Kismet

by Watts Martin

  Steeling herself, she digs her claws into his sides. They’re blunter than a real rat’s, and without biomods she’s little stronger than any other one-point-six meter high, thirty-something woman in good but not terrific shape—right now, not even good shape. As dark blood wells around her fingers, Randall screams. But the wounds she’s causing are superficial, even when she yanks her claws out and the blood runs more freely.

  It’s enough to make him drop the gun.

  She brings up her knee, slamming it into his stomach, grabbing at his head. But it still doesn’t throw him off balance. With a guttural roar, he runs straight forward, slamming her between him and the window. The back of her head cracks against the glass, hard.

  Before she can recover Randall kicks her in the leg, stomps down on top of her sandaled foot and grinds. The scream she’s been holding in gets out. She can’t stop it. He grabs her by her shoulders, leans down, Jesus, he’s trying to goddamn bite her.

  Come on, biomods, turn on turn on turn on—

  They turn on.

  Instead of helping block the pain, they just add their own layer. They’ve been stressed too much, run too hard, scrambled. But she only needs them for a moment. She grabs Randall by the sides, lifts him up into the air, and whirls around, slamming him into the glass hard enough to send a web of cracks through the inner surface. He impacts a good meter and a half over the floor, face-first, then slides down into a crushed pile, leaving a bloody streak.

  She powers off, letting herself drop back to just the expected pain level, and limps over to grab his gun. When she kneels by him it’s more of a stumble. He tries to draw away. She wonder how much of her he can even see through his ruined face.

  “The crazy thing, Randall.” She takes a shuddering breath. “The crazy thing is, I’m sorry. After all you’ve put me through, I’m genuinely sorry you’re dying for a lie you’ve been telling yourself for twenty years. I never wanted to kill you.”

  She takes his chin and tilts his head toward hers. His eyes manage to focus. “But I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer, like you wanted to do with me. Do you know why?”

  Randall whines.

  “Because,” she says softly, “I’m not an animal.” She brings the gun up, presses the muzzle to his temple and fires.

  After his body topples to the side, she drops the weapon and tries to drag herself back to her feet. Okay, that’s not working. Great. She looks at the elevator. She hasn’t heard any gunfire from up there, but she’s been distracted. Maybe Jack got Burke.

  Something in the outside view changes, and she presses herself against the fractured glass. The cargo ship’s good engine is lit, and the umbilical cord is detached. Oh, God. She can see Kismet, too, floating stationary relative to the docking arm, wheeling through Gail’s field of vision as the platform rotates.

  “Kis,” she gasps. “Do you have any location for Jack?”

  “There are no location sensors in the area.”

  She slides her hands up the glass to pull herself back to her feet. “You sent the cargo ship’s transponder metadata to the RJC?”

  “Yes. However, the ship is transmitting a different signature now.”

  She stares at it as it slowly starts to move away from Alexandria. That shouldn’t be possible. But if it can transmit the signature of a ship that’s supposed to be there—one Burke might well know about, given his connections—it could easily get close enough to get its drones into the atmosphere before it gets torpedoed. “We can’t let it go.”

  “There are no ships in the area that can be signaled to intercept it.”

  Jesus, she should be on Kismet right now. She’s faster than the hauler; she could get ahead of it and—no, not with the fuel leak. Dammit. Think. “Fire the tow cables at it. Hook…something.”

  “We did not replace the tow cables.”

  She swallows. The pirate ship. Right. “Goddammit.” She pounds her fist against the glass, ignoring the new burst of pain. “I haven’t gone through all of this just to have them get to the Ring. Think.” She rubs her head. “Think.”

  “I can weigh probabilities,” Kis offers.

  Gail bites back a bitter laugh. “What’s the probability that ship will reach New Coyoacán if we don’t stop it?”

  The answer comes almost immediately. “Point nine eight three.”

  “And the probability that it can release its drones within the Ring’s atmosphere before being stopped?”

  That takes the ship several seconds to chew on. “There are too many factors for me to evaluate beyond a simple answer of high, medium or low. But the probability is high.”

  “So how do I stop it?” Even as she asks, an answer comes to mind. No. There’s another option, there has to be.

  “That is not something I can compute.” Again, Kis sounds slightly apologetic.

  Dammit, a high probability isn’t a certainty. They might be going somewhere else. The Ring might be able to stop it.

  But she can’t take another chance that things will turn out all right if she does nothing, if she stays silent, if she just lets things go. Especially not on this.

  The cargo ship’s already enough of a speck that she has to zoom in her vision to make it large again. “I—Kis…can you still intercept that ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “You…” Gail rubs her face, feeling tears welling up, and looks out the glass. “I can’t do this. It’s too hard.”

  “You are trying to make a choice.”

  “Yes.” She half-smiles, even though her vision blurs.

  “You told me that sometimes a choice is between the easy thing and the right thing. Is that the case here?”

  “Yes. It is.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper and she closes her eyes.

  Her ship waits expectantly.

  “Kis, I want—no—you…” Then she takes a deep breath, clenching her fists. “You need to ram that cargo ship. As fast a speed as you can build up. Hit it in its good engine.”

  Kismet’s beautiful alto remains achingly calm. “You must confirm that you understand that will result in my destruction.”

  Her throat closes up, but she chokes the words out. “I understand.”

  “All right, Gail. There will be approximately twenty seconds in which I will be able to abort.” Her ship—her home, her expert system, her best friend—cruises slowly past the window, picking up speed, until she passes out of sight.

  The seconds crawl past. The cargo ship gets smaller, even with her vision cranked to full magnification. She can’t see where Kismet is.

  Fifteen seconds pass. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

  A metallic streak barrels toward the cargo ship from the right side of her field of vision.

  Twenty seconds.

  “Goodbye, Gail,” Kismet says. “I love you.”

  What—that can’t—she—

  The two ships meet, blinding her momentarily with a flash of perfect brilliant light.

  A few seconds pass, or a few minutes, or a few lifetimes. The remains of the cargo ship drift apart. Gail remains motionless, standing by the fractured window, until she hears the elevator descending. She wills herself to turn, face it, train the gun on the door.

  It opens on Jack. He nearly falls out of the cab, his shirt soaked in blood, his left hand mangled. “I tried. But Burke and…one other…got to the cargo ship.” He drops into a sitting position, staring at Randall’s corpse. “Maybe the RJC can…intercept.”

  “We stopped it,” she says hoarsely.

  He focuses unsteadily on her. “We did? How?”

  Gail tries to answer, but it undoes her. She sinks to the tiled floor, eyes squeezed shut, and begins to sob.

  Chapter 26

  She’s on board Kismet, in the cockpit, flying toward the cargo ship, accelerating. Kis, stop, we’re going to hit it.

  That’s what you want, Gail.

  No, it isn’t. I don’t want it. I don’t want it.

  It’s your order, Gail. Do you love m
e?

  She sits bolt up, awake.

  Now she’s in a bed, a hospital bed, full gravity. Another dream? No, she must be back on New Coyoacán. She is. Yes. The room resolves into focus. So do all the little aches. Thousands of them. But they’re all little. She feels her tooth with her tongue. Still broken. Okay, that happened. It feels like she has physical bandages clamped around the top of her muzzle and wrapped around one of her feet.

  “Yes, what?”

  She blinks muzzily and looks toward whoever just spoke. Doctor Allen. “Mmm?”

  “You jerked awake and said ‘yes.’” The tigress tilts her head, giving her a curious smile.

  “Sorry. A dream.” Speaking hurts, and the bandage makes her sound mushy. She takes a weak breath. “You have the databox? Nakimura…key.” In her head that’s a complete sentence: Nakimura has the key, or should be able to get it. Is that true? What if he doesn’t? What if he can’t get it? What if they’re too late?

  Allen puts her hand on Gail’s shoulder. “The technicians from Keces are working with it. Let’s keep our attention on you for right now, though. You and Agent Thomas were both shot and beaten. He’s worse off than you are, but we’re keeping you here at least two more nights. We’ve already done mending work along the bridge of your muzzle and your toes, but some of your biomods need to be replaced. And we should take care of that tooth. You’re going to have to take it easy for at least another month. Use a crutch, keep your weight off that foot, and don’t strain your shoulders, either, since they both took bullets. We’ll give you some exercises to help build strength back up.”

  “Jack?”

  “I’ll let you know how the surgery went once I know myself.”

  “Did…anyone else survive?”

  “Nakimura’s assistant, Mr. Nelson, is being treated for shock and a crushed leg.”

  Nelson. He should be thankful she left him alive; he certainly wouldn’t have returned the favor. But she had questions about him, didn’t she? Things she thought of while sleeping. Yes.

  “Are you feeling up for any visitors?”

  “Who?”

  “From the way the receptionist described it, half of New Coyoacán. I’ll see if I can run triage.” She steps out of the room.

  Oh, come on, there can’t be that many. Ansel, she supposes. Nevada, maybe. Travis? She rubs her muzzle. Speaking doesn’t hurt much now, at least. If she’s going to have to be a chatterbox for the night that’s important.

  Bunten, Captain Taylor, Wolfe, and another RJC official all file into the room. They call this a debriefing, right? Taylor’s using a cane, but she guesses he’s recovering well.

  “Gail.” Bunten smiles warmly, sympathetically. “How are you feeling?”

  “Horrible, thanks.”

  “No, thank you. You’ve done incredible work. We’ll do all we can to help you and your sister with recovery. Could you tell us more about what happened? Without records from your ship…” He trails off, smiling more apologetically.

  What can he do to help? Well, she doesn’t have enough money in her bank account to pay off the repair bill for the ship she no longer has, and oh yes, she has no job, because she has no ship. And no home. No anything other than what’s in her bag at Sky’s place, and a promise of a settlement from Keces she might not see for years. She closes her eyes, then nods. “Yeah.”

  It doesn’t take long to recap the highlights. She even manages not to choke up when she talks about Kismet, although she doesn’t mention the ship’s impossible final words. She’ll just sound crazy.

  “Agent Thomas’s wife and daughter were both moved to a safe location,” Wolfe says. “There’s no sign that they’re in danger.”

  Taylor stiffens. “This is the first I’ve heard of that.”

  Bunten clears his throat. “As we’ve already outlined, Ms. Simmons made a good case that the PFS has a leak.”

  “That’s not a valid reason to keep me out of the loop.” His eyes narrow at Gail. “Are you accusing me of being the leak?”

  She gingerly rubs the back of her ear, flicks it experimentally. Ow. “Look, someone came after us on the trip from Panorica to here, and nobody but PFS staff knew about that. Someone at the PFS decided to let Corbett out on bail and, after that, countermanded the warrant to bring him back in. There has to be a leak at the PFS, and if it’s not you, it’s someone you report to.” She looks back to the raccoon. “Nelson probably knows who it is, and I bet he’ll roll on them.”

  Bunten clears his throat. “We’ll keep Mr. Nelson well-guarded, then, and see if he can be persuaded to give us any names.” He swipes his finger across his wristband and taps its face twice. “Captain Taylor, I’d like you to take a walk with Ms. Keating and I.”

  Taylor swallows, nodding stiffly, and heads out between the others.

  When the room clears, she looks around, tapping her fingers on the mattress. The technicians from Keces are “working” with the key. That’s a good sign, but she should be in Sky’s room. She should be with them, helping them, by—by—asking stupid questions and generally being in the way. Okay, scratch that.

  She turns to her right. Wasn’t there a control panel for the entertainment system here? She pulls it up, flipping through the guide. A lot of shows she doesn’t recognize. Figures. The Ring always has to be idiosyncratic—

  “Hey.”

  Ansel’s standing in the doorway. She tries to smile. “See, I told you I’d be back.”

  He comes in, sits down by her bedside. “It looks like most of you kept the promise.” He looks across at the video guide. “Have you seen yourself on the news yet?”

  “I’m…on the news? Why?”

  He folds his arms. “The daughter of the RTEA’s most famous activist shows up on New Coyoacán for the first time in a decade, gets caught in the first terrorist attack here in four decades, goes on a secret mission to an infamous ghost platform, and single-handedly stops a shadowy organization of fanatics planning genocide.”

  She groans, looking at the ceiling. “That’s way too melodramatic. And it wasn’t single-handed.”

  “Sorry. I forgot your sidekick, the dashing Interpol agent gone rogue.”

  “Stop it.” She laughs. Ow, that hurts. “How long are you here for?”

  “I have an evening flight back to Panorica tomorrow. I won’t be around when you get out of the hospital, but Nevada’s promised to keep me informed.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “You didn’t tell me her husband was that—that he was so—”

  “Godlike?”

  “I’d have accepted ‘handsome,’ but I like yours better. Anyway, they’ve both visited, but your doctor doesn’t want to crowd you.”

  “She made it sound like half the Ring was out there.”

  “No, it’s not that bad. A few people have asked about you, though. Other teachers who work with Nevada, I think. Even a couple students. A rabbit girl named, um…”

  “Josie?”

  “Yes, that’s it. She was too shy to talk to me much, but I think she really wants to see you.”

  “Oh.” She swallows. Does Josie hate her for not letting the RJC know about the attack before it happened, for not stopping her mother from being killed? Or does she think Gail has some consoling insight about losing your mom to a terrorist attack?

  Ansel fidgets. “I’m sorry about Kismet. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “I don’t think there is anything else to say.”

  “No.” He sighs softly. “Once you’re healed, are you planning to move back to Panorica? I’m sure I can help get you set up somewhere, and maybe I can find you some contract work.”

  “Thanks. But I don’t know. I don’t feel like I know anything. If Sky…maybe I’ll stay with her for a while, make sure she’s fully recovered. I don’t know what I can do around here, but I’ve still got my citizenship.”

  He clucks his tongue, although his disapproval is belied by his smile. “I see. You’d rather take a handout from the state than your frien
d.”

  “My friends have been through more than enough for me.”

  “And I’d say the state owes you as much as the rest of us do.” Ansel pats her hand. “Do what you need to. Maybe you’ll get another ship again in a few years.”

  “I could only get Kismet because of my inheritance.”

  “Yes, but you could make a lot of money by being famous if you want to, you know.”

  Even though she’d never considered it, she sees what he means: speaking engagements, videos. Maybe she could do a lot of good. And maybe she could drastically shorten her life expectancy by making herself an even bigger target. She sighs. “I don’t care about making a lot of money and I don’t want to be in the limelight. But maybe I want to do more good in the world than I can by floating around picking at space wrecks.”

  He gets up and gives her a careful kiss between her ears. “I’ll check back in on you in person before I leave. And we are going to keep in touch, no matter where you are, all right? Not just when you want something.”

  “All right. And you can get in touch when you want something, too.”

  As he reaches the door, she can’t hold back what she’s been thinking about ever since she woke up. “Ansel?”

  He looks back inquisitively.

  “She’s not…backed up, is she. Ships are like databoxes.”

  “All of the data that’s yours should be recoverable. Contacts, navigation history.”

  “But her. I mean…” She swallows. “She said ‘I love you.’”

  He takes a few steps back into the room. “What?”

  “Before…before Kismet rammed the cargo ship, she told me, ‘Goodbye. I love you.’” She spreads her hands. “I know—I know an expert system could be programmed to have that as a response. I know there’s all sorts of tricks for personalization.”

  Ansel nods slowly. “Yes.”

  She takes a deep breath. “But I hadn’t said anything to her. Not right then.” She looks up at him. “Have you ever heard of ships programmed to tell their owners they love them just before they’re destroyed?”

  “No.”