“I’ll call this release ‘The Best of Benny Hill, edited by Mikhail Petrov.’ I hope to repeat my success with Monty Python’s Flying Circus.”
Watching the footage, Olga couldn’t help laughing even though she had seen the individual episodes many times. Uncle Misha had done a fine job as an editor.
“I’ll vote for you on the net if you want,” Olga said. “I can even set the main computer to vote for you.”
“Sure, just don’t make it too conspicuous—no more than half a hundred an hour from different addresses.”
Olga snorted. “Like I don’t know what I’m doing. I could fix presidential elections if I wanted to.”
Mikhail downed another glass and laughed like a man who is full and happy. “Oh yes, you can. I know you and your pranks only too well. I sheltered you from management countless times.” Petrov smiled at his favorite pupil. “You’re quite an adult now. If only Arina could see you now!”
“I miss her too. But it can’t be helped. One generation always replaces another. Speaking of, is your nephew in his third year at the Academy now?”
“Yes, Peter. He’s carrying on the family profession. His examinations will be held at the Upper Terminal soon. Will you help us?”
“Of course. But he must hide the transmitter more slyly. Not in the bone, but the hair.”
They spoke for another hour and a half or so, mainly discussing Olga’s prospective enlistment with the Navy. After that, Uncle Misha had another drink to her health, wished them all goodnight and went off the air. Though she hid it from her friend, Olga had grown sadder and sadder during the conversation as she thought of Arina. She made the last corrections to the conveyor operation and went to bed.
An hour and fifteen minutes later Olga awoke to an SOS signal in the form of a powerful discharge of electric current through her spinal column. She leapt out of bed and darted in her pajamas to the second floor. In the meantime, the High House switched to emergency mode. The portholes closed with shutters and red lights came on.
Her first command was to cancel the emergency mode. The second one was to get in touch with Earth.
“Olga, why aren’t you aren’t asleep?” a disgruntled voice asked.
“I’ve got an emergency mode, Uncle Misha!”
The sleepy stout man disappeared in a split second, replaced by a resolute naval officer ready for any contingency.
“What’s the nature of the emergency?” Petrov demanded.
“An SOS signal arrived thirty-five seconds ago. Use your channels to find out what it’s all about since I receive nothing but the signal and its location.”
“Just a minute. Oh, goddamn!”
“Stop cursing and tell me what happened!”
“This is really serious,” Petrov said. “That signal is coming from the Black Swan!”
The Corporation’s fleet register appeared before Olga’s eyes.
“So, the Black Swan. One thousand two hundred tons, homeport Apollo-1. Registered asset of Electra Donovan.” It was Olga’s turn to be surprised. “Is it the daughter of—”
“Exactly. Her father is one of the Corporation’s nine presidents, your immediate superior. It’s not just his favorite daughter who’s on that ship, but many of her VIP friends. You’ve been assigned to rescue them.”
“Why should it concern me? The High Houses don’t participate in rescue operations. Their company charter prohibits that. Don’t they know that? Or have they forgotten?”
“I know all that, Raven, but the order has just come. You’re ordered to provide every possible aid in defiance of the charter. Here, read this.”
The register was replaced by a short message confirming what Petrov had said.
“You’re the closest,” Petrov said. “As they were descending from the geostationary zone, headed for Orbital Washington, they sustained an equipment failure. Nobody knows what happened exactly, but they need help and they are on the way to the nearest station, which happens to be yours.”
“May I ask how and by what means I’m supposed to provide aid? I haven’t got a spare parts depot or a dry dock here.”
“So far they want only to dock at the House. They’ve got a standard docking unit enabling them to do it automatically. I think their primary need is to replenish their supply of oxygen.”
“I’ll give them some oxygen, but I don’t have much of it. And power if they need it. Is that all?”
“If they have casualties, you may have to accommodate them in the manned compartment until the rescue team arrives.”
“Doc will have to treat them,” Olga said. “I’m not trained for that, so their Majesties will have to accept the ministrations of an android.”
“I’m sure they’re not about to object now. Get ready for the docking. In the meantime, I’ll try to find out more about what is going on.”
“The golden youth, damn them! Came from nowhere to complicate my life! Ah, maybe I’ll be decorated for this somehow. First mate!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“We’re preparing for a rescue operation. The House might take on board an unknown number of casualties. Your task is to clear the living room and prepare it for triage. Bring whatever you have onboard in the way of first aid, especially the hemostatic and anti-burn drugs. It’s up to you to treat them until the rescue ship arrives. Can you manage?”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Of course you can. If it’s necessary, I’ll give you permission to take the emergency supply of drugs from the rescue capsule as well. Go.”
Doc came down and started rearranging the furniture while Captain Olga remotely altered the design of the docking unit, adjusting it for the reception of a passenger ship, the first one in a long time. Simultaneously, she ordered the repair rats to bring several oxygen tanks to the pier and make ready to connect power cables to the ship in distress. After executing the order the rats brought a dozen fire extinguishers. They might need them, though Olga hoped it wouldn’t come to that them.
“Captain, everything is ready for receiving the casualties,” Doc said.
“Excellent. Now let’s have a look at the Swan. It’s already approaching.”
Olga linked to the nearest space telescope. She had never seen such a spaceship. The trucks that came to her House were just nameless cylinders; the square-shaped repair ships and the military cruiser resembling a spearhead were the most exotic she had ever seen. The design of those space workhorses was determined only by functionality that envisioned no redundancy or superfluity. As for the Black Swan, it was a product of collective effort not only by ingenious engineers but artistic architects. The yacht was a fifty-meter long egg, compressed on top and the bottom with an ideally smooth body unmarred by external devices. The ship’s bottom was made of lunar ceramite, the color of ivory and polished to shine. The upper part was transparent and pieced together from a darkened volcanic glass. Outwardly, the yacht looked undamaged.
On the bow the maneuvering engines flared up and instantly went out. The yacht was slowing down, reducing its velocity to match the House’s. Olga tried once more to contact the Swan, offering its captain to assume the ship control at the final portion of its path, but there was no answer. The only communication came from the automatic beacon of the landing system.
“All right, chaps. Don’t panic if you can’t get in touch. The landing system is operating normally. Don’t interfere with the automation and the system will moor you by itself.” Olga was not sure this was true. She would have liked to have seen them try to steer the machine for a bit to see how maneuverable it really was. If something went wrong, the ship would tear through the High House. She hoped that one of those tourists didn’t panic and touch the control boards.
Olga tried once again to communicate with the approaching ship. No use. In the meantime, the yacht was coming close to the station covering the last meters of emptiness.
“Docking due in three, two, one … Contact. Docking performed!” the onboard computer confirmed the
arrival of the guests.
The ship’s docking unit embraced the Swan, and the yacht began to rotate along with the axis.
“Welcome to High House Eight. Doc, I’ll greet the guests.”
Two minutes had passed since the docking, but not the slightest movement was visible in the yacht. Nothing except the automatic attachment of the power cables and air supply hoses. Olga’s passed through the airlocks and propelled herself to where a dark portal opened up on the Swan’s glittering body. Eight figures in enhanced-protection spacesuits exited through the maintenance hatch one by one. The first figure saw Olga, activated his or her engines, and left the formation to fly to her. Through the transparent mask, Olga made out a woman’s well-shaped head with a stock of fiery red hair. It was Electra Donovan.
“Ensign Olga Voronov, the station commander. What can I do for you?” Olga greeted the guest in a dry official tone.
“We’re good,” Electra replied, raising her electromagnetic gun.
“Is that a stupid joke?”
“I herewith discharge you from service,” Electra said and fired a bullet through Olga’s head.
* * *
“That damned brat shot me!” Olga cried out in the semidarkness of the control room. If she hadn’t sent a hologram instead of herself to the guests, her head would have exploded. This was an assassination attempt, an attack on the High House!
The override signal was automatically given the moment Electra pulled the trigger. The communication system went silent. For the first time in many years, the local Matrix had gone out. Now the House was truly cut off from the outer world. Moreover, Olga instantly lost control of the entire station. The girl’s hand swung aside the transparent lid and pressed the red SOS button as deep as it would go. Nothing. The signal lights didn’t come on.
Electra cursed as she realized she’d been tricked. “Is the station ours?” she shouted to her partners.
“The codes are accepted; we have the central processor,” a woman’s voice called back. “The orbiter’s nervous system is in our hands. Even the signal lights are switched off.”
In the meantime, Olga tried again to summon help. The main radio transmitter and three reserve ones didn’t respond to her commands. Even the rescue capsule was unresponsive. The entry to the Matrix was blocked too.
The well-trained and self-possessed Olga sought a way out of the plight. To take control of the central processor required the highest priority access codes. Unfortunately, the president’s daughter did have those codes and had seized control of the station … Except for the manned compartments, which reported only to the captain. Olga was trapped, but Electra had no way to open the hatches and enter through the sluice chamber.
“Captain, my transmitter functions normally.”
“Doc, it’s not that we’re unable to go on air. I could do that easily. The problem is that nobody will listen to us. Our security system is now operating against us and we—”
The radio suddenly sprang to life.
“Ensign Voronov, can you hear me?” asked a woman’s contemptuous voice in American English. “Over.”
“Ensign Voronov speaking. What do you want?” Olga snapped.
“A mere trifle. Your life, and the destruction of this orbiter.”
Olga took her time to answer. She didn’t understand Electra’s reasoning, but she didn’t doubt her intentions. An explosive bullet to the head isn’t something you can take back.
“What is this all about, you spoiled brat?”
“Because you’re a murderer, Olga Voronov. You and your like are murdering our world! Thanks to your factory billions of human parasites persist in their foul lives, poisoning our beautiful Earth. Our planet will not stand this barbarism any longer, and I’ll put an end to it.”
Olga breathed deeply. Wrath would hamper her thinking. She had to distract them for as long as she could, give herself time to foment a plan.
“What’s the matter, Electra? Are you so tired of gorgeous luxury that you feel like throwing up? Or have too many drugs rotted your brain? Can you—”
“Say whatever you want, you’re dead meat just the same. We will stop this epidemic of human locusts guzzling our resources by killing them with thirst. The strong must destroy the weak or the whole planet will die!”
“A billiard and a half rubles of net profit every month, that’s what I bring to Supernova. Of course, you can’t understand why. A brainless creature like you has never known real work and will never understood the value of living by doing an honest job. Your family and the other owners of the Corporation live in luxury—the villas and yachts, the real meat and drink, lovers and mistresses—I provide all this! I’m sorry that the cost of that is that billions of poor people aren’t wiped from your eyes. But without me, you’ll soon be as poor as they are. And what do you think they’ll do to the one who destroys their pot of gold? They’re not as foolish as you are. Fly away immediately, and I’ll pretend this never happened. That’s your last chance!”
“My dear Olga, you’ve missed one little thing. No one will ever know that it’s me who has destroyed the factory. As you might have noticed we’ve cut off all the systems, and nobody will ever hear about our talk. But they will see something different. Look here!”
The main screen sprang to life. Olga saw herself briefing headquarters about the Swan’s docking and the severe damage its reactor had sustained.
“They think that a rescue operation is in full swing here. Once we burn the factory’s nervous system, the bogus Olga Voronov will send a message that an uncontrollable chain reaction has begun in the reactor of the Swan, after which the communication will break off. An explosion will occur on our ship, entirely destroying the station and you with it. And we’ll move away from the station to a safe distance and wait for help. I promise to write a touching account of your heroism so that you’ll be decorated posthumously, though.”
Olga switched off the radio and turned to Doc.
“We must seek help outside of the headquarters; get in touch with somebody who can help before they blow up the station.”
But who else could help? The Corporation Fleet’s headquarters? Impossible. They complied with similar protocols of data protection. The Union military? Olga didn’t know anyone there and nobody knew her.
She returned the video. The imposter Olga was talking with a senior officer, a man who she had seen just a couple of times in her life. Where was Mikhail? Why had they relieved the duty officer? Because Electra worried that Petrov might suspect they weren’t talking to the real Olga. That meant he probably wouldn’t be at headquarters at all.
“I’ve found somebody who can help us. Bolt, come here! Doc, bring all the spools of the communications wire we have.”
Bolt jumped out of his niche and hurried to the armchair, ready to fulfill any order. Doc fetched the spools.
“Connect the spools in one cable and give me the total length.”
“What is your plan, Captain?”
“Bolt will go to the surface through the maintenance hatch and fly in the direction of the factory for far as the cable will permit. He’ll be going alongside the far side, so the factory will hide him from Electra and her gang. I’ll keep in touch with him via the cable, which they won’t be able to jam. After that Bolt calls Petrov via the ordinary telephone and with his assistance, we’ll call for help.”
“In all this makes one thousand two hundred fifty meters of cable.”
“This’s enough. We’ll transmit using one of my codes. Electra won’t hear us right away. And once she realizes what it’s all about, it’ll be too late!” Olga’s eyes were aglow with determination.
In the meantime, Electra’s crew was finishing the connection of the powerful jamming generator to the peripheral inputs of the factory’s nervous system. Electra Donovan smirked viciously as rang up the manned compartment.
“Voronov, are you still there?”
“What is it? I’m busy!”
“I just want t
o show you another of my funny tricks!”
The neuro-interface turned on, and Olga collapsed on the floor as if she’d been sucker-punched. Her body began to convulse, and blood erupted from her nose. She rolled over the black floor, foaming at her mouth. The jamming generator, set to full capacity, was burning out micron by micron, the nervous system of the factory gradually eliminating the sophisticated mechanism and Olga with it by sending destructive high-frequency pulses into her spinal column.
Doc rushed to the girl, trying to switch off the Matrix connection that was killing her, but he could not do so because Electra controlled the central processor. Olga twitched one last time and became still. Heart failure. Cessation of breathing. Clinical death.
The first mate turned her over onto back, tipped her head, put on the oxygen mask, then ripped her pajamas open. Doc brought two fingers to the lower half of her chest and administered an electric shock. The current that gushed between the android’s fingers restarted the cardiac muscle, and her heart began to throb. The convulsions resumed. Holding Olga with one hand, Doc injected a painkiller in her left bicep. The spasms gradually subsided, and the bleeding stopped.
Two minutes passed. Olga was slowly regaining consciousness. She took off the mask and tried vainly to get to her feet. She felt as if she were burning inside. And that was a genuine sensation, for that is how a nervous system dies.
“More painkiller, Captain?”
“No, I’ll pass out. Put my suit on. It will shield me somewhat.”
The first mate rushed to fetch the spacesuit while Olga sat on the floor, leaning against the control panel. The dreadful pain in her back came in surges, bringing nausea and lightheadedness. Olga clenched her teeth, suppressing her groans. Doc put the spacesuit on her. It helped a little, and her mind became somewhat clearer.
“Activate Bolt!”
Bolt came up on top of the compartment through the narrow maintenance hatch that only the robots could use. The jet engines issued a tiny cloud of inert gas and Bolt flew off, the thin cable trailing after him like a snake. Olga controlled the flight, desperately withstanding the fits of pain while Doc saw to it that the spool unwound smoothly and the cable didn’t tangle.
The Raven High Page 14
