A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy

by Alex White

  “Nothing is impenetrable or unhackable,” said Cordell, but his usual swagger had been softened by the hours of debate. “Quartermaster, how much is our resupply and refuel bill?”

  “A hundred large, easy,” sighed Orna. “And we’re supposedly robbing them.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Aisha. “That’s quadruple what we paid on Carré!”

  “That’s why we’re not leaving here empty-handed,” said Cordell. “Now go over it again, Boots.”

  Boots gave herself a moment to stare at the ceiling. It was so nice to lean back in her chair and fantasize about the cool pillow in her bunk.

  “Are you waiting for a ‘please,’ Miss Elsworth?” asked Armin.

  That was like a shot of coffee. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Like I said, if the vault doors are closed, there are life-sensing traps. Security ranges from nonlethal to splattered. That rules out drilling the box out with no one watching.”

  “Hard to see any weaknesses there,” said Cordell.

  “Maybe,” said Armin. “Maybe not. Life sensors are very effective in space because there are no bacteria, viruses, pollen, and so forth floating through the air. In atmosphere, sensor sweeps are harder to calibrate. There have to be microbes in the vault, if not from the visitors, from the contents of the safe-deposit boxes—documents, money, et cetera.”

  “What are you getting at, Mister Vandevere?” asked Cordell.

  Armin folded his fingers under his chin. “Perhaps we can trick the life sensor array in the sealed room by gradually adding microbes until it’s overloaded—flood the signal with noise. Of course, that all depends on how clean they keep the interior chamber. If it’s perfectly clean, then the presence of any life inside, no matter how small, will trigger an alarm. Did the whole place smell like antiseptic?”

  Boots thought on that. “No. It smelled like polished saltwood.”

  “Crap. I smelled milled metal,” said Orna. “Hoteliers. That means the inner chamber is as lifeless as the core of a star.”

  Boots nodded. Hoteliers were sought after by the finest establishments in the galaxy, as well as medical and science research labs, since their magical cleanings would perfectly sterilize any surface.

  Armin held up his hands. “Let’s not rule out the idea of sneaking something biological into a safe-deposit box. If it could get out …”

  “We covered that, sir,” said Orna. “Even if we had something, it won’t be able to interface with their security until it gets out of the box. Any halfway intelligent vault designer will make sure those boxes have no computer contacts on the inside.”

  “So we have to hack it while the vault proper is open,” said Boots, “but if Orna casts the mechanist’s mark inside there, the defenses come on and beat the hell out of us.”

  “Maybe you could shield yourself somehow?” asked Aisha. “Do a really quick hack into the dispersers and turrets?”

  “It takes time to hack something that complex,” said Orna. “I’d be down before I could even lay hands on the console.”

  “Any way to use that expensive disperser cannon you’ve been working on?” asked Cordell. “You could puncture some of their defensive spells.”

  Orna sighed. “No, sir. Haven’t gotten it working yet, and the thing is big: most of your height, all of your weight. We’d never be able to sneak it inside.”

  “So we really need to hack,” said Cordell. “While you were outside, you could cast and carry.”

  “Hold a stable spell in my hand—undetected—for the three minutes it takes to get through security?” asked Orna, reaching over to Boots’s station and grabbing a handful of crispy noodles. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. I think I could go at most one minute without connecting to something.”

  Armin rubbed his eyes, then stopped. “What about a barnacle?”

  “A what?” asked Aisha.

  Orna looked at her sidelong, crunching away at her snack. “It’s like a cheap version of the circlet I use to control Charger. I cast my mark and connect to him when I wake up, and the connection stays stable. That’s a good idea, sir”—Orna wrinkled her nose—“except we’d never be able to sneak it into the vault.”

  The first mate steepled his fingers. “Yeah, but what about the extremely low-powered ones?”

  “Not a chance,” said Orna. “Those sensors are calibrated so carefully they’ll trigger security on anything bigger than a cardioid. That means I can’t carry even the smallest barnacle in there.”

  Boots froze, her soda halfway to her mouth. Her eyes darted to Cordell, and she could tell from the look on his face that he had the same idea.

  “What am I missing here?” asked Orna. “Why are you making that face?”

  “Arcana dystocia. I don’t have a cardioid,” said Boots. “That means I can carry a barnacle into the vault.”

  The barracks were unkind to Nilah. Even though a year of ship life had toughened her up, she still had trouble sleeping without the creeping fingers of frost sinking into her bones. The thin blankets they provided were scarcely enough to provide modesty, much less comfort.

  “What are you owed?” screamed Shaver. Her voice was like a cup of hot tea—if someone threw it in Nilah’s face.

  Nilah scrambled to her feet to find Shaver standing directly over her and stammered an unintelligible reply. It was too early for this crap. Or was it too late? They never let any natural light into the compound.

  Shaver scowled and spun to face the rest of the room. “Wake up, people! I asked you a question!”

  Exhausted cultists struggled to consciousness, malnourished and fatigued from regular physical devotions. Shaver pulled out a remote and triggered a deafening alarm that rattled Nilah’s teeth. That got everyone moving.

  “What—are—we—owed?” bellowed Shaver, enunciating each word.

  “Nothing, except what we can take!” came a tentative call from the far corner of the room.

  Shaver took Nilah by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. The guard had developed an affinity for her, and took obvious pleasure in asking, “Why so timid, Hope?”

  “We’re owed nothing,” said Nilah, giving her a dark look, “save what we can take.”

  “And what can you take?” asked Shaver, clapping her on the shoulder.

  She mustered some of the old fire that dominated the racing press conferences. “All that fate has set aside for me.”

  Shaver picked up Nilah’s blanket, and Nilah’s gut churned at the thought of losing it. “Can you take this blanket?”

  Beating the hell out of Heather Ashburn had been an easy decision. Striking a guard would be another proposition entirely.

  “It was granted to me,” Nilah replied, which seemed like the most diplomatic answer.

  The look of sanctimonious shock on Shaver’s face made Nilah want to retch. “Did I ask if we gave it to you?” She stepped in close, getting nose to nose with Nilah, then drew a slinger out of her waistband, holding it at her side. “I asked if you could take it.”

  Nilah stared into Shaver’s green-gold eyes, ready to headbutt her if things went awry. Was this a game? Were they planning to make an example out of her? If she surrendered her blanket, was it a sign of piety and deference to the guards? If she took it, was she demonstrating her willingness to risk harm for what she desired?

  “We both know that I can,” Nilah growled, “so I dare you to raise a finger to stop me.” She slowly removed the cloth from Shaver’s possession, never breaking eye contact.

  The guard’s look of righteous indignation melted to a broad smile. “They’re going to love you at the Pinnacle,” she whispered, then stepped back and turned to address the crowd.

  “This,” Shaver cried, pointing to Nilah, “is exactly what you must be! You must show no fear of seizing your power. If you’re worthy to serve Lord Vraba and our gods, everything will be yours. You’re owed what you can take. Let our sister Hope serve as your example! To Hope!”

  “To Hope!” roared the assembl
age, and Nilah’s heart skipped a beat. She despised herself for it.

  When Shaver departed, others came to Nilah to share their approval with restrained respect. Their adoration was unlike the thunderstruck racing fans of her old life. Those people had been vapid, clamoring for the chance to be close to a driver. They sat at home or on the side of the track, fantasizing about what it was like in Nilah’s shoes. The Children of the Singularity, though heinous, were driven to excellence in one another’s presence. They didn’t want to watch their heroes; they wanted to be their heroes.

  More devotions passed, more paltry meals, another sleepless night, and the cultists grew closer to Nilah. Shaver and the other guards regularly used Nilah as their example. They debated the meaning of beauty and the need for death. They memorized winding passages of contrived heroes’ journeys. The barracks began to fill up as new supplicants trickled inside, two or three a day, then five or ten. They arrived from all over the galaxy, but they all came from nice families and had decent educations.

  The ninth morning, Nilah shook herself awake shivering hard. The rear loading doors were open, and the guards had their slingers drawn.

  “Wakey wakey!” called Shaver. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

  Nilah wrapped her arms around herself and stood, looking for Jeannie and Alister, but they were nowhere to be found amid the crush of bodies. Courtney, on the other hand, was jumping in place to limber up. Nilah clicked the transmitter on the roof of her mouth and pushed through the crowd toward him.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, nodding toward the guards.

  “Ascendancy,” said Courtney, with a big smile on his face. “Today’s the day. Going to prove my destiny. Just remember: let’s be friends.”

  “Have you figured out what the hell ascendancy is?”

  “No one knows exactly, but it’s how we get to the Pinnacle. Just be ready to fight. I am. I was being serious when I said I had the murderer’s mark. Don’t look at it.”

  “Trust me,” said Nilah, “I won’t.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Destinies are never given …”

  “They’re taken,” Nilah replied, completing the phrase she’d seen floating around dozens of Link communities. “See you at the Pinnacle.”

  She had to get private word to Jeannie and Alister about Courtney, and this would be her best chance. It took her a tense minute to find them; she still wasn’t accustomed to their new faces.

  They startled as she placed a hand on their shoulders. “Listen, kids,” she whispered, pointing out Courtney. “I don’t know if that bloke is telling the truth or not, but he’s saying he’s got the murderer’s mark.”

  Jeannie and Alister exchanged glances, and Nilah expected them to laugh, but they were deadly serious.

  “What did he tell you?” asked Alister.

  “Not to look at it,” said Nilah. “I doubt he’s—”

  “The murderer’s mark isn’t a myth,” said Jeannie. “If he casts, put your head down.”

  “Keep your wits about you,” said Nilah, “and for god’s sake, don’t read the guards, David Connelly.”

  “Best way to find out how they felt about our Lord Vraba,” he replied, voice low. “And I did find a traitor, after all.”

  The commotion of evacuating supplicants would scramble most listening devices, but she couldn’t take a chance that her lips would be read by imagers. Nilah had been wanting to have a private moment with him for a while.

  She grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his head close, almost pressing her lips into the cup of his ear. “Mark me, chum. Your stunt almost killed your sister. You’re not the only life at stake, so choose your targets more carefully.”

  She released him, and Alister gave her an indignant look before opening his foolish mouth. “I’m not here to take orders from—”

  Nilah’s palm whipped across Alister’s face before she even realized what she’d done. He clutched his cheek, seething anger in his eyes, but that was all she could see before Jeannie stepped between them like a cold stone wall.

  “See you at the Pinnacle,” she said. “Don’t touch him again.”

  And they shuffled away for the open door. Nilah watched them leave, wondering how long she had before Alister blew their cover. He couldn’t be controlled, and now her fate was tied to his.

  Sharp pain tore across Nilah’s shoulder as the butt of a slinger came crashing down into her. She stumbled away and turned to face her attacker: one of the guards.

  “We said outside,” he said, chambering a round. “We meant outside.”

  Nilah eased through the open loading door and her breath caught in her lungs. The initial shock of wind blew through Nilah’s thin uniform like she was stark naked. The icy ground burned the soles of her feet through ratty shoes. Her shoulder would be bruised, but it was eminently less important than the freezing temperature.

  “Oh, stuff this,” she mumbled through chattering teeth as she looked around at the assemblage of miserable supplicants.

  Jeannie stood abreast of Alister, trying to shield him from the wind as much as her willowy frame allowed. She looked to Nilah and nodded. If something went wrong, they could signal Malik, but he wouldn’t be able to do much.

  “Spread out a bit!” called Shaver, and the group of supplicants thinned in the middle. The men and women on the edges of the informal circle looked around nervously—pack animals away from the herd.

  Shaver pointed up to the dark fortress at the top of the snowy crag. Its windows reflected the rolling, icy landscape below, and Nilah got the keen sense that whoever was up there, they were watching.

  “That’s your destination,” Shaver called out over the wailing wind. “The Pinnacle. It’s two kilometers away at a thirty-degree grade. You’re all in good shape! That’s basically a brisk jog.”

  Nilah could sprint that distance, even at that incline, even in that cold, because of the harsh training regimen of a racer. Even though she’d been on the Capricious for a year, she could still take on a distance like that. Heather Ashburn would’ve made it easily, too, had they not murdered her. Glancing around, Nilah saw a lot of candidates that could make the hike—and that fact brought cold fear into her gut.

  Shaver clapped her hands together, as if announcing her favorite theatrical act. “Now, some of you may have been counting, and there are about a hundred people trying to get to the top. That’s a problem, because our master has ten beds for the latest class of recruits.”

  Oh, no.

  “You have sacrificed to be here!” screamed Shaver, burning zeal in her eyes. “You’ve given up your families! You’ve given up your fortunes! Through that Pinnacle lies your path to greatness. The training you receive there will give you a place among the gods themselves!”

  The guards by the barracks leveled their slingers at the crowd of supplicants, who flinched and gasped.

  Shaver raised a finger to the heavens and shouted, “So we’ll make you a deal: those doors will open up when we’ve got ten recruits. Destinies are never given, they’re taken.”

  Shaver lowered her hand and pushed through the crowd, shouldering people out of the way. Murmurs rose above the howling wind as supplicants looked to one another for some kind of social cue. Out of the corner of her eye, Nilah saw Jeannie and Alister cast the reader’s mark and touch hands.

  Upon reaching the doors back to the barracks, Shaver took out her slinger and said, “I have one more lesson to teach you. Always be ready for anything,”

  She fired a lancer round straight into the crowd, skewering a man and a woman. She collapsed dead, a hole through her torso. He went down screaming with a mauled shoulder.

  Nilah didn’t wait to see what happened next, launching for the distant gates of the Pinnacle. Slow, methodical pops filled the air, along with the whizzing of spells overhead. The guards weren’t aiming directly at the cultists, but if Nilah stopped, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. She sprinted along the ice as fast as h
er legs would carry her, cold air ragged in her throat.

  The slinger fire died away behind them. Either the guards had stopped shooting, or they were reloading. She wasn’t about to turn and find out. Despite her fitness, Nilah was nowhere near the front of the pack. A lanky boy far out front took that honor, and Nilah had little doubt that he’d be the first to the gates. That was all right. It left nine spots for Nilah and the Ferriers.

  Then a screaming bolt of fire struck the lanky boy, sending him to the ground in a pile of flailing, smoky bones.

  It’d come from another supplicant near the front of the pack. Nilah spun just in time to catch a fist from a husky fellow. It wasn’t enough to break anything, not enough to even hurt, but it put her off balance, and she went tumbling across the hard-packed snow.

  She rolled onto her back to find an all-out battle developing behind her. Magical bolts arced back and forth, elemental energies blistering the landscape. One supplicant impaled a woman on a spear made from light. Another released a noxious gray cloud from a glyph, sweeping down the hill, choking the others. Still more fought with their bare fists—strong bodies but weak cardioids. While these people weren’t the best of the best, they certainly killed each other with wild abandon.

  The man with the light spear came barreling toward Nilah, and she rolled backward onto her feet, avoiding a swift end. No sooner had she caught her balance than she had to bend over backward to avoid a wide swipe of the sizzling staff, which opened him to a disrupted orbit attack. Nilah swept her hands inward and went to shoulder check him, only for him to deftly step aside. Without the stunning flash of Flicker, he saw her coming a klick away.

  If she used her dermaluxes, she might make it to the top, but she’d be murdered where she stood. They’d know her as Nilah Brio in a heartbeat.

  Two more stabs of the light spear forced her back, and he made to lunge a third time when an invisible force sliced his throat clean open. He clutched at his gushing neck, furious to be felled, struggling to contain his life’s blood. As he collapsed, Nilah spied the caster, the air around her fingertips glimmering like shards of broken glass.