James Stiletto placed the personal effects from his desk at Interspace Commerce into a small box. Two muscle bound guards from the Security Division stood nearby, with arms folded and eyes fixed, making sure not a single pencil went missing. They looked impatient, undoubtedly eager to escort him off Newark Station, and get back to telling each other stories about how they used to be a Liberty Police officer before they took a bullet to the knee. Or, something like that.
Thank God his wife was still employed. If the cutbacks the company were making, claimed her too, they would both face financial ruin. He was grateful his wife took up the company offer to become a Business Delegate. It was a tremendous opportunity to bring extra revenues to the company and earn some nice bonuses. Now, with his layoff, they'd be lucky to break even. He wanted to take the Company up on the offer also, but someone had to stay home with their daughter, and his wife was a much better people person than he was.
He looked over the office at his fellow employees as they quickly turned their faces away from him, trying to look occupied with some new task at hand. It was as if he had the plague and they needed to avoid eye contact with him, for fear they might catch it, and find their employment terminated as well. He used to call some of them friends. Now, he was simply a casualty of the company's bottom line. He didn't blame them for their lack of support. Hell, who was he to say he wouldn't treat one of them the same way, if their positions were reversed? He just wished the knot in his stomach would stop aching so bad.
He picked up his box of belongings and nodded to the Security detail that he was ready to head out. As they made their way out of the office, a message over the intercom indicated that he was to report back to Mr. Landry, his manager. Hope filled his thoughts. Maybe his manager had a change of heart. Maybe he would get his job back and all of this would be discovered to be a huge mistake. Why else would his manager request to see him again? The guards looked at each other, shrugged, and moved aside allowing him to walk past them.
Once Stiletto saw Mr. Landry's face however, all hope was lost. His boss looked grim, his face pale. He actually stood up as Stiletto entered, something he never did before. Mr. Landry walked around the desk to where Stiletto was standing and gave him a hug.
Ok, what is going on here, he asked himself, concerned. Mr. Landry was offering emotional support? What horrible things must have happened to bring this about?
Mr. Landry struggled to speak, as if trying to find the right words, but failing. Finally, he just blurted out the news.
"Stilleto, the transport hauling your wife was attacked today by a Junker faction. There were no survivors. I'm so sorry."
Stiletto collapsed to the ground. His legs gave out from under him causing his body to crumple to the floor like a shaky stack of cards. His manager yelled for his secretary to help get him seated into a chair. His whole body felt numb, detached from itself. He could barely sense the two of them as they helped him get seated. His wife...dead. His life was over. What was he supposed to do now? His thoughts went to his daughter. Oh God. How was he going to tell her? Her last words toward her mother were in anger at her leaving for that trip. She might never forgive herself now. In the span of five minutes, his entire life was ruined.
His manager reached over to his desk to pick up a piece of paper and pen. He handed it to Stiletto.
"I know this is probably a shock to you right now, Stiletto," his manager said. "But, you will get past this. Right now, the Company needs you to sign this form before we let you leave."
"A form," mumbled Stiletto. "What form?"
Mr. Landry cleared his throat. "It's just a waiver of liablity, absolving Interspace Commerce of any responsiblity for the loss of your wife."
Stiletto was still in shock. He could barely fathom what he was hearing. Instinctively, he grabbed the pen and did what he had done thousands of times. He signed the form.
Mr. Landry let out an audible sigh of relief. "Ok, well, now that that's out of the way..." He gestured toward the Security Guards. "These men will walk you out of the office, James. Are you going to be okay?"
Stiletto managed to stand up. "Yes," he answered, "I...I think so?"
"That's great to hear," his manager offered. "Again, I want to offer my condolences for your loss, James. I don't envy you this day you've had, but I suspect that you are the resilient sort who will land on his feet."
The guards, on queue, picked up Stiletto by the arms and half dragged/half walked him out of the office. Stiletto forgot all about the box of personal effects left in Mr. Landry's office, and staggered toward the elevator, leading to the docking bay and out of Newark Station.
James Stiletto staggered through the docking bay doors, at Newark Station, still in a state of shock. When he arrived early in the morning to work at Interspace Commerce, he had a job and a wife. Now, all that was over. Somehow, the initial disappointment of losing his job became incidental after his manager revealed that his wife was dead, blown to bits by Junkers. He couldn't focus, his mind still feeling detached from his body. He knew that grief was going to hit him, and hit him hard. His only thought was to get home to his daughter and begin the grieving process together. He had to be strong for her sake. She was all he had left.
The shuttle back home to Manhattan, just a short hop away, stood docked with it's doors open. Waiting for him by the doors was his friend, Frank. Stiletto was relieved to find that someone came to offer support. Drawing closer, however, he sensed something was wrong with his friend. Frank's eyes darted back and forth quickly, as if on the lookout for someone. His hands wrangled and he moved back and forth in an awkward rocking motion. His friend was always a bit nervous, but this far surpassed his normal levels of anxiety.
"James," Frank whispered quickly. "I heard about your wife. I'm so sorry, man. And your job too. I don't know what to say?"
Stiletto accepted Frank's hug. He almost burst into tears right there. "Thanks, Frank. Appreciate it." It was difficult to voice his emotions right now. If he heard himself explain his feelings, he would lose what little control he possessed.
"Yeah, yeah, no problem," said Frank, still talking rapidly and in hushed tones. "Listen. You need to know something about the circumstances surrounding your wife's death. I wish I could tell you myself, but hey, I need this job, and if there was even a whiff of a rumor that I told you, I'd be done for."
Stiletto was confused. This day kept getting worse and worse. "What are you talking about, Frank?"
Frank handed Stiletto an electronic communications device. "Here. Take this. Go somewhere safe and quiet and activate it. It will get you into contact with someone who can tell you what really happened to your wife. Be sure you are alone. This information is dangerous."
Before Stiletto could respond, Frank gave him another brief hug and took off walking quickly out of the docking bay.
So much for the support, he thought. He looked at he device and questioned whether to throw it away or do as Frank had advised. After a brief hesitation, he decided to keep it. The desire for answers was too strong to pass up. He wondered who it was that he would be communicating with. Why all the secrecy? What could be so dangerous that he would have to be alone to communicate with this person? And why was Frank fearful about his job over it? He would never get those answers if he didn't activate the communications device. He shrugged. What did he have to lose?
The quick shuttle ride dropped him off at Manhattan. Instead of going directly home, however, he decided to find a quiet place to connect with this mystery person. His daughter was still in school and there was no reason to ruin her life with the tragic news sooner than was necessary. A couple quick turns around the block brought him to the perfect spot--a less than clean drinking establishment, no windows and little to no customer traffic. Of course, it was mid-morning. Only the most hardened alcoholics would be frequenting a bar at this time of day. He entered the building and found a quiet table in the corner, no other customers in sight. There were no waitresses, just a greasy looking bartender tending the counter. He made eye contact and ordered a beer. Finally, alone at the table, he activated the device.
Connecting.....
Soon, the transmission was accepted and an image of a grizzled and gnarled man, with his younger years far behind him, appeared on the screen.
"Are you alone?" The old man voice sounded as if he was gargling gravel.
Stiletto nodded. "I was told you had information about my wife's death."
The old man smiled slightly, but in a compassionate way. "I do, but you'll pardon me if I say you don't look like you're up to hearing it."
"I've had better days," said Stiletto sarcastically.
The old man laughed heartily. "Yeah, I bet you have. Hang on to that humor, son, even if it's dark. Sometimes that's all you will have to carry you through the hard times."
Stiletto was impatient. "Just tell me what you know, please." The old man seemed friendly enough, but there was more than a hint of danger behind his eyes. The wise course of action would be to discover the information as quickly as possible and make a polite exit. He had no idea what kind of danger he might be facing if he got caught communicating with this man. Frank seemed to think it was highly dangerous.
The old man stopped laughing but still held the smile. "That's a good quality you have there. Not many people are as quick to hear the bad news as they are to hear the good." The man's face grew serious. "Listen son, about your wife....I didn't know her. I didn't know any of those passengers that got killed when those filthy Junkers attacked. What I do know, is that they were setup. Setup to be killed by the very company that sent them--Interspace Commerce."
Stiletto stared at the screen in disbelief. "What? I don't believe that." There was no way that that could be true. Interspace wanted to grow their business, not willingly send off their employees to die. "Where did you get this information? Did Frank tell you this?"
The old man gave him a victorious look. "The information? Why, from the Junkers that killed your wife of course. They revealed to me their contract with Interspace Commerce just before I turned their ship back into the scrap it came from. I can see you don't believe me, but it's true. Interspace Commerce was trying to cut overhead costs and figured a few untimely accidents might help keep their stock prices up, without the stigma of layoffs and firings, plus earn them some public sympathy to boot. As far as Frank is concerned, he is one of us. He keeps us informed of certain individuals who might be inclined to join our cause."
Stiletto was still unconvinced. "Who are you, and who are you with?" he asked, skeptically. This old man was making some wild allegations. And what cause was he recruiting people like himself to?
The old man's face changed. No longer smiling, but fiercely proud, he stated, "My name is Jack. I represent the Xenos."
"Terrorists!" Stiletto exclaimed, with disgust.
Jack's eyes blazed with controlled fury. "We right wrongs. You have been wronged, young man. Your wife was killed. Killed by the very company both of you worked for. And you know why? So these Political Refugees that are pouring in from Rheinland can come in and take both your jobs at half the cost. That is wrong. Liberty government turns a blind eye to these wrongs, but we Xenos will not. Liberty government allows proven murderers like the Junkers to freely fly in their space with little to no consequence. Xenos will not. You may call us terrorists, but who else takes up the mantle of justice when the government refuses to do so? Who will avenge your wife's blood? Who will take back your job from those that give them away to foreigners? There is only one group of people willing to do so--The Xenos."
Stilletto found Jack's arguments compelling. There was a certain appeal to what he said. It definitely made sense, had the ring of truth. However, a voice in the back of his mind told him to step back and think things through. His best friend, Frank, a Xeno all this time? What the hell? In half a day, he lost his job, his wife and now was personally introduced to a terrorist organization. This was too much to absorb in one day. He needed to process the events over a period of time. He needed to grieve. He needed to be with his daughter. Kneejerk reactions were often bad ones, his wife always told him.
"I...need some time to think," said Stiletto, respectfully. "I can't think clearly right now."
"Of course you do, son," replied Jack, his smile returning. "Take whatever time you have available to you. If you decide to join us, make contact with the ship dealer in Ames and mention my name. He will arrange a face to face meeting."
"I'll consider it." With that the transmission ended and Stiletto was left alone with his thoughts.
He downed the last of his beer, ready to head for home and await his daughter's return from school to share the horrible news of her mother's death. He sighed. He didn't know what decisions in life he was going to make, but he wasn't making any of them without his daughter by his side.
He made it two steps outside the bar, when he found himself thrown to the ground by men in SWAT uniforms and armed with tazers.
One of the officers, while handcuffing him, spoke up, "Mr. Stiletto, you are under arrest for suspicion of conspiring with terrorists."
Of all the responses Stiletto could think appropriate for an occasion like this, laughter would be last on his list. However, laughter was the only response his frail mind could deliver. And so he laughed and laughed until he couldn't laugh anymore. Sadly, Liberty's finest didn't find his predicament as amusing, and so they brought out the tazers to quiet him. After several jolts of electricity by numerous tazer strikes, Stiletto stopped laughing and simply passed out.
It was the most merciful thing that happened that day.
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