Chapter 12

Alexander tossed the six bent and twisted pieces of junk that had been weapons into the smelter. After almost having two customers accidentally stumble upon him making one of the restricted weapons, he determined that anything he could learn from keeping them around did not outweigh the risks of getting caught with them.A few people did glance his way, but it was only passing interest at him, rather than what he was melting down. After about twenty minutes, the machine spat out six different containers. Each would be its own 99.999% elementally pure material in nano-particle form. He really wished he knew how the smelter did it. All he could point to at this moment was future magic and hope one day he would have the funds necessary to buy the schematic and dive into the fundamental concept of the device.

But that day was not today. He retrieved his credit chip from the smelter and grabbed the containers. Two were far heavier than the others, but it was no surprise considering basic steel had gone into the majority of the makeup of the disassembled weapons. At least the material hadn't gone to waste, now he could reuse this material in his printers. The smelter process wasn't lossless though. It did have to melt the material in order to separate it. Anything that didn't melt was simply burned away, turned into carbon, or came out as slag.

Overall it was still a very efficient process. However, he was sure it used an absurd amount of energy to do it.

***

At the edge of Gliese 667, three ships flashed into existence. A common occurrence as ships exited FTL. But unlike any other ship seen in this distant piece of human-controlled space, the first ship was all smooth lines without any hint of sensor or array peaking past the gleaming white exterior. Painted in bold red letters on both sides of the ship was the word 'O.M.N.I.' the acronym for Orbital Motion Navigational Innovations. The premier engine manufacturer for all of human space.

The sleek white ship was not alone either. The two other ships accompanying it were anything but sleek. They were composed of hard lines, protruding sensors, and arrays. Not an iota of thought had gone into making them look soft and approachable. These were warships. Each of these imposing vessels sported four Gauss turrets that protruded from the top and bottom of the deadly-looking craft. Despite the menace exuded by the gunships, they were just escort vessels for the white ship, but nothing short of an STO cruiser could stand up to the firepower of the corporate-owned Wraith Mk3 gunships.

After receiving the all-clear, the three ships fired up their main engines and hurtled toward their destination. A small insignificant station in the ass end of nowhere, Petrov Station.

As the trio of ships burned hard through the system, they made no effort to hide their presence. They didn't need to. They were the big fish around here. And every other ship that picked them up on sensors quickly got the hell out of their way.

Eventually, someone at the station picked them up and hailed them. The Captain of the white ship sent the canned response. The person on the other end grumbled but quickly gave them priority docking instructions.

***

Ivan Wang paced nervously outside the VIP hangar. It was in times like this he cursed his mixed heritage. It seemed he got the worst attributes of both his parents and none of the upsides.

In all his years aboard Petrov station, he had never greeted a single soul from the VIP hangar. It was reserved for visiting heads of state per STO rules on station management so it had sat empty and unused since he could remember. He wanted to spit on the floor at the Sol Treaty Organization's asinine rules but he couldn't afford to dirty his suit or the corridor. As if anyone like that would ever visit this dump.

And while the ship docking wasn't technically in this category, it wasn't someone they could say no to. The two gunboats that accompanied the corporate yacht were more than enough to send everyone aboard the station to an early grave. He doubted anyone from the STO would even bat an eye if they did that.

So like a good little Commissar, he waited for his guests to arrive. Unlike most docks, the VIP dock had dual-layered armored doors. So there was no peeking inside to see the ship. Although he had gotten an external camera feed of it. Not that the outdated cameras did the sleek craft justice. If he had to guess, that single ship was worth more than the entire station and everything aboard it. And the two gunboats combined probably weren't far behind in value.

He felt the slight vibration in the deck when the craft finally touched down.

Ivan did his best to slow his breathing as he pulled out a rag and wiped the sweat from his hands and brow. This would likely be the most important moment of his life, and he couldn't afford to screw it up.

As soon as he heard the first clunks of the locking bolts from the first door, he stuffed the rag in his pocket and stood straight, forcing a smile on his face.

A voice boomed out of a nearby speaker, almost making him leap off the deck. "Stand back and place your hands in the air! You will be searched before we proceed."

He did as requested and soon the outer door opened. Two men immediately flicked weapons up towards him and if Ivan had been still before, he was a statue now. Not just out of fear for the weapons, but what they could do if they missed him. These were not the simple riot control pulse rifles, these were slug throwers.

Ivan didn't know much about weapons, for all he knew, these could be handheld Gauss rifles. A third armed and armored man approached and patted him down before roughly spinning him around and doing the same for his backside. He was none too gentle about it either.

He swallowed his pride as the man yelled, "Clear!"

As the guards lowered their guns, Ivan slowly lowered his hands. He finally got a good look at the armored forms. He had first mistaken what they were wearing for skin suits, but these were not the thin fabric underlayer worn under a decompression suit. They were form-fit with integrated plates of some unknown material around the chest, hips, and thighs.

"I apologize for my men's rough handling. They can be a bit overzealous when it comes to protecting OMNI assets such as myself." The voice came from a young, well-dressed man.

If Ivan thought the suits of the guards were impressive, this man's practically looked like normal clothes. And if it wasn't for the full helmet, he wouldn't have given it a second glance.

"It's fine," Ivan responded, managing not to stammer. "No harm no foul," he added, extending his hand. "I am Ivan Wang, Commisar of Relations aboard Petrov Station. And I will be your attendant while you are here.

"Charmed, Ivan," the man responded in a silky tone as he grabbed Ivan's hand with only a thumb and pointer and shook it gently for only a moment. "You can refer to me as Mr. Pembrooke or Theodore," he said with a wink and a smile.

Ivan smiled back, trying his best to hide the awkwardness of the greeting. "Your request to dock did not inform us of the reason for your visit. May I know your agenda so I can help assist you?"

"That you may, Ivan. As you may have already guessed, I work for OMNI. Specifically, I work for the Legal Council of OMNI."

It was hard to keep the smile on his face as it felt like a rock dropped into his stomach. "The Omni's legal council. Um… What brings you all the way out here?" It couldn't be anything good, that was for sure.

That smile, that oh-so-fake smile never left Theodore's perfectly sculpted face. "I'm glad you asked. You see, we got a report that someone on this station may be stealing our intellectual property rights." He leaned in conspiratorially and spoke softly. "And OMNI takes those rights very seriously." Sёarᴄh the Nôvel(F)ire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"…Um…" Ivan was at a loss as to what to do next. Mr. Pembrooke seemed to know this and saved him.

"I just need to speak with the station manager and get this all straightened up. Then we will be out of your hair."

"…Oh. Um, we don't have a station manager." For a brief moment, Ivan thought he saw the man's smile shift slightly. But it could have just been his imagination.

"Really? Then who manages the station?"

"That would be the Captain's Council."

"…I see. This station is pre-STO then?"

Ivan nodded.

"Very well, take me to see them."

"That… that may take a few days to arrange. The Captains are rarely aboard the station at the same time."

While the well-dressed man's demeanor didn't change, Ivan suddenly felt like he was a bug being stared at by a higher lifeform. He swallowed thickly.

"Very well, I have time, Ivan. I will remain aboard my ship until they arrive. Please come see one of my guards when the Captains are ready to meet. Do let them know that this is an important matter. And if they could hurry, that would mitigate any extenuating issues that might arise if this issue isn't settled expediently."

Before Ivan could ask what the man meant by that, he turned and strode back into his hangar. The guard that searched him took up a position outside the first door, while the others remained by the second.

Ivan tried to smile at the guard at the door, but the man just returned a blank stony gaze as his eyes watched him like a predator.

Without waiting to be told, Ivan hurried out of there to report to the other Commissars and gather the Captains. He really hoped the Captains arrived promptly. If not, he wasn't sure Mr. Pembrooke's thin veil of civility would hold.

The elevator whisked him over to the control center in the central shaft. It was always a bit of a jarring experience for Ivan as it exited the artificial gravity of the rings, only to reenter the core's artificial gravity shortly after. The issue was that the fields of gravity were not aligned the same. Since the core was built long before artificial gravity had been discovered, they couldn't simply retrofit it like it had been in the rings. Too many systems in place to work around. So they simply placed the grav plates on the exterior walls and called it good.

It worked, sort of, as long as you didn't mind feeling like getting tugged at constantly. As the gravity dropped away, he reoriented himself ninety degrees so his head was facing the far side door.

Moments later the gravity tugged at him, but before he could float upwards very far, the elevator had passed inside the field. He grunted as he dropped to the door facing the rings. This is why he hated coming to the core. He had never quite gotten the hang of or timing of moving about in zero-g. How his ancestors ever got anything done in space before the advent of artificial gravity was beyond him.

When the elevator came to a stop, the door, which was now the ceiling clicked open. He sighed. This was the other part he hated. Ivan walked over to the rungs that were situated along both walls and ceiling and climbed out of the elevator.

More than a few technicians, manning the terminals that controlled all aspects of station life, glanced at him as he climbed out but none so much as offered to help.

"Bastards," he muttered under his breath. He was going to submit another proposal to modify that blasted elevator so he wasn't forced to climb out every time he needed to come here.

After wiping the visible sweat from his brow, he slowly made his way over to the communication center. Running through the weird gravity in the core was a good way to trip, or more embarrassingly, lose your lunch.

A bright-eyed younger woman looked up from her station and smiled politely at him. "Commissar Wang, how may I help you today?"

"Our VIP guest is here on a corporate witch hunt. He has requested to speak with the Captains." Ivan wasn't stupid. He knew the only reason a monolithic company like Omni would send one of their lackeys out here was to make a point. He felt sorry for whoever it was that got on their bad side, but he wasn't about to step in shit for someone else.

The communication woman frowned slightly. "They aren't going to like having their runs cut short."

"Tell them to complain to the Omni representative then." Unlike Mr. Pembrooke, who came from the core worlds, Ivan wasn't afraid of the Captains who were the descendants of the original families who first built Petrov station.

They got to galavant around the system earning money and doing whatever they pleased while the Commissars kept the station running. The least they could do was their damn job once in a while.