Wilson Port, Tewanta - 3305-08-19 16:11, Galactic Standard Time
George Smith whistled while he worked. He was just finishing up loading eight tonnes of titanium into a Hauler. There were lots of these little ships coming into the port these days. Some might say that this was an inefficient way to run a starport and that it would be better if just larger ships were landing, but the station was booming and if anything more large ships were managing to land. It was exciting. Lots of new cargo, improvements to equipment, and better safety procedures. Things were just running smoother. There was more of a focus on solving the problems in the docking area than making sure everyone was busy all the time. The Buurian Protectorate managers were still focused on having a smooth running port with a good throughput of ships and cargo, but they listened to suggestions from the dock workers and didn't just assume that they knew best.
One thing they had insisted on was a shorter working shift: the station now ran five overlapping six hour shifts rather than three overlapping ten hour shifts. At first George was worried that he'd see a big reduction in pay, or that he'd have to work twelve hours each day rather than ten, but no, he worked just one six hour shift, for six days. Then he had two days off. Then he would work the later shift, for six days, and so on. He received the same pay in compensation for having to readjust his life every eight days. He laughed out loud when he was told that: under the previous regime he didn't have much of a life anyway. That wasn't the only improvement to his life. He had a new apartment. It was still tiny, but was double the volume of his previous one, all for the same rent. The Buurian Protectorate had brought in new regulations on accommodation standards, much to the annoyance of some of the richer citizens. They were reminded that piracy was down so they were better off anyway and should step up and work a little for the collective good. Some left and some realized that they'd still be better off staying given the sustained boom the system was having.
All the extra time that George had meant he was able to indulge in some hobbies. He had a tiny little hydroponics chamber in his apartment where he was trying to grow flowers. He wasn't very successful, but one of his orchids had bloomed. He spent a hour or two each day painting it, sometimes in a realistic style, sometimes in a psychedelic style that he liked. He hadn't given up on his dream to move to a colony and start a new life, he was still saving for that, but it wasn't an escape from an oppressive life anymore.
While he was finishing up loading the Hauler, an Imperial Courier had landed on the adjacent landing pad. The pilot was descending the steps of the ship. George recognized him as one of the commissars that used to enforce political doctrine for Official Tewanta Order. George shrugged. He supposed it was too much to expect all the old thugs to be brought to justice. He was glad that Daisy was unloading that ship, as he wouldn't have to deal with the man. George was pretty sure he was one of the more cruel commissars under The Order. George cleared the pad to allow the Hauler to take off. When he came back out of his little bunker, he noticed that Daisy was finishing up directing the automechs unloading the cargo, seven tons of it as far as he could see. All the while, the pilot carefully watched what she did and issued orders about where the containers should be put, as if he knew this better than Daisy did. Ha, thought George, the man was as arrogant as ever. Some things never change.
George ran diagnostic tests on the loaders and conveyor equipment while he waited for the next ship to land. He glanced over at the pad that the Imperial Courier was parked. Daisy had left but the pilot was hanging about near the door to the deck crew ready room. Then George noticed the automech transporting a container away from the gleaming white ship. It was heading the wrong way too, towards the pad between his and Daisy's. That pad had been shut for maintenance after some minor malfunctions that had happened the day before. George walked as briskly as he could, in his clunky mag-boots, toward the errant loader. He reached it while it was about four meters from the pad's cargo pod conveyor and sent an override command from his hand terminal to bring it to a stop. He checked the manifest: biowaste, apparently, which George considered odd. The container was high specification with refrigeration options and had a reinforced casing.
"Hey, Control! I seem to have a malfunctioning automech and a weird cargo pod on Pad 17. Could you run a quick scan on the container for me?"
"Will do, George. Give us a minute."
George looked around while waiting for the reply and noticed the pilot walking towards him. The pilot's right hand was reaching inside his flight jacket. George had a bad feeling and started to walk away from the man, towards some containers to get out of the man's line of sight.
"Randomius, George! That container might be holding nerve agents! Don't do anything to it. We'll send a cleanup team right away."
"Send security as well! I think the pilot that smuggled it in might be armed."
"They are on their way!"
George reached the containers and looked back. The pilot had a laser pistol in his right hand and a hand terminal in his left. He was staring at the terminal, frantically typing with his thumb. The automech started up again. George quickly issued override commands to the automech with his own terminal. The automech turned ninety degrees and started to move towards its original pad. George could see the pilot snarl, look confusedly at his terminal, and finally pause to think. Suddenly, he looked up from his terminal and look straight towards George. George pulled his head back around the corner of the container and saw a laser pulse pass through the space where his head was. He turned and started to run as best as he could with mag-boots on. He heard a clanging noise from the container behind him. He glanced back and saw the pilot standing on top of it. George continued running and almost made it around the corner when the pilot fired. It him in the leg, drilling a hole through his thigh. George yelled out in pain and clung to the side of the container, his mag-boots refusing to let him fall prone. He heard a clang on the top of container he was clinging to and then the clunk clunk clunk of someone walking with mag-boots on top. He looked up to see the pilot pointing a laser pistol at his head.
"Time to die, asshole!", said the pilot.
There was a bright flash. George felt a wave of searing heat from above, smelled burning flesh, and blacked out.
Wilson Port, Tewanta - 3305-08-21 08:17, Galactic Standard Time
George woke up in a medical bay with a dull pain ins leg and a tightness in the skin of his face. He gradually became awake of two people standing near his bed. As his vision cleared, the people resolved into a man and a woman. The man looked to be dressed in a doctors uniform. The woman was dressed in a stylish business suit. Probably a station administrator of some kind. George hoped that he wasn't in trouble.
"Hey! Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?", the doctor asked.
"I have been better. My leg hurts and my face is tight. What happened to me."
"You were shot in the leg by a terrorist at the docks and suffered some minor burns when the station pulse lasers vaporized him."
The memories flooded back and along with it the terror. He was sure that he was going to die.
"It's okay. You are safe now.", said the woman, "My name is Eisley Woodward. I am responsible for running this station. The terrorist that shot you has been killed and his black market accomplice has been arrested. In time we will have all the people in this terrorist conspiracy in custody."
"Am I in trouble", asked George.
"Randomius, no! You are a hero. Your quick thinking, dedication, and bravery probably saved the lives of everyone on the station. I am here to personally thank you and to offer you any assistance I can. You are getting the best medical treatment possible, so you should make a complete recovery. You'll even have your eyebrows back in a few weeks. However, until the terrorists are all caught, the station might not be safe for you. We'd like to pay for you to go on a holiday, a luxury cruise, to keep you off the station for a few weeks. Don't worry, you'll still have a job to come back to and an apartment to live in. You will always be welcome here. But for now, you would be safest somewhere else. Is there anywhere you'd like to go?"
"Well, I have always wanted to go to the California Nebula and see the Alliance colonies there."
"We'll make all the arrangements. For now, you focus on healing and get some rest."
George mumbled shocked thanks, as Progenitor Woodward left the room. The doctor administered a mild sedative and George drifted back to sleep.