Star Law: A Marshal Cole Series

Chapter 1

At first, Garner Cole was disoriented and didn't know where he was. Without thinking, he had a gun tightly gripped in his hand: The reflexes of a former soldier. He listened carefully and then heard it again. It was a soft door chime. His eyes tried to adjust to the dark but the only illumination was a faint glow of a holographic clock on a side table. Where am I? The digital clock indicated 3:30 AM. There was an insistent knocking and a muffled sound of a voice from outside.

His implant was off so he could not access his personal AI or any other network. Did I turn off my Artificial Intelligence? Normally Jem, the AI implant would kick in and situate him to time, surroundings and any other data. In truth, the clock on the table was a visual conceit to help create the impression of date and time via the senses. Just as the dimming of lights helped facilitate artificial day/night cycles, the clock was just another reminder of time and place. Even with an internal AI, the mind sought out sensory indicators. Clocks and wrist watches continued to exist to satisfy that need.

"Lights," called out Cole in a gravelly voice. "Low," he said, acting in precaution. Illumination faded in enough to make out the surroundings.

The room was small and there was a slight thrum under foot. I'm aboard a ship, thought Cole. He was still groggy and his entire body ached. He stood and surveyed the room. The cabin had a single bed with the covers still on. He must have slept atop of them. There was a datadesk across from the bed with an empty coffee cup upon it. The insignia on the cup was for Blue Star Lines and beneath that read the words: Niagara.

At last it came to him where he was.

The knocking continued at the cabin door. "I'm coming," Cole said. He looked at himself in the mirror. His dark hair was unkempt and his face was bruised. Several days growth of beard covered some of the battering he had taken but not all. Several recent surgical scars crisscrossed his bare chest. How he looked didn't compare to how he felt though.

His mother used to say of high height in the old way of measuring: Not quite six feet! Today though, his 1.8 metre frame was slumped over in pain. The nanos in his body struggled to heal the many injuries he had. It is why he had shut down his AI: to assist healing as he slept. The AI derived power from his body to interact with the brain even in sleep so some cases such as injury, it was best to turn it off.

A nanomed tank would have better regulated pain, dissipated bruises and nearly erased evidence of scar tissue but he'd chosen not to be treated that way. Three days submerged in the tank would have left him more or less renewed but he wanted to be as far away from the public furor back on Arcturus. It was just too much.

In the dim light, he made his way to the door and tucked the gun into the back of the waistband of his pants. His hand passed the control panel and the video lit up revealing Miguel Rodriguez, steward of the deck.

It had to be something important as the young Venezuelan had pretty much let him to recuperate in his cabin. Meals were brought silently inside and left on the table. It'd been five days since he'd come aboard and the routine had not changed till today.

Cole opened the door. Miguel shifted uncomfortably.

"Sorry, Marshal." Miguel began. "Wouldn't have disturbed you unless it was urgent."

"I know, Miguel," Cole replied. "What is it?"

"The captain has called for you. We have a situation in one of the passenger cabins."

"What sort of situation?" Cole asked.

"Someone is dead," Miguel said. "Or at least we think so. You need to come regardless. It's just...it's very strange."