Hades- the Revolution, page 3
part #2 of Hadesjan Cycle Series
“No, sir!” they answered in unison.
“Ten lashes each for improper conduct, another ten for failing to recognize an officer, and ten more because I’m in a foul mood today. Mind you, I’ll check personally whether you’ve received your punishment. And I’ll kill you for further insubordination!” He said in a quiet voice. The only people who heard him were the guards, the captain and Dillins, who wasn’t very happy to witness the fact.
The troll lost all interest in his victims. He greeted Steward with a strong handshake.
“What was it all about?” the major pointed to the controller.
Both officers turned to Dillins. He could finally lower his arms. Not waiting to be asked for explanations, he produced the documents.
“So what? This is a list of expected ships with their cargoes. Did your supervisor issue a permit for your escapade?” the captain asked. He showed the printed sheets to his friend. Dillins decided not to hide anything.
“No, sir. My supervisor asked me to lay low. In flight control we didn’t know anything about the required permits.”
“We’ll deal with this later. What is the exact reason for your coming here?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” The controller was honestly surprised. “I’ve just showed you. Six passenger units of Atlas type and seven cargo Titans are coming. And this is just the first wave. There are more already in hyperspace.”
“I know Atlases. They are the largest existing passenger ships,” the major remarked, handing the documents back to Dillins.
“That’s right,” Steward agreed. “That’s why the supplies department commissioned them. It’s cheaper to hire a few large vessels than a dozen smaller ones.”
“Problem is on Hades there’s no infrastructure which would enable them to land!” the controller interrupted the captain.
Silence fell and the officers looked at one another.
“Are you sure?”
“I used to work in the biggest stations, even on Earth. So far in this system we’ve only received units of the first and second class of the 5-class scale. Atlas and Titan are larger than that. If we wanted to squeeze them into that scale somehow, their tonnage would have to represent class 7 or maybe even 8. On Hades we don’t have airlocks, air bridges or ferries capable of reloading their cargo.”
“You know what, Steve?” the short officer said. “If everything here functions like this, maybe I should be heading back home? Life on retirement is not so bad, after all. Maybe you should try it yourself?”
“You wanted attractions and you’re going to get attractions,” the captain said snatching the documents to give them another look. He scrutinized the print-outs with new interest.
“Well, we still have some time. Please follow us!” he ordered the controller.
All three walked briskly towards the elevators. The guards who remained on duty sighed with relief. They got away with it. Thirty lashes was not the end of the world. It could have been much worse.
Dillins was wondering where they were going. To his astonishment, the captain pressed the button for the biggest entertainment centre. He didn’t dare say a word, since the officers weren’t talking. The glass car moved in three planes. Sometimes they travelled through totally built up tunnels, and sometimes the rails took them outside the walls, where they could admire the panorama of the orbital station and the shipyard. From this distance they could see the smaller repair docks. It was a pity these covered the more distant largest docks, where work on two battleships was being finished. Still, the view was incredible. Flashes of welders lit up the space around. Among the cylindrical frames of the open dock hovered workers in spacesuits. Sometimes robots delivering the necessary equipment flew around. From this distance individual laborers could be seen. Cranes had been fixed to the inside edges of the ship frames. Their long arms kept the right elements of the construction in place.
The elevator car took a sharp bend towards a white sphere, which was the local entertainment center. They entered a grey tunnel, speckled with colorful advertisements everywhere. They stopped in the very center. Around the transportation area a crowd barrier had been put to direct the flow of people towards an older clerk controlling the newcomers. He stood there accompanied by three Star Troopers. The one with the highest rank was a sergeant.
The captain walked ahead, passing by other people waiting in line. Most of them were wearing expensive suits, and the women had put on elegant dresses. They overheard a conversation between a distinguished lady and the clerk.
“Do you know who I am? I’m the secretary of the executive director. I demand the right treatment.”
“Madam,” the bored clerk was trying to explain something to her. “You’re a former secretary. Currently unemployed. Please be so kind as to take this form and fill in the required positions. Pay particular attention to those dealing with your education and all the other skills. A completed form should be returned to human resources,” he pointed to another tired clerk surrounded by petitioners. “After that please move on to the canteen.” Another hand movement. This time towards the kitchen boy handing out food portions.
“And then all you can do is wait.” Having said that he didn’t have to point to any particular resting place. It was visible from afar. You couldn’t fail to notice haphazardly put up tents, blankets and mattresses lying around everywhere. Bored, apathetic applicants sat on them, waiting for the company to direct their fate.
“I refuse to be treated this way!” the ex-VIP secretary shouted, appalled.
“You have the right to do that, but in this case I’ll put ‘education unknown’ in your form, and beginning tomorrow you’ll find yourself cleaning the johns in the shipyard, m’lady. Do I make myself clear?”
The distinguished lady gave in. She snatched out the form, picked up a lost pencil from the floor and left with her head held high. The clerk followed her with a disdainful eye.
“Next!” he shouted towards the queue.
Another applicant crossed the yellow line. This one had either more common sense or less pride. He took the papers prepared for him and instantly walked away in the direction of the food counter.
The officers and Dillins approached the clerk.
“How is it going?” Steward asked.
“The usual. Some of them can’t accept the new situation. Uroboros doesn’t need a few offices, but one.”
“Are any of them acting up?”
“No. It was a good idea to have all the recruiting here. We can keep an eye on everybody. We wouldn’t have managed that in our old office block.
The captain turned to the sergeant.
“How is your service going, Sergeant Gall?”
“Perfectly well, sir. Not even one intervention. We’re getting bored.”
“Enjoy it because it’s not going to last long. I’m already working on a task for you. And why haven’t your people put on new uniforms?”
“I’m sorry to say that, Captain, but they suck. They were made of some shitty fabric. You sweat like a pig in them. Isn’t that so, Stevens?” the sergeant asked the corporal standing by his side. But both he and private Pickers were clearly afraid of the supervisor. They stood just staring at a point over the captain’s head. The corporal barely nodded his head in response.
“How is it going, Andy?” the major greeted the sergeant.
“Good day, Major. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you without your uniform, sir.” The officer smiled in return showing more of his crocodile teeth.
“You haven’t changed a bit, old chap!”
“I understand you two know each other?” the captain asked the troll.
“In the Celeste campaign I took over the duties of a lieutenant who died in quite mysterious circumstances. Andy was then a corporal, and I was a young lieutenant who had just graduated from school.”
“How were they mysterious, Major?” the sergeant protested. “There was a war raging out there. He died like thousands of others.”
“The autopsy revealed that he got lethally wounded by a bullet which went through his back. I must admit, though, that I wasn’t the least bit surprised by that. The guy had sent two squads to certain death. The command had a big problem with him. The boy was the son of the State Secretary, and his daddy demanded a full investigation. It was only after the President gave him the Cross of Valor that the case was dropped. It didn’t change the fact that for a long time I looked behind grinding my teeth in fear. Those terrible fangs of mine are a reminder of that particular campaign. Andy, once I find my way around here, drop by. We’ll catch up on old times.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The sergeant knew this was the end of the conversation. He moved aside making way for the men. The officers proceeded with the controller still accompanying them.
“Was it your idea to move things here?” The major asked Steward.
“Yes.”
“And where did you put the operations centre?”
“Where? But of course in the circus!” the captain pointed to a building with the biggest dome.
They both burst into raucous laughter. Even Dillins’ mouth grimaced. He was still worried about the fate awaiting him.
Before the main entrance stood another inspection post. People walked in and out busily. Everybody who entered had to undergo a control procedure. They saw a messenger running up to the entrance. He showed his pass, was searched by the soldiers, and his document file was screened by a scanner. Finally, he was allowed in.
“Good day, captain,” a post commander greeted them.
“Good day. How is your service going today?”
“No surprises, sir. We haven’t found any irregularities. Everyone’s in possession of suitable papers.”
“It’s good to hear. Keep up the good work,” the captain said. The man let them through without checking.
After a few steps the major asked a question.
“What’s with the informal style?”
“I’ve always found formality in service irritating. My people have to be effective in doing their duty. The form in which they do it is not the most important thing.”
“You could use a few drill sergeants.”
“There’ll come a time for that. We have too many pressing problems to solve. Besides, formally we’re not a military unit, but rather something between industrial guard and inter-systemic powers. We’re going through a reorganizing stage.”
The officer’s words were confirmed by the hustle and bustle around the place. In a huge hall many tables were laid out everywhere. Among them many clerks were doing their business. There was a lot of hubbub and you could hear many conversations. On the table nearest to the exit stood a folded sheet of paper with SUPPLIES written on it with capital letters. A clerk wearing a rather messy shirt was leaning against the tabletop. Over his right pocket he had a badge saying ‘Supplies manager.’ He was surrounded by petitioners, all waiting for a moment of his attention. He was arguing with one of them.
“Bill, I’m not going to give you those fucking hinges! No fucking way!”
“But I need to have them,” the man was raging. “In two days the whole production is going to stop.”
“Then let it stop. Everything needs to be sent to the shipyard first.”
“The people will kill me. Every day of stoppage means huge losses. Who am I to bribe to get things done?”
“Don’t even try, you idiot! It won’t work now. You’re still acting as if you were managing your own company. The sooner you start thinking globally, the better for all of us. And watch out! Somebody will take this badge from you for saying things like that,” he pointed to the man’s breast. “They are only biding their time.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?” the man whined to the supplies manager. “Give me some advice for old times’ sake!”
“Talk to the foreman of the repair team in one of the smaller docks. I heard work on the destroyer HES Shark is ahead of time. Or else go to the bosses,” he waved his hand at the largest round table standing in the middle of the arena. Lots of people were bustling around it. “Don’t hang around crying down my neck! Get the fuck out of here!”
For a moment he glanced at the slouched man who was leaving. He spit down on the floor after him. Then he turned to the next person.
“What?”
Some petitioners listening in to the conversation decided they were able to deal with their problems on their own and left. The number of those waiting was visibly diminished.
The officers and the controller moved on to the centre without attracting anyone’s attention. On their way they passed other tables where many things necessary for organizing an undertaking such as Uroboros Industrial were dealt with.
The conversations at the most important table were held in hushed voices, so as not to disturb the President, who was studying some documents. There were tones of print-outs, files and readers lying around the table. Her assistant immediately noticed their arrival and ushered them to his supervisor.
“I understand this is your deputy, captain,” Linda raised her head from the analyses.
“Yes, Madam President,” the officer nodded.
The boss of Uroboros didn’t shake hands with them. She looked penetratingly at the troll.
“You wouldn’t qualify as handsome, I’m afraid.” He didn’t say anything. “Your methods that you have been using so far haven’t won my trust either. I’ve collected certain information about your professional career. Including this deemed confidential.” Silence fell. The hushed voiced died out.
“You aren’t very talkative, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” he said calmly.
“I understand, Captain, you had your reasons to choose this particular man as your deputy.”
“I did,” the captain confirmed decidedly.
“Very well then. By the way, Captain, this place is noisy, dirty and goes against all rules of running a company,” she looked straight into the officer’s eyes. “It has only one advantage.”
“What is it?”
“It works. Anything else?”
“We have a problem with the ships we’re expecting,” Steward pushed out the controller, who was trying to hide behind him, to the front. He handed Linda Collins the documents he had got from Dillins.
The woman scrutinized them for a while.
“Who’s in charge of planning?” she asked her assistant.
“Me,” said a tall dark-haired man standing on the opposite side of the table.
“We have a list of the first wave of deliveries. Are the remaining ones already on the way?”
“Yes, Madam. The second and third convoy are already in hyperspace. There were no delays. The fourth and fifth are already being loaded.”
“Who made the decision to charter these particular units?”
“I did that personally,” he answered contentedly. “Thanks to that we’ve lowered the costs of freight by sixty-eight percent.”
“You’re a fool,” she said. “Pass your responsibilities over to your deputy. You’re fired.”
The man turned pale and stood motionless as the badge with the name of his position was being unpinned from his chest. He also returned his pass without protest. A two-person patrol, always there on standby in case of such situations, led him outside.
“Does anyone present understand my decision?” she asked all those gathered.
An old, gray and stooped man with a badge saying ‘Shipyard 1’ asked her to see the documents. She handed them over to him. He looked at the papers and circulated them. They went from hand to hand.
“Well?” she asked again.
“We can’t unload them,” the old man said.
“It’s the wrong class of units,” somebody else added.
“I hope in future we will avoid such slip-ups. The reason we’re working together is to share and pass on important information,” she explained. “Unless of course you prefer physical labor. We’ll easily find the right job for everyone. There’s no shortage of pickaxes.”
“I’m too old to wave a shovel around,” the boss of the first shipyard said unexcitedly. Others chose not to step up.
Linda turned to the controller.
“Thank you. What do you do?”
“I work in civilian flight control,” he answered anxiously.
“Was it your supervisor who noticed the problem?”
“Uh,” he hesitated before giving the answer. “No, it was me.”
“The supervisor trivialized the problem,” the captain added. “He didn’t even inform the man about the existing safety procedures.”
“I’ll remember that.” The President then addressed everybody. “Do you have any ideas how to solve the problem?”
The people gathered pondered the question.
“Maybe they should be diverted?” somebody suggested.
“No way,” the man responsible for communications reacted immediately. “We can’t establish a connection with ships in hyperspace. It will only be possible once they reach the outside perimeter, having first left Maxwell’s area.”
“We need these people and commodities now,” interjected a blond woman with a badge saying ‘Extraction.’
“If we make them go back to their home systems, many of them will surely break the contracts,” ‘HR’ noticed. “They’ve been travelling in Spartan conditions for many days now. We can’t send them back. We’ll lose both them and our credibility as potential clients.”
“Let’s not cry over spilled milk,” the President of Uroboros cut off the discussion. “We have to do everything to solve this problem by our own means only. Question is how to do it.”
Nobody said anything. The Technical Department manager spread out his arms in a gesture of helplessness.
“It’s unworkable. We don’t have a sufficient number of ferries.”
“There is one option,” Dillins blurted.
Everybody’s attention was on him again. Unaware of the fact, he was lost in thought. Linda Collins nervously tapped her fingers against the table, waiting for further explanations. Impatient, she gave the captain a knowing look. Steward at once elbowed the controller in the ribs and in so doing pulled him back to reality.
