Smuggler's Guilt
Jupiter Station
Saturday, August 6
Earth Year 2140
When I was a kid, a psychiatrist explained the different types of guilt. There was legal guilt, guilt born of emotion, a guilt of conscience, guilt by association, even existential guilt—whatever the hell that was. It didn’t matter the type, it turned out I had it in spades.
The War changed people—I know it changed me. If I told myself it was for the better, I lied. I was lucky, it turned others into monsters; bad enough to sell out their own mothers to make a credit let alone survive. The real assholes killed you just for breathing.
The name’s Reese Daniels, smuggler, businessman, even yesterday’s hero.
‘Hero!’ People threw that word around when battles raged. I got saddled with it for saving a company of Marine cadets from a horrible fate beset by some brutal alien bugs. Did I deserve it—eh; would I use it—hell yeah!
I expected my newfound status to provide upgraded clientele and a chance at the big payday I had dreamt about since I was a kid. What did I get? Two station security guards impounded my ship and detained me in an isolation cell for almost two days. “It’s a matter of national security,” they claimed.
I called it horseshit; their food tasted like it too.
Early the second day, a new batch of security tough guys escorted me to an interrogation room and shackled me to a table.
I pounded on the table. “I want my lawyer!”
The guards scoffed in unison. Neither made eye contact as they shut the door behind them. After another two hours of twiddling my thumbs, my brooding became unbearable. To my relief, the door opened. “It’s about time.” I rubbed my wrists. “These cuffs were beginning to chafe.”
A woman in a grey Earth Defense Force Security uniform walked past. Six foot and slender, she circled the room in a graceful gait few models could duplicate. She sat in the chair opposite me, auburn locks fell at her shoulders; her tan hands placed palms down on the table. Bright blue eyes met mine; no, not bright blue, luminescent. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen stared at me, those blue eyes probing my soul.
Her lips moved. “Mr. Daniels, I’m Sergeant Maya Greywalker, EDF Security.”
Her gaze captivated me.
She raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Daniels, is everything alright?”
“Yeah—sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Why am I [TW1] here? I’ve been locked in a cell without cause or charge for two days! Oh, and I want my lawyer.”
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“Of course, I do.” I paused and uncertainty crept in. “Though, I’m not sure she’ll take my call.”
She steepled her hands. “You have a relationship with this woman?”
“Had is the more operative word.” Truth be told, I had dozens of relationships; they burned fast.
“What happened?” she inquired in a calm and encouraging tone.
“I met her during a transport negotiation. One thing led to another and…you get the drift.”
“I see, but you’re no longer together.”
“No. It turns out sleeping with her competition was a real deal breaker; in more ways than one.” I shook my head, remembering one of my smuggling rules. When I followed them, everything clicked. This smuggling rule didn’t make my top three, but it probably should have. Don’t date anyone in law enforcement or affiliated with the law, including judges, politicians, and especially lawyers. “If you don’t mind some professional advice, don’t piss off lawyers. I couldn’t secure a transport deal for two weeks because of all the red tape she buried me under.”
“Sound advice. I’ll have to remember that.” Her smile melted away all my tension. Lost in her eyes, I could tell her anything.
Remember the rule, Reese. Remember the rule!
“Representation is still important.” She picked up a data pad from the table and slid her finger across the screen. “I think I’ve found her.” She tapped the screen. “I’ll send a request.”
How the hell did she know her name?
I leaned forward. “That’s not necessary. I can find someone—”
She tapped the screen again. “Done.”
I bowed my head, resting my forehead on the table. “Why did you do that? I already told you she wouldn’t help me.”
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation, Mr. Daniels.”
Confused, I sat up and met her gaze. Her calm and conversational manner evaporated. Her expression darkened, more serious than a boxer staring down an opponent. “Heinrich Wessman and Uri Sidirov. Two, how would you say, less than reputable criminals. Do you know these men?”
My heart sank. I’d been played and she forced me on the defensive. I cocked my head. “I’m not sure.”
She spun the datapad toward me. “Perhaps this will jog your memory.”
Two men’s faces filled the screen, Heinrich and Uri’s pictures to be exact; a scrolling list cycled under each picture—criminal offenses.
“Yeah, I’ve seen these two. Less than a week ago, a group of Marine officer cadets and I commandeered their ship to escape Ariel during the attack.”
“You’re referring to the alien assault on the Uranus colonies?”
I snorted. “An attack of hundreds of armored bugs with particle lances and huge ships bristling with weapons wasn’t an assault lady. It was a damn massacre. We were lucky to make it out alive.”
