The meeting hall was roughly triangular, the rows
of form-fit seats molded into the deck which sloped
downward toward a slightly raised platform jammed
into a corner. Alongside the platform a meter-wide
view tank rose from the deck to merge with the
overhead. A single cable snaked from the view
tank's base and disappeared into the nearby
bulkhead.
The six inmates entered, milled about, silent,
their features without expressions. In their own
time, they each took seats, several empties apart.
The first three rows remained vacant.
Hodak broke the silence. "The Blue Plate Special
the Looie gave didn't sound right," he growled.
"I want to know more about what he was gettin' at
with that crack about our schedule 'being different'."
Adari turned, eyebrows raised, to stare at him
thoughtfully. She nodded slowly and turned back
to join the others to focus on a figure perched
on a high stool beside the view tank.
He looked tall, despite his being seated. A
slate-gray uniform covered him from neck to ankles;
his feet shod in high-top deck slippers that matched
the shade of his garment. He wore no insignia. Long,
crowded features and tawny space-worn skin formed
a face of planes and angles. His hairless head and
long hands looked like they might have been hacked
from a block of Mercurian tuscanite and left to
weather for a few million years in the sun's glare.
The hall quieted. Satisfied that he had their
attention, the man stood. The mere suggestion of
height, seated, did not do him justice. He unfolded
like an articulated, mechanical crane. Fully
extended, his towering frame rose more than
two meters from heels to naked, gleaming scalp.
His first words took Hodak's challenge.
"You will know, Hodak." His voice was soft, and
carried the gravity of authority.
His eyes moved from one to the other.
"What I say here applies to all of you," he said.
"I will not answer all of your questions, but you
will be told all you need to know at this time."
He stepped down toward them from the dais,
halting inside the curve of the first row of seats.
"I am Ram Xindral," he said, "your orientation
lecturer, your trainer and, should you need one,
your counselor. I am also your Control. Take
specific note of the term 'control'. It has only
one meaning: you are in a prison, but from here on
take no orders from prison staff. You take your
orders only from me; I am not 'prison' staff."
"What the hell!"
Hodak again, bouncing up, down, up again. Adari,
her mouth open in surprise and alarm, also stood,
paused, and moved to stand beside Hodak. Zolan
remained seated, his hooded eyes on Xindral. Kumiko
shifted position slightly and stared vacantly at
the deck. Myra remained motionless, her face also
closed. Brad, brows drawn into a frown, crossed
his arms, waiting.
"Hah! This sure as hell isn't the standard
orientation lecture for new inmates." Adari's
jeering laugh burst from her in a sardonic cascade.
"No, Adari, it isn't," Ram said with a smile, "but
hear me out."
The hall was suddenly charged with tension and
wariness. Hodak remained on his feet, bent forward,
hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him,
challenge in his eyes.
Xindral clasped his hands behind his back. The
gesture tightened his frame and seemed to increase
his height. He faced away from them, strode back
to stand beside the view tank and turned. Hodak
grunted, sat, muttered under his breath; Adari took
the seat alongside, leaned in toward Hodak, listened
to him mumble, and grinned, nudged and nodded.
"Details later," Xindral continued. "Let's get
this first part over with. I'll talk. Cut in with
questions if you must, and bitch if it helps; we'll
get to know each other better. If you take off
on a tangent, so be it. I'll go along, within limits.
I didn't expect this to be a monologue, by far.
It'll take a while, but you'll get the information
I intend you to have."
An uneasy shifting about ensued. The prisoners
weren't buying. Brad sensed the apprehension in
the others that he felt in himself. Xindral's opening
remarks along with his aura projected formidable
power despite his slender frame.
"Before we continue," Xindral said, "know that
you are not quartered in the penal section of the
station. The usual new arrivals don't get this sort
of attention. Furthermore, the lectures given
to them are confined to station routines. Their
processing includes a few tests that are evaluated
for basic intelligence and skills. It helps the
staff assign them to shops, rehab training,
and eventually for return to the outside world.
You're not that lucky."
Xindral's last words jolted Hodak back on to his
feet.
"Look, whoever the hell you are," he rumbled,
jabbing a stubby finger at Xindral, "let's cut out
the crap about our luck. First the Looie, now you,
puttin' on this mystery act with fancy hints that
don't make sense. You said we're allowed to ask
questions. OK, here's one: am I an inmate in this
prison or not?"
"You are, and you aren't," Xindral shrugged.
"That's my answer at this time. As we talk,
the picture will clear."
Xindral's face flexed into a grin.
The animosity in the hall was palpable, exacerbated
by Xindral's evasive response to a fair question.
As Hodak grumbled his way back down into his seat
the elongated figure drew a flat, palm-sized control
from a sheath fastened to his belt and pressed an
embedded key.
The view tank's haze cleared to the standard solar
schematic. The scene faded, replaced by a ring of
tiny multicolored lights: the Asteroid Belt.
"This display is tailored to the general run of
inmates processed through orientation, just to give
them an idea where they are. Their familiarity with
deep space is often limited, so station lectures
start with fundamentals. We'll pass on this."
Brad tensed at Xindral's choice of words, and
sensed the others had been similarly alerted.
He glanced sideways. His companions, as he,
stared at one another as if seeing them for
the first time. Were they of a kind?
Xindral continued as if he hadn't noticed.
"A footnote," he said. "The Belt's been cleared of
almost all rocks and swarms, plus the big ones that
we couldn't use for outposts. As you may recall
from your school days, it wasn't easy hauling
micro-spunnel terminals around the Belt and ramming
rocks into the hoppers for transfer to meltdown and
refining above Venus.
"In short, the big space sweeps of five to eight
hundred years ago cleared away most of the residue
in Belt orbits that had no beneficial purpose and
were a hazard to traffic. The Belt was a good
source for minerals -- while it lasted."
He paused to key the instrument in his hand.
"That's done," he said. "What's left are only a few
of the big asteroids, like Ceres. They serve both
regions as Solar Spacetrack Centers, communications
relays, search and rescue operations, space lanes
debris collection teams, urgent care hospitals, and
for spunnel gateways management."
As he spoke the ring of lights in the tank
flickered. Another ring formed, evenly spaced rods,
each glowing a contrasting color.
"The Guardian Stations," Xindral said, "have been
in position for more than six centuries. Twenty
stations; no more are planned."
The tank zoomed in on five of the twenty rods
in a quarter segment of the full orbit; the rods
expanded to form slowly rotating cylinders.
"The Guardians are apportioned among four
generally equal sectors, any one of which serves
the quadrant that it happens to transit at the
time. Responsibilities and missions overlap, and
are passed along from the station moving out of a
quadrant to the one entering it along the common
orbital path. Using standard and hyperspace
omnidirectional surveillance, each station's
primary job is to monitor its sector: inward toward
the Sun, and outward to the rim and beyond as far as
our technical capabilities extend. The service areas
change constantly in keeping with the alignments
and dynamics of planets and their satellites,
traffic-lane management, neutralizing debris
intrusions, and conventional and spunnel teleport
maintenance."
Xindral folded himself back on to the high stool as
he spoke.
"After the political separation of the Inner and
Outer Regions these Guardian Stations reverted
to us by the treaty. Formally, they serve only the
Inner Region's jurisdictions. Informally, however,
the stations cover the entire system; to do
otherwise would bring about enormous disruptions
and disasters in space traffic and communications.
"The Guardians' functions include standard and
spunnel communications, disaster relief, search and
rescue of distressed spacecraft, intercepting and
diverting comets-of-hazard, meteors, debris and
other threats to traffic in the space-ways that
serve the Inner Region's space colonies needs.
Often the Outer Region's folks help when their
interests are involved; just as often they don't.
It's one of the prices we pay for this political
breach, and one of the most frustrating."
Zolan turned to aim a remark at Adari. She giggled
and elbowed Hodak. He growled and twisted away.
Kumiko's eyes lifted from the deck to lazily roam
the blank overhead.
Myra's face openly played non-listener. Brad
continued to observe Xindral closely, glancing
occasionally at the tank.
Aware that he was losing his audience, Xindral
paused and stood quietly for a moment.
"Do my words bore you?" He leaned forward to
take them all in. His voice, still soft, nevertheless
exposed a cutting edge.
Zolan looked at Xindral as he contemptuously gave
the tank the back of his hand.
"Who're you trying to kid?" His challenge was
cast low, tight. "I don't know about the rest of
these folks. I haven't asked any of them about
themselves, nor have they tried to check me out.
But you wouldn't have brought us together without
first investigating us for whatever your purpose
might be. For example; you must know I'm a space
communicator. So, frankly, your rambling on like
this not only bores me, its phoniness is clear and
insulting."
Hodak slapped his knee and laughed. He pointed at
Zolan, then wagged his finger at Ram.
"Comm isn't my beat," he said. Thumbing over his
shoulder at Zolan, he added, "but what he said goes
for me."
Xindral brushed the keys on the control and
returned it to its case. The view tank faded
as he fixed his eyes on Zolan.
"Yes, Zolan, I am familiar with your background."
Shifting to Hodak, "Yours, too." His glance widened
to include the others, "as I am with the backgrounds
of you all."
In response, the prisoners silently glared defiance.
"Zolan's observation is correct and on point,"
Xindral said, ignoring their disdain. "We're not
fooling one another. Simply stated, you have much
in common. You are professional space men and
space women, and highly qualified at that. Your
skills and resourcefulness remain with you and
I am aware of them."
Slouchers straightened. Hodak and Adari looked
around and their faces broke into grins, which were
returned. Tension remained, but subtly altered.
"A couple of points," said Xindral. "First, you are
all from sunside of the Belt and you are not known,
as far as my sources can determine, where I don't
want you to be. Second, together, you represent a
cross-section of space professions and experience
vital to the success of an important and urgent
task. What you are going to be asked to do will
place your lives at risk. You will need to rely on
each other, personally and professionally, under
difficult circumstances."
Brad had enough.
"Now let's just wait a minute!"
Brad was on his feet, instantly joined by the
others.
Xindral, head cocked slightly to one side, sat
and listened.
"Zolan said it first," said Brad. "None of us
speaks for the others, so what I say is for
myself. Who are you to force me -- us -- into
a life-risk situation?"
The words, tightened in long-suppressed rage,
spewed forth.
"You just counted off a couple of 'points'." Brad
raised his hand, index finger raised. "Now here's
one for you. I'm here because I was convicted
of a so-called offense against society. No way
do I consider myself a criminal; furthermore, I
don't know if these others," motioning in their
direction, "consider themselves criminals or not.
Again, I say, not my business. I'm here to serve
a prison sentence, and that doesn't include doing
odd jobs where my life goes on the line."
Brad and Xindral faced each other across
tension-charged space. The momentary
confrontation passed, Brad, obviously fed up
with Xindral's evasions, crossed his arms across
his chest and waited. The tall man studied him.
"Your point is well made," he said. "You have
forced the issue forward, and your challenge
must be answered before we go much further.
Here are a few of the pieces. Think about them."
He stepped back on to the platform and took his
seat.
"You were selected only after a searching
investigation into your backgrounds," he said.
"We considered your records, personalities,
and your capabilities: phys and psy, professional
skills, job performance, resiliency, whatever the
task I assign to you will likely call for.
"You are now a UIPS task group, for want of a
better designation. One of you will be appointed
Commander. You will be given a job to do. You
will depend on each other in most difficult
circumstances: your records for reliability
under stress were among the selection criteria.
You were acceptable.
"As to your appointment, that was made by an
authority outside this station, actually, outside
the Correctional Service of which this penal
institution is a part. From the time you were
moved into the holding cells for transfer here, you
came under the jurisdiction of a Ministry that is
involved with the most vital interests of the UIPS.
The specifics of your mission will be covered in our
next session."
"The hell you say." Hodak bounced again. "You're
still dangling us on a string. Lay the whole bit
out. Now!"
Nods and grunts followed Hodak's demand.
"Very well," Xindral said, after a short pause.
"Actually, there's no reason to delay your marching
orders."
His voice flattened.
"By direction of the President of the United Inner
Planetary System you are appointed to the Strategic
Penetrations Detachment of the Ministry of
Intelligence. Your unit identifier is 'Sentinels'.
Your unit commander is Brad Curtin, present.
"Copies of your orders are in a secured file in
the Ministry of Intelligence. A copy is temporarily
posted in your core compartment. When you read it,
note that all requests for release or reassignment
are denied."
Xindral folded back into his normal, slightly bowed
posture. His audience, frozen, stared at him blankly.
"That's it for now." Xindral ordered, the flatness
gone. "Return to your compartment and report
back here in an hour. Brad, please stand by."