Craz Read online

  It took a while, but she was determined to bring some old-fashioned feel to the place. Buying old cotton sheets in good repair she’d cut them up, dyeing them by hand into bright colours for table clothes. Then smaller squares for napkins. She was surprised how well they’d come out. A replicator had been her biggest expense. She needed a good one. One that would be able to duplicate lots of cups, saucers, knives, forks, spoons, plates, glasses, serving spoons, kitchen knives and equipment as well as food. She wanted to have items on hand so that meant replicating a lot of items up front. She wanted it to have that old-fashioned Diner feel and look that she’d seen in an old ‘magazine’ her mother had once shown her.

  She’d replicated some curtains for the window and stencilled a sign that read simply, The Diner to go on the clear screens at the shop front and on the wall inside. Going to her storage room, she’d pulled out the boxes she had stored there. Books she’d collected over the years. Real books with pages. Most were recipe books. Some over a hundred years old. Determined to do as much of the cooking as fresh as possible without sin or replicated food, she knew it was going to be a challenge and not cheap. But her time at Cho’s had showed what she could do and what she could charge for it.

  Cho’s wasn’t cheap when it came to the bill, but his food stock was. It had annoyed her that he’d done so well out of her work and not once, offered to share anything with her. She knew from the customers that before her, Cho had an ordinary cook who used a replicator and nothing more. People didn’t come in just for the food like they did for her. It was short sighted of him, but he was a greedy man. If nothing else, working for him had given her time to work out what you could add fresh to a dish to make it work and for it to taste amazing.

  That’s what made her meals there a hit. People came around from a long way off just to have lunch or dinner. She’d learnt plenty of tricks over the ten years she’d been on this world and originally she’d been happy just doing dinners three days a week, until Keith died. She’d done a few parties at Cho’s place over the years too for friends and Cho had offered her more work before, but she’d always declined. Kevin didn’t like the man. Nor did she, she’d heard the rumours. So, when he’d come calling shortly after Kevin passing offering a full time job telling her he was helping her out, she’d been reluctant but taken it.

  Chris could have laughed at his comments; he was helping himself out, but that didn’t matter. She needed the employment. With one salary, doing three days a week and the odd catering job now and then, wasn’t going to cut it. They wouldn’t be able to keep up the rent, bills and put food on the table. She’d soon be dipping into her savings and had to make a choice. She wouldn’t be able to do catering on a full-time job. So, it had to go. She needed the work and Cho knew it. She agreed and got to work. Sourcing materials that were good alternatives to what the recipe books asked for to broaden her menu’s.

  And she wasn’t stupid, she didn’t tell Cho she was leaving until she shop was bought and paid for and the contracts all signed and registered. Having given an excuse one morning about the Doctors, he’d happily agreed to give her the time off, so she didn’t become unwell. She’d used the time wisely and done all the legal stuff for the shop. She felt sure he would have tried to scupper it had he got wind of what she was up to, or would have tried to buy his way in somehow. Either situation wasn’t a good idea. She knew he wouldn’t want the competition and she’d seen enough of his business acumen to know she needed to keep away from him.

  And predictably, he wasn’t happy when she told him. He’d made a big deal of ‘helping her out when she needed it, that she was leaving him high and dry’. Making a few vailed threats he put someone in the kitchens to watch her while she worked her notice. Chris had been prepared for that. She started to work the fresh ingredients at home and would take them in each day, replicating what she needed to and adding the already made up fresh ingredients. The new cook had asked her what was in each dish and Chris had told her. Just not how to prepare the items. They all needed careful handling, or it would go wrong.

  She felt bad for the worker trying to take over, but Chris knew she had to protect her recipes. If she wanted any chance to make The Diner work, she had to be able to offer something special.

  Cho wasn’t happy at the end of that week when the kitchen hand reported in. He came barging in demanding that she hand over her recipes. She’d expected it and Racle had been there with her waiting. Chris had demanded the money he owed her, and a standoff was reached. He’d slowly reached into his back pocket and threw her money on the table between them. Racle had picked it up and checked it telling her it was all there. Then she’d handed over the replicated recipes. He looked like he’d blow a gasket when he saw it, recognising no fresh produce he demanded her recipes. “Sorry”, she’d told him. “Those are mine and mine alone. I created them not you. They belong to me.” He’d been furious but couldn’t do a thing about it. Not with witnesses.

  She’d left with nothing more than what was in her mind and what he’d owed her and that was ok with her. When Cho realised, she was going to be competition, he didn’t take that so well either. He’d turned up at the shop that first morning telling her it wasn’t over. He’d have her and her business. Chris found it hard to care about his loss of business. He had plenty of money, paid her minimum wage to clean the place up in the mornings, make breakfasts, lunch and dinner and stay late if people wanted it. 16 Or 17 hours a day, seven days a week. He had worn her out and she’d soon realised that Racle had been right. Had she not made the move then, she doubted she’d have had the energy to ever do it and slowly her savings would have been gone and then what? She’d have worked herself to death. Now, she could see just how worn down she’d been. She’d never had a chance to grieve and desperately needed the job so didn’t question it. Just kept doing more and more to keep her head above water.

  And Cho had known that and taken advantage of her.

  No that she had a problem with hard work. It’s all she’d ever known. Within a couple of months of buying the shop, they had it kitted out, repainted and ready to go. She’d taken a few days to get some of her dishes up to scratch and work out a menu that she would change weekly.

  How she’d managed it, she didn’t know. But on the day she was to open, all her regular’s from Cho’s turned up and some she didn’t know and word spread. She couldn’t believe it. She’d hugged Racle, both with tears in their eyes. They’d had to start taking bookings. Doing two sittings for lunch and two for dinner. And it had gradually taken off. She worked the hours she needed to and no more. Starting at 10am doing prep and was done by 10pm. It gave her time to do the important things in life. Racle took on the service and cleaning with some help. They closed on Mondays and had half day Sundays only opening for lunch. Service ended at 3pm.

  Within weeks, for the first time since her husband died, she’d had hope they’d make it. Hope that after everything that had happened, she’d pulled it around. Protected what was important. With a new spring in her step, she’d got to work and never looked back. Until Cho came calling one morning offering to buy the place and her in it. And he’d not come alone. Chris wasn’t placated by the calm, friendly act he was putting on. The money he offered wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. She’d still end up working her ass off for him. She knew him too well. He’d not settle for lunches and dinners, she’d be back to doing 17 hours a day. She shuddered at the thought. No. Had been her answer. And wasn’t in the least surprised when it had turned nasty at her refusal.

  He made accusations and threats about putting her out of business and she’d taken them seriously. Cho could be a nasty piece of work. He had a reputation, his fingers in a lot of pies. Racle come bounding out from the kitchen waving a meat chopper. Telling him to fuck off with his men. They’d all looked at her in surprise. But he’d gone and she’d reported it to the Order and things went quiet. For a while.

  He’d bided his time. Months passed and she’d begun to f
orget it all. Until a few weeks ago. Then small things started to happen. Whispers that her food was contaminated. That the water was bad. People had got ill eating there. All of which was bogus. They’d been forced to get in health inspectors and print their reports. Getting a five-star rating had been just what was needed. Few places had that including Cho’s. They’d splashed it up on the shop front and put it in the papers with a night dedicated to good health and good living. It was a sell-out!

  But it didn’t stop the whispers. The damage was done. They’d battled it and hoped, they’d get some real proof it was Cho and discredit him, but it was hard going. He wasn’t stupid. No one wanted to put themselves in trouble with him or his boys and both Chris and Racle understood that. They were lucky her regulars were loyal, and it only made them more determined that he shouldn’t win. They decided to talk openly about the problems with her customers and suppliers and left her five star rating on all tables and in the windows.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t understand it to some degree, she did. They’d taken most of his food trade and hardly anyone stopped in the bar any longer just for food. He’d lost a lot of money, she got it. He was angry. She got that too. But that didn’t make it right.

  It gave her a greater determination. She wasn’t going to let that stop her having her dream. She had responsibilities. People who depended on her. And there was no way she was letting them down.

  ***

  Another deployment. Another world. His system registered that this was his twentieth since seeing Mac and gave the exact time frame. Nineteen years, 11 months, 3 weeks, 5 days. The results of his testing automatically coming up across his optic as he thought it. It was a reminder that it had shown no abnormal blood cells. He’d been found to be 100%, no lingering essence within his system. No changes to his DNA. The contact with the female hadn’t caused any underlying problems. He hadn’t been bonded and he’d not imprinted on her. His system flagged an emotion. The same one, each time he thought of it. Loss?

  For the fifty sixth thousand, four hundred and nine third time, his system told him Mac was right. He’d not pursued the female for a reason.

  CraZ leant forward on the bulk head of the ship looking down on the world on the vid screen. This wasn’t a new world to the Empire but an established one. One they’d visited over the years to keep an eye on. To ensure it was no threat to the Empire. It was unclear who had seeded it. Records were lost. They had no input to suggest it was Earth Corp and it could have been any number of other, later Corporations from Old Earth.

  Once Old Earth was nearly depleted of its resources, many of the technically advanced civilisations went to war over what was left on it and those on the surrounding planets in their solar system. When that failed or they were worn out putting orbits in jeopardy, they looked to the stars to see what they could gain from them instead.

  It started a whole new round of Corporation Wars. This time in the stars. They’d learnt nothing by destroying what they already had.

  Worlds upon Worlds were out there. He’d not been deployed to this one before. And his orders were clear. This was a world that had requested trade and the Empire were interested. Not that everyone who asked was taken on. The Empire had strict conditions. Fair trade being one of them. Honesty another.

  Contracting with the Empire depended on many factors. It had to serve the people. No one minded making a profit. That was expected. The Empire did, it was commerce that made it work. And as long as no one was exploited or damaged in the process, the Empire didn’t mind anyone making money.

  Those that didn’t make the grade, were told to put their houses in order if they wanted to work with them. It was that simple. And anyone who was stupid enough to think they could outsmart the Empire, soon found themselves in lock up or worse, depending on their crimes.

  CraZ zoomed in at the vid screen. The settlement looked well established. In all his years he’d rarely found anywhere that looked much like Old Earth. Different elemental impacts created different worlds. No two were the same. His optic automatically displayed the unique differences between this world and Old Earth. There were so many. Then the different influences on the planets, displayed side by side. He could see and hear perfectly around the data displayed on his optic. It was ever present in the foreground or back ground depending on what he was doing. His onboard computer embedded in his brain never turned off, unless he was. Even sleeping, it ran diagnostics and fixed damage by directing the nano’s to where they were needed.

  It sent repair bots to his cybernetic frame and central wiring system to keep him in perfect condition. It also told him what nutrition he needed and the exact amount of water to remain 100% of his functionality. It continually worked away to keep the perfect soldier, in perfect condition.

  He wasn’t sure the meditation Mac had suggested all those years ago had any value. But he’d done it as directed and continued to do so now. His data told him it focused his mind away from other input and that it processed changes in him. Maybe that was the point. Having little other data to go on, he could only look at his own diagnostics. He knew humans had found it ‘useful’. Helping them through traumatic events. Was losing a possible mate traumatic?

  It was a reasonable question. His data told him that if his emotions had been switched on, it would have been. Clearly Mac, thought the activity would be of value to him even though he was Cyborg. He couldn’t argue one way or another he didn’t have enough data to go on.

  He could say that his diagnostics registered a wakeful calmness and peaceful mind while doing it. Was that it? Again, he didn’t have enough data to go on to answer that question definitively. Had it helped him in some way? His data provided a more positive result than he’d expected. CruZ registered that Mac would be interested in that self-diagnostic. He made a mental note to upload his latest findings as soon as possible.

  “Landing party to off-worlders,” the ships computer ordered. CruZ picked up his kit bag and flung it over his shoulder, turning for the corridor that would lead to the lift system down to the loading bay. This was his command.

  Over the years, they’d visited this world, checking things out, watched its progress. Now, they were looking to annex, not just visit. The Empire had come calling and this world would be waiting for them. CruZ’s job was to see through the show, to what was really going on. They had accommodations on world so CruZ and his men could live amongst the people.

  Just in case what they’d been told wasn’t the whole story. It was his and his teams’ job to assimilate into the population. Listen to the talk. Spend time in their company. Join in events. Watch the interaction. Blend into the darkness and see what goes bump in the night.

  And they were good at it. Just like all Cyborgs. They were trained for this work. To infiltrate and figure out how the people ticked. To understand, what made them do what they do. There were plenty of humans that lied, were corrupted, were bullies and egotistical. None of that impressed the Empire. They’d lived with the worst of human behaviour and now, looked to irradiate it. Not that that would be completely possible. His data told him just how much it wasn’t it. Such behaviours appeared to be part of human DNA.

  The need to do better. Took some, to a whole new meaning and they didn’t care much how they did it. Those were the ones that needed sweeping away. Like burning the dead wood to give new life a chance. If injustice was evident then they’d stepped in. They were here for bigger reasons and the Empire didn’t like making mistakes.

  He’d heard some say it’s easy to know what makes humans tick. But CruZ knew better and only humans would say that. Never a Cyborg. They knew from first-hand experience, that humans were unpredictable in so many ways. They were not led by logic and many of their actions, were completely illogical. Sometimes dangerous to them and the others around them and still, they did it. It made no sense to Cyborgs.

  He approached the off-worlder nodding to his men and boarded taking his seat. His crew following him in. At his signal the ship c
losed its bay door and took off for the world waiting for them. Four ships were going down to this world. Each carried thirty Cyborgs plus pilot and secondary. His Platoon of 120 men. Only one off-worlder would be staying on world in case of emergency. The others would return to the ship in orbit. He watched as they entered the atmosphere and took the atmospheric bombardment. Within minutes coming through and heading down to land.

  Not that he could see the landing area from his position. He didn’t need to. It would be like all the other places that were expecting visits from off-worlder’s in an official visit. An area designated to disembarkation. Some security, a weapon’s check most likely and an ID scan for their own systems. Verification of who they are and what they were doing there. Then an official welcome and escort to their accommodation and a meeting with the leader or one of their people. All very predictable.

  The world had been warned off placing people to watch them. It only hindered their job and would get messy if they had to take action to prevent them dogging their steps. You couldn’t hide being a Cyborg they were just too big and too there, but they had skills that could make them blend into the background unseen and with their abilities to see and hear so much further than a human could dream of, meant they gained plenty of intel just by being in the right place. Having people following them just made that more difficult.

  “Touch down in 3,2,1. Landing secure. Loading bay doors engaging.” the Pilot called out as per protocol. Not every Cyborgs could use their neuro net to communicate. Too much damage, in too many wars had left plenty of injuries. Some, even with their technology, couldn’t be fixed.