"Who's the brass going to believe, the NCO in charge of this patrol or some dumb kid?"
Martin glowered at the soldiers, but he knew his father wouldn't approve if he tried to pull the 'do you know who my dad is?' card. "The least you could do is give the stupid sandwich back to me."
"This is evidence. I have to confiscate it. Rules are rules."
"Jackals' hearts in lions' skins," the mad lady muttered.
"Shut up, you crazy old witch! Or I'll make you shut up," the patrol leader growled as he clenched his fists.
The woman looked at the soldiers with an icy expression. "Just try to bite, jackals, and you'll see a witch's dark magic!"
Martin had been so focused on the escalating confrontation that he hadn't even noticed Padre Bonomo approaching, but now the chaplain stepped right into the middle of the group and held up his hands, palms facing out towards the soldiers and the crazy lady as a gesture of peace. "There's no need for that, Mrs. Harlow," he said to the woman in a calm voice. "I'll buy you something to eat, and then I'll take you back home to Sector Three."
"Look, boys," the patrol leader guffawed, "one useless relic shows up to save another! Face it, chaplain, your ancient superstitions and tyrannical religion have no place in a world in which science has led humanity to conquer the stars."
The chaplain turned his head and shoulders to face the patrol. "There's nothing you can say to mock me that hasn't been parroted from one person to another down the centuries, Corporal Reeves. All the science in the universe will never be enough to change human nature, and 'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' But if I may offer a bit of advice, next time you try to to 'confiscate' lunch from a teenage boy and an elderly woman, make sure the boy in question isn't your Commanding Officer's son."
The soldiers' demeanor shifted abruptly as they realized they'd screwed up. Corporal Reeves quickly handed the sandwich back to Martin. "Just a joke," he said with a nervous chuckle. Martin shoved the sandwich in its bag back into his pocket, still glaring at the Corporal. "Move out," Reeves ordered his troops. "We're done here." With that, the patrol marched off.
Mrs. Harlow started meandering towards the café, muttering to herself, as Martin and Padre Bonomo watched the patrol go to make sure they'd left for good. "I see you've met Julia Harlow," the chaplain said in a quiet voice to the teen boy. "She and her husband used to work at a refinery in this system, before an explosion at the refinery left her traumatically injured and seven other workers dead, including her husband. Well, I'd better catch up with her before she forgets I offered to buy her a late breakfast. It was kind of you to give her your lunch, but you can keep it — it's better that she have a chance to get something with a bit more substance than a peanut butter sandwich. Nice to see you again, Martin."
"You too, Padre," Martin called as the chaplain hurried to catch up with Mrs. Harlow.
The teenager started heading towards the arcade again, but he couldn't help but feel as if the world he thought he knew had been shaken to its foundations and was beginning to crumble. Until now, he'd grown up admiring the Alliance soldiers around him, believing each and every one of them to be an exemplar of integrity. Yet he'd just witnessed a group of Alliance soldiers attempt to abuse their power in order to commit a ridiculously petty act of robbery against someone who had practically nothing to her name. Not only that, their attitude about it was so brazen, it was clear that they were accustomed to getting clean away with this kind of rotten behavior. Martin hadn't wanted to face it when Beaumont hinted that the station's previous Commanding Officers had been easy to manipulate, but there was no way to deny the evidence now. Those who Martin previously believed to be incorruptible had proven themselves corrupt.
Martin walked through the front door of the arcade and into a large room, decorated in a dark blue color scheme accented with occasional pops of neon green. Most of the light in the room emanated from the screens of various game machines. There were also a few medium-sized holographic screens on the far wall displaying top 10 scores for the most popular games. Martin wandered around a bit, taking in his surroundings, when he noticed Benoit standing on a small square platform, staring intently at a little patch of holographic landscape directly in front of him. He was using a fake hunting rifle wired to the platform to blast animated holograms of wild creatures that Martin didn't recognize. That platform was one of several, all arranged next to each other in a row, with the words "Galactic Game Hunter" written on a holographic sign above them. Renée stood off to the side, looking bored.
Benoit fired the gun/controller a few more times, then practically slammed it back on its storage rack in gamer rage as an automated, masculine-sounding VI voice joyfully announced he'd earned 575 points — a decent score, but not nearly enough to land him on the leaderboard. Martin glanced over at the screen that showed the rankings for Galactic Game Hunter, and the number 10 spot belonged to someone with the username "LtDarkLord" and a score of 1150.
"Okay, you've beaten your personal best," Martin overheard Renée say to her brother exasperatedly. "Can we go play something else now?"
"No way! I have to get on the leaderboard," Benoit protested.
"Hey Renée, Benoit," Martin greeted the siblings as he walked up to them. "What's going on?"
"Beignet here got it in his head that if he gets a high score at this game, he'll prove that he's as good a shot as the best marksmen in the garrison," Renée explained. "He's been at it pretty much all morning. But what's been going on with you? You seem kind of tense. Nothing went wrong with your dad's big announcement, right?"
"The announcement went great, but my day's gone downhill from there. I got stopped by an Alliance patrol on my way here, and they tried to take the sandwich I'd brought with me — they said it was 'stolen goods' and 'evidence,' but everyone involved knew perfectly well that was a load of bull."
"Oh yeah, that kind of thing happens all the time," Benoit replied casually. "Soldiers get to do whatever they want as long as they don't make the wrong people mad."
"Well, they shouldn't get to do whatever they want," Martin retorted, trying to keep his voice down and not take his anger out on a kid who hadn't done him any harm.
Renée looked over Martin's outfit. "You might not have been a target if you were a bit better dressed. Not that there's anything wrong with what you're wearing now, but without even a single designer accessory, it was probably hard for them to tell whether you were from Sector Two or Three. There was no way they could've known your dad's the Captain; how do you expect people to be able to tell you're a VIP unless you own it?"
"Believe me, I know there was economic prejudice involved — that makes it even worse. Alliance soldiers should fight with honor to defend the innocent. And the fact that they've been getting away with this injustice — it's so… so… argh!" Martin paused for a few seconds and took a deep breath. "I need to do something to take my mind off this stuff. Hey, Benoit, how about a two-player round at this game? If you beat my score, you'll get to say you're a better shot than the Captain's son. Would that be as cool as a spot on the leaderboard?"
"Almost," Benoit admitted. "It'd be enough to get me to forget about the Galactic Game Hunter leaderboard for now and go play something else like Renée wants."
"And if you win?" Renée asked Martin.
Martin couldn't think of anything he wanted to ask Benoit for, but when it came to Renée… Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if the venturing was done rather sheepishly. "Um… If I win, would you be okay with, uh, going out with me sometime?" he asked, looking down at the floor and shifting his weight back and forth as if he suddenly needed to use the bathroom.
Renée shrugged her shoulders. "Sure. Why not?"
A wide grin spread across Benoit's face. "Ooh! Renée's got a boyfriend," he teased.
Martin felt his face grow warmer, and he hoped to high heaven that his blushing wasn't visually detectable. "Let's just do this." He stepped up onto the platform right next to Benoit's and picked up the fake gun that was wired to it. Then he pressed his bank chit against the machine's scanner, which was an arcade game of the 22nd century's equivalent of dropping a coin in the slot. Benoit did the same thing on his machine with a bank chit that contained his allowance, and when the arcade machines' holo-screens asked them if they wanted to enter two-player mode, they both pressed "yes," then typed their chosen usernames on a holo-keyboard that appeared in front of them temporarily for that purpose.
A shimmering red-tinted mirage of a dense jungle manifested before the two competitors. In the mirage, some kind of canine-looking creature with scales, bulging eyes, and a wicked set of fangs dashed out from the foliage. Benoit pulled the trigger on his rifle/controller, and a flash of light appeared on the creature's flank to show where the shot had made contact, but the holographic creature kept running. Martin waited until it was in front of him and the timing appeared to be just right, and then he made his shots. Two flashes appeared on the creature's head, one on the snout and the other just behind the eye, and the creature fell to the ground, disintegrated into cubes, and then the cubes disappeared. The number 5 appeared in Benoit's corner of the holo-display, and the number 15 in Martin's corner; they both got points for successfully shooting the simulated creature, but Martin got bonus points for making the kill.
Martin and Benoit kept playing, and more simulated alien wildlife rushed through the holographic shooting gallery in waves — first a few more of those lone scaly canines, then several packs of them, and then larger creatures. Doing well at this game required a keen eye and quick reaction time, so it wouldn't have surprised Martin if each and every spot on the game's leaderboard truly was occupied by the usernames of the top sharpshooters in the station's garrison. In the end, Martin and Benoit finished off some kind of extraterrestrial big game animal that was almost too large to fit in the designated holographic space — this served as the boss level — and Martin checked his score. 730. Not too shabby, especially for a beginner. Then Martin glanced over at Benoit and saw the look of disappointment on the kid's face as he stared at his own final score of 685; he'd gone well beyond his own personal record, but it hadn't been enough to beat Martin. "Congratulations, RobinHood, you win," the game's VI voice proclaimed.
Then, for a brief moment, Martin thought he saw an orange glow around Renée's left arm. "Recalculating score," the VI voice droned as Benoit's numbers began to blink and cycle through different numerals. After a moment, Benoit's score settled at 735. "Congratulations, FutureN7," the VI announced, "you win."
"Hey, what the —?" Martin started to protest.
"I did it?" Benoit exclaimed incredulously. "I — I actually did it! I beat the Captain's brat, even though he's older than me! I'm the best!" He jumped off the platform with a whoop of excitement and began running circles around the other arcade machines.
Martin stepped off his own platform and crossed his arms as he watched Benoit dashing about all over the place. "Fine display of sportsmanship there, kid," he commented sarcastically. "And I saw that omni-tool, Renée. If you don't want to go out with me, you could've just said so."
"It's not that, really," Renée countered apologetically. "I didn't mean for it to look like I was rejecting you. I'm just so bored of watching Ben play the same dumb game all morning, and I really, really, really want to do something else."
"But you did hack the score," Martin pointed out, "and that was cheating."
"It's just a game. No big deal. I tweak my scores a little bit all the time — not enough to get caught, but enough that I rack up the points to earn an extra prize every once in a while. And even if I got caught, it's not like the owners of this place would do anything about it; they get too much of their business from off-duty soldiers to risk ticking off the garrison's Executive Officer."
"Again, that all makes it worse." Martin paused for a moment, then let out a sharp breath. "I'm going home for lunch. Catch you later."
"Okay, Martin," Renée responded, sounding a bit confused as to why he was so upset. "See ya."
Martin stormed across Halcyon's main street hallway towards the apartments, practically fuming. Then he slowed down and calmed down as an idea occurred to him. He turned around, started walking in the other direction, took his communication device out of his pocket and called his father. "Dad?" he asked over the communicator, "It's me, Martin. Sorry to interrupt your work day, but I have something important to tell you."
"Can it wait, son? Or, at least, can you tell me about it quick right now, over the comm? I'm in the middle of reviewing blueprints for the new Aid Center."
"Sorry, Dad. I have to talk to you in person, and it can't wait. I'm on my way to the base right now."
"All right. I'll see you when you get here."
"Okay, Dad. See you soon." Then he put his communicator away in his pocket, took his sandwich out of another pocket, unwrapped it and started to eat as he walked.
By the time he finished his sandwich and slipped the empty bag back into his pocket, he'd arrived at the gateway to Halcyon Station's Alliance Military base — a heavily-guarded hole in the metal wall that was just big enough to drive an M-29 Grizzly through if necessary. Martin used his military family ID to pass through the checkpoint at the gate, and one of the guards escorted him to a waiting room while another radioed the Captain to inform him that his son was here to see him.
Martin sat down, and several minutes later, his father entered the room. "What is it, Martin?" Captain Shepard asked, with genuine concern in his voice. He knew his son was old enough that he could take care of himself most of the time, so if Martin was suddenly showing up in the middle of Captain Shepard's work day, there must've been a problem.
Martin glanced at the guard. "Can we talk in private, Dad?"
Captain Shepard ordered the guard to wait outside, and when he was out of the room and out of earshot, Martin told his father all about his first excursion into Halcyon Station beyond the walls of their apartment — about Corporal Reeves' attempt to bully and rob him and Mrs. Harlow, and about Renée's hacking the arcade game.
Captain Shepard was quiet for a moment after Martin finished his story. "Thank you for reporting Corporal Reeves' misconduct," he stated. "I'll be sure to keep an eye on him from now on. I'll have to thank Padre Bonomo for resolving the situation."
"You're not going to punish Corporal Reeves?" Martin asked incredulously.
"I'm seriously considering reassigning him to latrine-scrubbing duty for the time being — along with the rest of his patrol, if it turns out they're as complicit as they appear to be — but I can't court-martial him just for attempted robbery of a peanut butter sandwich," Captain Shepard replied.
"But it was obvious that he's done this kind of stuff before and gotten away with it," Martin protested.
"It was my predecessors' responsibility to discipline their troops when incidents like this happened under their command. Even if they failed in that responsibility, it's not my place to do their jobs for them after-the-fact. All I can do is lead this garrison to the best of my ability now, and try to get any of these soldiers who've grown accustomed to committing petty little abuses of power like the one you described back in line."
"But you got Mr. Beaumont to agree to help you with the Alliance's plans to build that Aid Center," Martin commented, "so whipping the garrison into shape shouldn't be any problem for you, right?"
"It's not that simple," the Captain explained. "John Beaumont knows a good business deal when he sees one. He wasn't about to turn down the contract that I offered to EAE on behalf of the Alliance, regardless of whether or not he sees the point of trying to improve Sector Three. But you can't bribe a corrupt soldier to stop being corrupt; that would be like trying to make a sieve hold water by drilling more holes in it."
"So… you didn't persuade Mr. Beaumont to change his mind about the people in Sector Three?" Martin asked, almost unable to believe that what he'd thought was his father's marvelous maneuver of convincing Beaumont to join the side of justice really only boiled down to money.
"I persuaded him that changing his course of action towards the situation in Sector Three would benefit him," Shepard replied. "Sometimes that's all you can do, but sometimes that's all it takes to establish the collaboration that gets the job done. Even if everyone involved is getting the job done for their own reasons."
Martin's lofty and rather naïve youthful idealism was taking a serious beating that day. "Dad, I… I should go."
"All right, son. I'll see you back at home." With that, Captain Shepard opened the door and summoned the guard back in to escort Martin to the gate. Martin meandered back to the apartments in Sector Two from there, alone and heavy-hearted.
In the hallway near the elevator, he encountered Renée and Benoit again. "Oh, hey, Martin," Renée greeted him. "I thought you said you were heading home a while ago."
"Yeah, you left before I could challenge you to a rematch," Benoit piped up. "I'd really like to beat you again sometime."
"I decided to take a walk before going home," Martin responded. His explanation was technically true, but he didn't feel like going into detail about where he'd been, especially since that would probably lead Renée to figure out that he'd told his father about her hacking the arcade games.
However, she was about to figure that out anyway. Martin heard the door to the main street behind him slide open, immediately followed by the Commander's voice bellowing "Renée Jolie Fortier! What's the meaning of all this about you cheating at the arcade? Not to mention the humiliation of hearing about my own daughter dealing in flimflammery from my Commanding Officer, of all people."
Renée glared daggers at Martin and hissed, "Snitch!"
"Consider yourself grounded," Commander Fortier continued to lecture his daughter. "For the next two weeks, you're not leaving the house — no hanging out with your siblings and friends at the arcade or the shops or wherever else. Also, since you were so keen on using your omni-tool to rig the arcade games in your favor and claim prizes you didn't earn, no omni-tool for the next two weeks either."
"But, Dad —" Renée tried to protest.
"Don't you 'but, Dad' me, young lady! You're grounded and that's final."
"Wait… You tricked me," Benoit accused his sister as he realized what had actually happened back at the arcade. "You made me think I'd won when I really hadn't, just to mess with me. You oughta get grounded for life for that."
"Shut up, Beignet," Renée seethed. Then she turned on Martin. "This is all your fault."
"That's three more days added to your grounding for trying to blame someone else for the consequences of your own actions," Fortier countered. "I'd better not hear one more peep out of either of you until we get home. Come on." They boarded the elevator and headed up to their apartment. Martin found himself alone again. He returned to his own apartment and flopped down on his bed. To say that he had a lot to process would've been an understatement.
Meanwhile, in a small cavern amid the dark and twisting stone tunnels that made up the majority of Sector Three, slightly less than a dozen boys and girls in their mid to late teens were gathering. About half of them loitered on one side of the room, and the other half filed in through the tunnels on the other side. They all wore shabby miners' clothes. The smaller bunch of them consisted of four teens, three male and one female; each of them had a stylized tattoo of a red tiger on their upper arm and red and orange paint splashed on their clothing. There were five in the bigger bunch, three male and two female, and each of them had a silhouette of a flying bird of prey drawn on the chests of their miners' overalls in black. There was a strong sense of tension between the two groups.
One of the bird of prey group, a tall, lanky boy with black hair and eyes, stepped forward to address the whole assembly. "Shadow Eagles," he said to his own group proudly, then followed up with "Flame Tigers," practically spat at the other group, "I guess you're all wondering why I invited you here to this spot on the border between our turfs."
The leader of the Flame Tigers was a teen boy who also had black hair and eyes, but was slightly shorter than his rival. He stepped forward to face his enemies and scowled. "If you're looking for a fight, Baishan, you've got one."
"I hope you and your gang weren't stupid enough to show up sandblasted after I told you we'd all need our wits about us, Nguyên," Baishan retorted.
"My Tigers never confront an enemy without their power," Nguyên countered. "For now, I'm ignoring the burning in my veins enough to keep it together, but if I give the word, they'll pluck you Eagles and smear the stones with your pathetic corpses."
An angry murmur arose among the ranks of the Shadow Eagles, but Baishan held up one hand to quiet his followers. "Right now, we've both got a bigger enemy than each other. Or were you bunch of red sand junkies too high to pay attention to the Alliance Captain's big announcement this morning?"
"Yeah, we heard," Nguyên grumbled. "The Alliance is planning to set up some kind of charity med center over here. That's really going to cut into our profits."
"Keep in mind that we Eagles make a decent chunk of change selling black-market medicine too," Baishan mentioned. "Except for each other, our gangs pretty much have a monopoly on health care in this sector. But that Captain is plotting to ruin it. Why would anyone bother to meet our prices if they can just go to some Aid Center and get medical care for free?"
"I know, but it's not like there's anything we can do about it."
"That's where you're wrong. If we call a temporary truce and work together —"
"Are you saying we take on the Alliance Military?" Nguyên interrupted his foe. "That's crazy! They've got a base full of soldiers, armed to the teeth, and that's just on Halcyon — out there, they've got fleets and armies and who knows what else! We're nothing more than the local gangs."
"We can't take on the whole Alliance," Baishan explained. "But if we cooperate with each other, we can hit them where it hurts, hard enough that Captain Shepard will think twice about messing with the Shadow Eagles or the Flame Tigers."