The New Terrans

Chapter 4

Trouble Ahead

Circe was not a happy town. The tension was really palpable, and it was obvious that ‘Mutant’ had now become some sort of threat. The Mutant Police were everywhere, and people no longer smiled and greeted each other, rather keeping their eyes down as they hurried about their business. I ventured out of the Airship station only twice — both times ‘officially required’ trips to the Commissariat and to the Mutant Registry — what they actually did most of the time was a mystery — to get my latest registration and inspection documents confirmed. The latter visit proved a little strange.

There was a new clerk at the Mutant Registry desk. His attitude suggested he was working for the Mutant Police. I handed him my chip card, my existing authority, and the renewal chip. Snatching them, he inserted them into the slots and scowled.

“You haven’t got the Controller’s Report and Endorsement,” he snarled.

“I have, it’s in Section Three.” 

“I don’t see …” He swore under his breath. “I’ll have to contact him …” Turning his back on me he walked away. A few minutes later he returned with someone evidently more senior, and another ‘new’ face. 

The new man glared at me, glowered at the display, snorted, and snapped, “Renew his exile papers. I’ll have to talk to HQ.” Glaring at me again, he added under his breath, “Filthy mutants …” as he stalked away.

It was a huge relief to leave a short while later, having first taken care to ensure that my authority, my exile papers and everything else was correct. There was a message from my Controller in my suite, requesting that I go to my ship in the maintenance hangar. He was waiting, with his slim and very attractive son.

“Is there a problem with my ship, Controller?” 

“No, we’ve done a full maintenance routine, and she’s ready to go.” His smile was nervous. “You know my son, Jorge,” he added unnecessarily. “He does the maintenance on companion droids — he upgraded yours on your last visit.”

“You did.” I smiled at the youth, unable to resist a small tease. “You did a bloody good job on him — he’s almost as good as the real thing now.”

The young man flushed and stammered his thanks as his father laughed nervously. “Yeah, well, I guess you don’t get anything else so I figured …”

“Don’t remind me!” Watching him and his reaction, I noticed that there was no sign of arousal in his crotch, though his ‘package’ was pretty full and obviously pretty interesting. “Is there a problem with him?”

“No!” The kid exclaimed, then glanced at his father. “No, he’s fine … I just need to do some work on his charging station and the replenishment unit. It won’t take long, but I need your authorisation codes to access it and do the work.”

“With all these damned Mutant Police around …” The Controller glanced at his son, “Jorge isn’t supposed to enter your ship without one of them present, and you can’t be alone with him either, but I’ve got an instruction …” He didn’t say ‘order’ I noticed, “That if a MP accesses your ship, or that of any of the other mutant on this station, one of the Guardians has to supervise it.” He shrugged. “I’m in a bind here …”

“I understand.” Now I did understand. ‘Jorge’ was evidently one of those the MPs were hunting. “Here’s an idea for you. Since we’re here and talking, how about we go over my inventory, and Jorge can ‘help’ us — the unit he needs to access is accessible from my stores hold access.” I winked at Jorge. “And so is the internal part of the Compo’s charging unit. Is there surveillance in here?”

“Surveillance?” The Controller stopped, then slowly smiled. “No. There isn’t, and Jorge can sort out the monitors in the office and your suite to show you were there …”

“Good. Got the things you need, Jorge?” I asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Then let’s do it.” Damn the kid’s package was attractive, as good looking as the rest of him. “I can enter my codes from the hold access for you. Controller, just in case there is someone watching, you and I better stay visible at the hatch.” As Jorge passed me I whispered, “If, as I think, you are controlling yourself, remember that most guys show some kind of arousal around a mutant or someone ‘interesting’. Not a lot, just some, you know, enlargement. We give off pheromones or something that cause arousal … If you don’t they’ll suspect something …”

He vanished into the hold without response and the Controller and I began a detailed inspection of the external features of the ship.

“Thanks for agreeing to do this,” the Controller said as we examined the tilt joint on one of the driving fans in it’s housing. “Jorge has a problem …”

“I guessed, but don’t tell me.”

“Thanks, Fifty, I knew I could trust you.”

“There’s not a lot I can do to help, Controller. Even this could get me ‘re-educated’ in the Institute.” I paused, thinking about what the Institute for Mutant Control would do to Jorge if they got their hands on him. Becoming a mere number and exiled to this kind of life was the very least of it. I’d learned, but never given it much thought, that only a few of us were ‘released’ to this life of exile and maintenance. “But I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I know, Fifty, and I know I’m asking a lot, but these Mutant Police are bastards — and getting far too interested in Jorge. He means the world to us …”

“Then look after him, and I’ll do what I can if and when you need me.” Jorge joined us and I noticed he’d managed to alter the appearance of his crotch enough to appear slightly ‘interested’. “All finished?”

“Yeah.” He flushed and smiled. “Thanks.”

“What for? A bit of advice?” I winked. “Stay safe, and be careful. Helps to react a bit, doesn’t it?”

My departure was watched by two of the Mutant Police, the Controller and Jorge, though he was apparently working on one of the maintenance units near the main ship doors. I waved to the MPs as the ship, still on ground control, moved gently past them and got a scowl in response. Clear of the hangar I operated the tilt of the lifting fans and began to gain height. On my scanners I could see three other airships, two at extreme range, one approaching from behind at my cruising altitude. It read like a freighter, but a small one. The tense atmosphere in Circe, and the not so subtle remarks about mutants made me cautious. Instead of my usual practice of setting the auto-pilot and getting Compo to ‘service’ me, I stayed at the controls, watching the one following me …

“He’s coming up fast now,” I said aloud for the benefit of the cockpit recorder. “Why? He’s gaining height as well.” Running a few checks I began to feel uncomfortable about this. There were no settlements along the route I was taking, in fact nothing human except the automated mining unit I was supposed to service. On a hunch I made a small course change, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make our courses diverge after several minutes. At first the following ship appeared not to have noticed but then, once the divergence became obvious, he adjusted his course to close with me again.

I tried to contact him on the Coms channel, and got zero response. Then his transponder vanished from my scan — though he was very much still there. I triggered my visual scanners and set them to record and log everything. Then tried again to contact him, setting the call up to automatic repeat until I got a response. He was gradually closing the gap between us and about thirty meters above my altitude …

“So you’re after me.” That left me two options. Scream for help and hope like hell somebody would come to assist a mutant, or let him follow me and see what developed. I opted to report that I had a strange craft closing within the safety restriction distances who did not respond to my coms. Strangely, although my ship logged it as sent, I got no acknowledgement. One thing I could be certain of, was that I knew the terrain we were traversing and where we were going, few ordinary pilots did. There was some bad country ahead — several mountain ridges and a couple of peaks. Between the ranges there were some deep canyons and several ravines. Flying over this ground you sometimes encountered some very nasty turbulence — downdrafts that could smash a ship downwards faster than the autopilot could compensate for.

Correcting my course for my destination, I checked my position and decided to take a route across one of the worst ranges for wind sheer. I knew what to expect. I hoped the pursuing pilot didn’t. I edged my airspeed up gently slowing his closing rate and checked my weather indicators the wind was in exactly the right direction to produce the wind sheer I wanted as I crossed the range ahead. Now I just needed to get there before he tried the manoeuvre I guessed he intended. It’s a hard rule that no airship passes over another in flight unless there is at least five hundred meters clearance. At a hundred meters or less — as my pursuer was — his lifting thrusters would interfere with mine, forcing me downward and could prevent me from clearing an obstacle even if it didn’t force me to land.

He began to over top me just outside of the wind sheer zone I was counting on, and I sensed the change in my ‘lifting’ buoyancy in the behaviour of my ship. I was ready for this, immediately throttled back, and dropped my altitude, accepting the violent drop as he overshot me. As soon as he was clear ahead I put my ship into a full climb for altitude, my lift thrusters whining under the load, and watched … 

“Three, two, one … Bingo!” The wind sheer hit him. His nose dropped, and before he could react, he was clipping the trees with his underbelly. I winced as I saw chunks torn out of his hull as he continued toward the steep ridge. If he had any sense, he’d put the ship down anywhere. He tried to fight instead. He hit the ground hard, ripping out one of the gas tanks, slewed round and came to a stop against a rocky pile.

“Mayday, mayday.” I broadcast on my coms channel as my ship steadied at two and a half thousand metres above the crest and held station. “Freighter down on Casus Range. Windy Peak. Position follows. Exiled Mutant Fifty on scene. May I assist survivors?”

“Mayday received, EM Fifty. Guardian Seven-seven-one responding. Remain at the site. Do not land.” Almost immediately my scanner registered the Guardian’s ship. Still a good distance off behind me, but now closing fast.

The instruction to not land or assist was as I expected. Even in an emergency Mutants are not welcome. I acknowledged, feeling nervous, and thankful my ship log would show both a visual and the full record of manoeuvring since the start. At least it was a Guardian I knew and trusted. I acknowledged his response, then added, “The wind sheer over this side of the range is extreme today. I think that’s what took him down.”

“Warning acknowledged. Can you see any survivors? I get no transponder signal other than yours in the area.”

“I see four … no five in the wreck. I’ll send a visual.” I linked the visual sensors to the coms and transmitted it. 

“I have him. Remain in the area, I shall want to download all your record and log.”

Acknowledging, I kept my coms open and listened as two more Guardians joined in. This was going to get interesting. I got Compo to give me a dose of his oral unit and then to ‘lube me up’, my code for him to fuck me with his dildo. I was back in my pilot seat when the first Guardian arrived.

This was obviously going to get tricky.

The Court was presided over by a Junior Fourth Officer. Luckily for me, an older one, and one known among the mutants, to not be prejudiced against us. The evidence before the Court clearly showed that I had acted in strict accordance with all the protocols, and that the freighter had been behaving dangerously — but that didn’t satisfy the anti-mutant faction who grumbled at my exoneration. The clincher was that he’d switched off his transponder — something only ever done by those up to no good. It didn’t please the Mutant Police, who tried to get the hearing moved to a higher court less likely to be unbiased. The four survivors were exposed as members of an extremist group sworn to purge the colony of ‘mutant scum’, a phrase the Court Officer took exception to, and sent them down for attempted murder.

“You were lucky there, Fifty,” the Guardian escorted me from the court. “We’ve been watching that lot for a while. They call themselves ‘The Vermin Removers’ — and they’ve got a lot of support among the Mutant Police. You aren’t the first Mutant they’ve tried this on. Twice they’ve downed ships with this trick. You were lucky.” He studied me. “Or had a plan that worked …”

“Great.” I felt angry, but had to keep it under control. “Now the Controller says I have to stay here for at least four weeks while everyone argues over my logs and what they tried to do.” I studied the sullen group standing to one side of the exit. “Why are they so stirred up? I heard there’s been a couple of my fellow mutants attacked and one killed by a mob in Capitolia.”

“Yes.” He glowered at the group, and I realised he was recording their images. “Come on, I’ll escort you to the Quarantine Suite. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be very well guarded, and anyone trying to get at you will discover what a ‘ton of bricks’ feels like physically, and then have time to discover what having a Guardian on his case day and night means.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Not everyone is against you guys.”

“That sounds like serious. As bad as what they do to us if we get pulled back to the Institute for Mutant Control?”

“Could be.” He glanced at me. “What do they do to you there?”

“Break you. I’ve only met one EM who was reprogrammed. He’s dead now, but they broke him mentally and physically.” With a shudder, I explained, “They returned him to Tech Exile, but on his next trip out, he spotted a Terralion, grounded his ship, got out and walked straight up to it and let it kill him.”

“Fu …” The Guardian walked on in silence. “Who was he?”

“Mutant One-one-four. He’d only been a year in Tech when he was accused of being alone with another male unchaperoned. It was a set up we think.”