AN: Currently 14 advanced chapters on Patreon with at least 1 more on the way today. Look your boy up if you're interested. Crimson_Reapr is the name, and the following is my page: https://www.patreon.com/cw/Crimson_Reapr
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A few of the station security officers walked off to the side with Mark, inspecting him and allowing the others to do quick work of the scene. Everything was quickly cordoned off, and the dead were put into body bags and loaded into enclosed trolleys before they marched Mark through the station.
Outside of his dedicated dock, the station had almost gone silent. The corridors were empty, save for a few brave souls who huddled in groups and stuck around to get a better view of what had gone down. When they marched him by them, the people murmured in fear and speculation.
"Yo, is that the guy?" a skinny teen asked.
"Holy shit, look at the size of him," a dockworker who had heard the commotion said.
"I heard he got into it with Jackie and his goons." A woman murmured to her husband, who was covered in grease and had just returned from his shift on one of the mining ships.
"Oh, damn. Did he kill them all?" the husband asked back in a louder voice, only to be hushed by his wife.
A young man talked with his father as Mark walked past them. "Look at his armor, I ain't ever seen some shit like that. It's gotta be something like military issue."
The man's father scoffed and scratched his graying beard. "Military issue? Shit, we ain't have no puppies like that when I was in the Marines. Granted, I did only do 4 years, so it's not like I had my eyes open."
"Free my bro, he didn't do anything wrong," One young man said, thinking he would be funny, but it only earned him judging looks.
Mark's expression, though hidden from the people beneath the matte black helmet, was flat. His eyes flicked from the faces to the cameras mounted along the promenade ceiling, to the low hum of security drones trailing overhead, unconsciously cataloging everything, a habit he had picked up on while in the Navy.
The magnetic cuffs were tight on his wrists, but the armor didn't let him feel them. And although his body definitely possessed the strength to break free from them, the thought of doing so didn't even cross his mind.
'Hopefully this will resolve itself rather quickly,' he thought to himself. 'It's pretty obvious it was simply self-defense, even if I did go a little overboard.'
He kept his voice low enough not to be transmitted through his suit, and he spoke into his earpiece. "Marcos."
The AI's reply came in his ear with a quiet buzz. "What can I do for you, Cap? Cuffs too tight? How would you like to rate Eidolon Reach Station up to now?"
Mark's jaw flexed slightly, though no one could see it. "I don't need you to be a smartass right now... I have a feeling that they'll be impounding the Shepherd. Am I wrong?"
Marco's response came back in a deadpan tone. "Oh my, what possibly gave that away? Was it them cordoning off the dock, or the guards that stayed behind after they dragged you along? Alright, I think I'm being an asshole right now... yeah, they are."
Mark smirked a little. Although the situation wasn't ideal, Marcos' tone and sarcasm did bring out a sense of comfort, even if Mark didn't want to hear that at this very moment. "Alright. Stay out of their way, just like before. I don't want them to detect you. So, don't do anything that will attract any more attention to the Shepherd than I already have."
There was a pause before Marcos' voice came through the earpiece again. "Yeah, sure thing..." There was another brief pause before Marcos spoke again. This time, there was a hint of hesitation that could be felt in the AI's voice. "Uh, Captain..."
"What is it?" Mark asked.
"Well..." Marcos hesitated before continuing. "It seems like the Shepherd has already obtained more attention than we ever wanted. I just peeked at a transmission sent from one of the station's council members to the top brass of the security officers, and it's not looking good."
Mark sighed and lowered his head, an action that caused one of the guards holding him to yank him. "The fuck do you think you're doing?"
Mark didn't say anything, simply turning his head to stare at the guard before looking ahead. "Give it to me straight, Marcos. What kind of bureaucratic bullshit is being woven right now?"
"Well, council member Theodore Birignan had been keeping tabs on the Shepherd ever since the inspection, and he wants her," Marcos replied, pausing for a second. "The message said something about doing everything possible to keep you imprisoned. So, pucker up, Cap, I hear jail isn't fun for men."
"Great..." Mark muttered, and cut the link.
As they led him through the promenade, whispers rippled ahead of the group, and someone took a photo with a wrist-cam before being shoved aside by a guard. The massive domed ceiling above reflected light from the station's artificial day cycle. The digital sky now displayed a shade of pale orange that looked almost peaceful, if not for the current situation.
By the time they reached the security sector, the air had grown colder, literally. The temperature dropped several degrees, and the crowd thinned as walls shifted from brushed metal to dull composite gray. The crowd noise faded behind sealed pressure doors and was replaced by the sterile drone of ventilation.
They brought Mark to a room and attempted to take the armor off of him, but were unsuccessful. Finally, one of the guards asked him to cooperate, and thus, he retracted the helmet, which made the eyes of the surrounding security officials almost bulge out of their eye sockets.
"Were those nanites?" Asked one of the officers.
Mark stared at him, his facial expression showing a rather annoyed look, "Do you really expect me to answer that?"
The security officer thought about it for a second before nodding to himself. "Yeah, I wouldn't either."
Another officer looked at Mark in the eyes before turning and speaking to the other officer. "If it's nanites, then there's nothing we can do about it. We already have his rifle, quite a nice one too, a K-272. So, just take him to one of the rooms with electronic dampeners."
The officers proceeded to take him to a room and shoved him inside, the door hissing closed behind him. The room was small and pretty featureless, with only a single table and two chairs. There was also a surveillance lens in the corner, its red light pulsing every once in a while.
Mark sat down. His wrists were now cuffed in front of him, and so he rested them on the table and stared at the lens.
It didn't take long for the door to open, and two men stepped in. Both wore the same gray uniforms with the silver insignia of the station security, though theirs were a little different. One of the officers was older, maybe in his mid-sixties, with a lean and weathered face that had been marked with small scars. The other was a face he recognized. It was the man who had led the security team when inspecting his ship, Harven Strall.
"Mister Mark Shephard," Strall began, his voice calm. "This is the second time I've seen you today. Just for the record, you are the Captain of the... Strathos' Shepherd, correct?"
Mark gave a single nod.
Strall shook his head and said, "It needs to be auditory."
"Yes."
The man then continued. "For the record, I'm Lieutenant Harven Strall, Station Security Division. Now, you're currently under investigation for the murder of fifteen station residents."
"Murder," Mark repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
The older officer, standing behind Strall, bristled. "You think this is a joke, son? You took fifteen lives today! At least have the decency to show some remorse."
Mark's eyes flicked toward him, and a faint smirk touched his lips. "If I thought it was a joke, I'd at least laugh. Wouldn't you say so?"
Strall studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing before he sighed. "Alright, start from the beginning. In your own words, tell us what happened."
Mark leaned back slightly on the chair. "I was on my way back to my ship. I noticed a group of people begin to tail me. I tend to have a sharp memory, so I recognized them as the same ones I had seen outside the bar earlier when I was taking the girls to make contact with their families. I didn't think too much about it, just thought it was coincidental that we were walking in the same direction. That was until I was about to reach my ship, and ten more men blocked my path. As you probably already know, one of them was with you this morning, a dockworker who'd inspected my ship when I arrived. Then one of the bastards said something about taking my ship, said I could live if I handed her over. I refused, and the rest is history."
The older officer scoffed. "You expect us to believe fifteen men just decided to throw themselves at a fully armored man with a plasma rifle?"
Mark's gaze was flat as he murmured under his breath. "Fucking retard."
"What was that?" the older officer asked.
Mark looked down at the table in front of him and placed his hands upon it once again. "They probably didn't think I would fight back. After all, it's a fifteen versus 1 situation, and I doubt those who have the herd mentality tend to think of things not going their way as someone fights back."
Strall's voice remained calm. "So, are you claiming that this was a case of self-defense?"
Mark looked over at Strall. "I'm not claiming anything. That's exactly what it was."
Strall tapped his pad and scrolled through a report. "Our forensics team has confirmed that all fifteen men were armed. Some with guns, while others with blunt instruments. They also indicated that your armor did have signs of impacts, though I can barely see any now."
Mark raised his hands as he spoke. "Then it should be quite easy to put two and two together. It's pretty obvious that I was only defending myself."
Strall sighed and ran a hand across his face. He knew it did. The report confirmed that ballistic residue matched the attackers' weapons, but orders from above had already dictated how this narrative would unfold.
"Let's say," Strall began slowly, "that's true. You still killed fifteen men."
Mark shrugged faintly. "They tried to kill me, so I killed them. That's called the FAFO effect."
Strall frowned. "The what effect?"
Mark gave him a deadpan look before remembering that this wasn't Earth. "The FAFO effect. It stands for Fuck Around and Find Out."
The older officer slammed a hand on the table. "Are you calling that justification?!"
Mark turned his head slightly, voice calm, but confusion written all over his face. "The fuck is wrong with you, old man. Are you two trying to do a good cop, bad cop routine? Because you're clearly unhinged. And I was only trying to survive and defend what's mine."
The older officer looked like he was about to lose it. He had never been shown such disrespect before. However, he stayed shut, allowing the silence to stretch long enough for the ventilation hum to become noticeable again. Strall then finally motioned for the other officer to step back.
"I think that's enough for today," Strall said quietly, though his eyes lingered on Mark longer than necessary. "You'll be held pending further investigation. Don't try anything stupid."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Mark said dryly. "Wouldn't want to upset the paper trail."
The older officer's eyes bulged, and Strall's eyes flickered at the remark, but neither one of them said anything.
---
A day had gone by since Mark's arrest, and Harven Strall sat in his office, the faint hum of the security station's lighting filling the silence. The data pad on his desk displayed reports that summarized damage assessments, autopsy logs, and witness statements. They were all neatly filed under "Case: Incident 47-B / Subject: M. Shephard."
He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. He had met Mark for the inspection, and he seemed like a rather calm man, which made things so much worse for him. The official summary read like pure propaganda: "Subject exhibited extreme aggression, used unauthorized military-grade weaponry, neutralized fifteen station personnel. Motive unclear."
"Man, this is so much bullshit," Strall muttered under his breath.
He'd also visited the scene himself and gone to the evidence lab. The attackers' weapons were mismatched, merely made from scrap, with only a few being brand-name firearms. Mark's armor also bore dozens of impact marks, according to the pictures the responding officers took of him, most from small arms. Every forensic scan screamed self-defense, but someone at the top of the brass wanted to nail him for some reason.
The door opened, and Sergeant Veln, one of his subordinates, stepped in holding a mug of coffee. "There's supposed to be an IUC transport coming to pick up some rescued personnel. I think it's only a few days out. Top brass wants him ready for transfer the moment it docks."
Strall exhaled slowly. "And in the meantime?"
"They're keeping him isolated, as you know, orders from above. Apparently, council member Theodore Birignan has filed a claim on his ship, and since it's not registered..."
Strall let out a deep sigh. "So that's the play."
Veln nodded grimly. "They're railroading him. Once the IUC takes over, the case'll vanish into some black archive, and that ship will be transferred under council member Birignan's ownership by next week."
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
The silence was broken by Strall. "You know, that man is the one who rescued those girls that the IUC transport is coming to pick up?"
Veln raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. "Well, shit.... This is going to blow up in Birignan's face."
Strall simply nodded as he took a sip of his drink. "And he's got no idea."
---
Mark sat alone in his cell, bored to hell. The walls were pale gray and lined with light strips that never dimmed, distorting the passage of time. He could easily break out if he wanted to. Marcos had informed him that he could slice into the security grid within thirty seconds, open every lock while jamming every feed. But Mark shot him down, stating that it wasn't the move to do, especially not while waiting for the UIC Transport to arrive. The smarter play was to simply wait, since bureaucracy always ate itself alive if given enough time.
He sat on the narrow bunk, his elbows on his knees, when Strall entered the hallway and came to a stop in front of his cell. Strall didn't bother with pleasantries and just dove straight into a conversation. "You've been quiet."
Mark didn't look up. "Not much to talk about. You already decided I'm guilty."
"I didn't," Strall said quietly. "But command did."
Mark chuckled softly. "Yeah. I already knew that long before you did. Their next actions, too. Let me guess, my ship's been tagged for 'forfeiture under investigative seizure' or some bullshit along those lines?"
Strall's silence was answer enough for Mark, who leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. "Tell me something, Lieutenant. You've been doing this how long?"
Strall took a deep breath before answering, "Twenty years."
Mark smiled. "So you know how this works. Those in power don't give a damn about the truth when it can just be covered in paperwork. It's about keeping investors calm while they steal whatever they can justify. Doesn't matter if it's a ship, a man, or something more valuable."
Strall studied him for a long moment. There was something unsettling about Mark's calm. He could tell that it was not arrogance, nor was it bravado, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.
"You've seen this before," Mark finally broke the silence.
Strall's gaze met his. "More times than I'd like to admit." Strall then exhaled, turning away from Mark. "The IUC transport's due tomorrow. Is that why you're so calm?"
Mark lay back on his bunk. "Ah, well, at least you have some brains to put two and two together."
Strall hesitated. "It's going to be a shit show."
Mark smirked faintly. "Yeah, most likely. The Navy doesn't like to owe debts, and it hates it when its benefactors get wrapped up in bullshit like this."
Strall sighed. "You know there's nothing I can do about this. I can't just release you without putting my neck on the chopping block."
Mark turned his head and looked at the man. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, everyone answers to their own bosses. I don't hold it against you, simply following orders, even if disobeying them would be beneficial for you."
---
Strall sat with two other officers in the security lounge, munching on some snacks while their mugs sat half-empty.
"This is going to bite us in the ass," Veln muttered. "The IUC doesn't like it when others interfere with their interests."
"You think command cares?" another officer said. "They'll spin it as a 'security incident.' Say we detained a violent mercenary. That's all they'll see."
Strall leaned back, jaw tight. "The man isn't a registered mercenary, and he didn't lie once during interrogation. Didn't even flinch when Valskos almost lost his shit in front of him. Hell, he looked more tired than angry. There is something off about him, though. I'm pretty sure that if he wanted to fight, we'd be scraping our members off the floor."
Veln sighed. "Then why keep him?"
Strall's eyes drifted toward the dark viewport overlooking Dock Twelve. Even from here, he could see the faint glint of the Strathos' Shepherd, still under floodlights, surrounded by drones.
"Because Birignani wants that ship," he said finally. "Whether it's the ship itself he wants or what's in it, our hands are tied... legally. We're not the ones calling the shots, and the prisoner told me he isn't going to hold it against me. So, that should hopefully mean that most of the fallout will blow over us.
In his cell, Mark was awoken by Marcos. He could hear the faint thrum of the station through the walls, the distant movement of people and life carrying on outside his confinement. He didn't hate the security officers for it since he understood that they were just caught up in the bureaucratic web.
"The IUC transport should be arriving within three hours, and funny enough, they'll be docking right next to us, on Hangar 11Z," Marcos said.
Mark smiled faintly to himself, closing his eyes. "Good. Let's see how the house of cards collapses. After they dock, send an anonymous message over to them. Let them know that the Shepherd's Captain is being unlawfully detained after evidence dictated that his actions were in self-defense, and leak the messages you have gathered as evidence of the counselor's actions and attempt to steal the Shepherd."
Marcos' reply came with a gleeful tone. "Sure thing, Cap. I'll make sure to paint the target on the bastard's back as brightly as possible."