Due to some manipulation of the defense field filter's ability to screen out certain wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum, the interior was now dark. Father and son laid down on portarests that were built into the quarantine unit - hoping to get a good nights sleep.

"Christopher?" a pause.

"Yes father?" a longer pause, struggling to speak.

"Are you mad at us?"

"Mad at you for what?" Christopher asked, knowing full well the answer. He only wanted to hear it for himself.

"For abandoning you on Earth."

"Come on father! You know me better than that. I do feel a regret that we couldn't stay together; but we are together now," Christopher grinned. "And the only way you could abandon me is if I think that I have a right to your presence."

"Always the philosopher," Patrick sniffed. "Your mother and I taught you well."

"That you did."

"So your not angry?"

"No. I would never want to force you to stay on Earth for my benefit - especially if it would put your livelihood at risk. But I do wish you would have told me where you were going."

"You understand why we didn't?"

"Death and taxes!" Christopher swore. "The first certifiable nutcase who finds out about Arbos-II wants to wipe it out - using me as his pawn. Yeah, I understand!"

"So tell me Christopher, why does everybody call you TJ?"

"It's short for Thomas Jefferson."

"That figures," Patrick yawned shifting on the portarest. "But he was definitely a miniarchist*. I think Lysander Spooner fits you better."

"True enough. But he's a bit obscure for people to know about."

"That also figures," that response being the last thing Christopher heard before he fell asleep.

* * *

Not having ever given anyone his true name, he was most commonly known as that olive-skinned terran. Throughout his career as mercenary, assassin, and thief - he had come to be known by several names.

Keracht, or sly one, by the Klingons who he last worked for in the Starliner Rainbow Isles incident - a simple act of piracy and the attempted kidnapping of the Andorian ambassador to Starfleet. Regrettably, some Antosian shapeshifter had gotten in the way barely allowing his escape.

The Vulcans called him Debroun, because of the illogic of his actions. What they didn't realize was that, yes, the long term effects of his occupation might be fatal, outweighing the short term benefits. But Vulcans being Vulcans, they forget the thrill, the danger, and the excitement. On Vulcan he was responsible for what became known as the Have a nice day! murders. In assassinating certain high officials, he would affix to their faces yellow happy face masks that originated on 20th century Earth. For that request from his xenophobic client, he made sure to double his usual fee.

Svalak, by the Andorians, meaning Black Warrior due to his ways of stealth and deception. Through these methods, he created dissension between two allied Andorian tribes at the request of a third tribe who made sure to benefit.

But, at this time, he thought of himself as LT Joshua O'Halloran, currently registered as Joseph Staci at the Heywood Arms on the island of Edison. Staying in the Executive Suite, 100.2 g Au per night, or 357 mg Dilithium payable in redeemable certificates drawn upon any Arbosian bank, savings and loan, or credit union. For his expense and downpayment, O'Halloran had insisted on a mix of Denebian fire diamonds, and certificates redeemable in tritanium, platinum, gold, silver, and dilithium.

When the anonymous message had come into his electronic mailbox with the proper referral codes, asking him to get rid of all the drug dealers, drug users, anarchists, gamblers, prostitutes, and sexual deviants from a planet - he had his doubts. But when he found out that the entire planet was full of those type of people, his hopes rose. This would be the climax of his career. With the price he was charging for a job that was more preparation than perspiration, he would be able to finally retire.

The first thing he did, as he did with all assignments, was to run a retinal scan of the contact. Nothing like being framed by Federation Security. After an analysis of the scan, which he received when accepting his downpayment and the details of the assignment, he found out he was dealing with a high placed lobbyist in the organization Citizens for Decency in the Federation (CDF). He then knew this wasn't a trap, that particular group thinking it was morally acceptable to behead drug dealers, imprison drug users without trial, and perform medical tricorder readings of the general populace in their war on drugs. Well, if they wanted to create a large black market and the additional death and crime that went along with it, who was he to argue.

Osfarg, as called by the Tellarites; Dejunge, as called by the Rihannsu - had no interest in the illusion of freedom resulting from the lack of government control over the individual. He made his own freedom - government or no government - even if it did require exercising coersion.

But first things first he though as he picked up the compad, entering a series of numbers.

"American Letter Mail Company, Edison Branch. How may I help you?" a voice issued from the speaker grille.

"I believe you have a package for a Joseph Staci #3796?"

"Yes sir, we do," the bodiless voice replied.

"Excellent, excellent," O'Halloran smiled as he gave further instructions.

* * *

"Good news sir," Drayen addressed Rally via his monitor. "Pinkerton North Cochrane has decided to cooperate with us in hunting down our alleged LT O'Halloran."

"That's a surprise," Berl grunted. "How did you manage that?"

"Well it seems our alleged murderer tried to allegedly murder Patrick Edwards - TJ's father - and wipe out every living being on Arbos-II."

"Oh, that incident with the macroviruses."

"Yes sir."

"Maybe if they passed some laws restricting immigration they wouldn't have problems like this," Berl chuckled. "But, how does this help us?"

"Well, they're going to get together with a few other of the Private Defense Companies and transmit O'Halloran's image on every single channel on their communications network that is willing to sell 30 seconds of commercial time. Maybe we'll find out which hotel he's staying at, shake him up, make it impossible for him to do business, and set an entire planet of vigilantes after him all at the same time.

"What about his privacy?"

"Well, quite a few of the hotels, it seems, have an exemption to the privacy clause in their contract that allows the apprehension of individuals accused of crimes against people and property. Being a newcomer on Arbos-II, the chances are that he didn't pay much attention to the rental contract when he checked in."

"Good work Mr. Drayen," Berl failed in holding back a grin. "Keep me posted."

"Yes sir!"

* * *

"What's the verdict?" Patrick observed T'Rama's eyes to see if he could detect anything in what she was about to say. "Genepool was able to come up with a neutralizing agent, weren't they?"

"That was never really in question Mr. Edwards," nothing could be discerned through her eyes. "Genepool did come up with safeguards in case the self-repairing factor of the macroviruses failed and mutation did occur. The one thing that the CDF and similar groups seem to forget is the companies interest in staying in business and making a profit. It wouldn't benefit Genepool to kill all their customers manufacturing a defective product, or selling a product that cost more than a customer was willing to pay - or a competing company was willing to sell it for."

"T'Rama...," Patrick tried to interrupt.

"Such practices result in a smaller customer base, less demand for the product, and bad publicity. Any of which, in this highly competetive society, will put a company out of business."

"T'Rama...," Patrick tried again unsuccessfully.

"Now look at the regulations that other planets set up because they believe it will achieve lower prices and products of a higher quality. All it results in is keeping newcomers out of the marketplace, resulting in a lack of competition, leading to quality and prices based upon the wishes of long established companies - not upon the wishes of the consumer. So, the large dinosaurs are kept in business, while making it impossible for the not as wealthy, but innovative, newcomer to enter the marketplace.

"It also leads to consumers who won't check out the safety and efectiveness of products themselves because they believe that through existing regulations it is the governments job to do it for them. Just like little children who can't make decisions for themselves. Someone always has to do it for them."

"T'Rama," Patrick sighed.

"Yes, Mr. Edwards?"

"You forget who you are talking to. My son and I just didn't get off the boat you know."

"I apologize Mr. Edwards. But as a point of fact, your son did just get off the boat."

"T'Rama," from Christopher.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"I think you've been on this planet too long."

"That is probably true. But this culture is very interesting."

"You have a point there," Christopher laughed.

"But I believe you were interested in the neutralizing agent. Here," she opened up a portable monitor. "Let me show you what we have come up with."

* A miniarchist is a person who wants a much smaller government, restricted to preventing interference with individual rights; as opposed to an anarchocapitalist, who would not want any government at all.

*Copyright © 1998 Bruce Summer
*All Rights Reserved