by M. D. Cooper
Jason sent him a mental nod and then feigned a stumble just as he reached the three at the corridor. He didn’t bother to hide his flinch as he reached out to catch himself on the conduit Jonesy had indicated.
“Easy guys, I just tripped. My mama didn’t raise me to be that stupid. I’m not going to make any sudden moves, if I can help it; not with four weapons aimed at my head.”
He rose, both palms up, fingers spread in a passive, non-threatening gesture, eyes focused intently on the muzzle of the flechette weapon nearest him. He let out an audible breath as the woman removed her finger from the trigger, then paused to look back at the armor-clad figures behind him.
“We good?” he asked, taking care to project caution and a hint of worry.
The man only grunted.
Jason tried again to engage them in conversation as he bought Jonesy the time he needed to worm his way into the ring’s systems.
“So, what’s the plan here? I thought the idea was for us to demonstrate to you that we had the tech to cure some of your people who have been infected by the corrupted nano.”
At the mention of the nanophage, he saw one of the armored figures clench her weapon more tightly while another shifted uncomfortably.
There was no response, and for a moment, Jason felt a flare of concern, but as he ran a quick check, he didn’t find any active jamming impeding his connection to the shuttle—which meant Jonesy was busy hacking into the system.
Seconds later, he received confirmation.
His gaze sharpened at what he saw there, evidence of the ravages the nanophage had left in its wake. The port wasn’t just shut down; it felt derelict. Panels along both sides had been systematically opened, and at periodic intervals, they came across consoles that had been disassembled. Some had their guts ripped out, with conduit splayed out along the concourse floor. The soldiers paid it all no heed; they merely stepped over the obstacles littering their path along the way.
As they approached the spaceport exit, Jason pinged Jonesy.
He passed through the spaceport’s doors and caught his first glimpse of Franklin City. The first word that sprang to mind was ‘dystopian’.
A maglev line stood unused, cars lined up along the edge of the platform, empty. Across the thoroughfare, businesses looked as though they had been shelled. Most were boarded up, their storefronts littered with piles of broken shards of plas and twisted metal. One of the store’s signs, the words ‘TechToys’ emblazoned across its dented surface, hung haphazardly by a single corner. It made a slight creaking noise as the wind caught it and sent it swaying gently through the air.
He caught a glimpse of a figure that pulled back into the shadows between ruined buildings as they approached, heard the sounds of someone scurrying through debris down an alleyway they had just passed.
As they reached the first intersection that seemed to have electricity, he was greeted by a public token that appeared over his Link.
Shannon’s avatar nodded.
Jason stifled a laugh at that.
Shannon made a rude sound.
Jason just sent her a grin over the net.
Jonesy snorted as Jason sent her an unrepentant grin.
She shot them both a scowl, but then continued.
The connection fell silent, replaced by the crunching sound of booted feet tramping over scattered detritus, and the imagery filtering in through Galene’s planetary net. The general tone of the communication centered around one theme: Planetary Security was there ‘for the public safety of all’ and that curfews and restrictions were in place ‘to keep the ring secure’.
There were public image pieces that painted Henrick—sometimes referred to as ‘the Director’ and other times, as ‘acting president’—in glowing terms, calling her ‘decisive action’ in establishing the current protectorate regime ‘prescient’ and ‘forward-thinking’.
As the net’s feed continued to play, Jason became increasingly convinced that Terrance had been right: Henrick wasn’t interested in eradicating the very thing that had brought her into power.
In fact, he thought with dismay, she might see us as enough of a threat to cast us into the role of villain.
The disturbing thought was interrupted when Shannon broke in again.
He froze at the tension he heard in her voice.
His surroundings took on a more defined edge and time slowed as the news caused Jason to ride the cusp of his L2 abilities.
Time sped up once more when he learned that the shuttle had made it down intact, as the final packet of information containing the tightbeam exchange between the Eidolon and the bunker appeared on his HUD.
Jason sent her an acknowledgement.
* * * * *
Calista watched the feed from her board light up green—a daisy-chain of comm micro-drones, strung from a geostationary orbit above the bunker all the way past both the planetary blockade and the FSTC ships holding station between the ring and Galene’s nearspace.
She tapped thruster controls, angling them back toward Ring Galene, just as Tobias confirmed her observation.
She opened the comm, looping both ship and shuttle into it, and announced their arrival.
She heard Shannon sigh over the net.
There was a pause as she and Tobias were routed into the feed and absorbed what Shannon and Jonesy sent.
Calista sighed as she tapped thrusters to slow their approach, then maneuvered Mirage into an inverted position in relation to Sable Wind. Sliding the fighter between the skids of the shuttle, she settled it onto the craft’s belly before activating her own skid’s magnetic locks.
She sent a double-click acknowledgement, sealed her helmet, and checked all the safety interlocks on her suit.
The AI sent her a cheeky wink. he replied dutifully, completing the official handoff.
She unstrapped from the pilot’s cradle and pushed gently off, giving herself a half-twist so that her back was to the canopy. Clipping her tether to the ring at the top of the pilot’s cradle, she mentally reached for the toggle that would trigger its release.
She pushed gently away from the curved back of the cradle and floated away from the cockpit. A few judicious tugs on the tether had her dropping to the belly of the Sable Wind, where she engaged the maglocks on her boots. Disengaging the tether, she turned to face the airlock, and with the awkward gait that went hand-in-hand with all EVAs, began to make her way over.
Jonesy was there to greet her. “We have a pin on Henrick’s location. Jason’s mobile, with a bunch of her goons; they’re escorting him in for his ‘audience with the president’ now.”
She cocked her head at him. “I heard those air quotes,” she murmured. “I think it’s about time we show the president what we do to megalomaniacs back in El Dorado….”
* * * * *
The Offices of Planetary Security contrasted starkly with every other place Jason had seen on Ring Galene. What he’d observed through the windscreen of the armored vehicle as it transported him to Henrick’s command center painted the picture of a people who had been beaten down and were living in fear.
The few individuals he saw looked up in alarm as the transport passed; many ducked into entrances or scurried off down side streets in an attempt to avoid the watchful eyes of the soldiers that stood within the plas bubble that sprouted from the roof of the vehicle, operating its twin turrets.
Soldiers patrolled the deserted streets in pairs, nodding to the transport as it trundled past. Given that these were met with scornful disregard by those escorting him, Jason inferred that Logan’s guess had been right on the credits: his hosts were a recent breed of brutes, a ‘new elite’ of Galene soldier—higher in the pecking order than those who patrolled its byways.
The thoroughfare that housed the government buildings stood like a polished jewel amidst a wasteland. It was clean and well-kept; the building he spied as the transport slowed was lit from within, its plas windows pristine. He could see the bustle of individuals inside, industriously going about their business. And yes, there it was: the organization’s seal, gleaming bright in the light of the ring’s second sunrise.
Jason squinted a bit as he disembarked, glancing around at the muted efficiency of people passing, their eyes skittering away from the soldiers guarding him as his escort advanced.
So even here, in the seat of Ring Galene’s infrastructure, Henrick’s people are feared.
He moved toward the entrance, propelled by a shove from one of the soldiers. Galene’s version of an auth & auth scanner shrilled an alarm and, as one, the Planetary Services soldiers on duty raised their weapons, training them on Jason.
Tobias sent a sound of assent.
Jason had been focused on identifying additional points of egress—there were none—and trying to find a way to drop nano somewhere that might grant him access to the building’s internal communications web. At Tobias’s drawn-out exclamation, he brought his attention back to the team’s combat net.
BECK
STELLAR DATE: 09.11.3246 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Furano Fields, Nakajima Prefecture
REGION: Galene, Tau Ceti
Marta wheeled back around to the torso of the frame she had just seated Logan inside. Swiftly, she double-checked the connections and then sealed it, watching her chrono as she did so.
Come on, Logan. Wake up! she urged the profiler silently as she crept up to the airlock window and peered out.
Terrance stood frozen, hands in the air as a figure frog-marched one of her medics toward him at gunpoint. She scanned the tree line for George, hoping the man had managed to escape to bring help, but felt her shoulders sag as she spied him rounding the back of the shuttle. The woman herding him was ragged-looking, with one arm that hung limply down her side, misshapen by growths. The other held a weapon trained on George’s back and was motioning him to stand next to Terrance.
h in relief.
The cat ignored the AI’s call, his stare intent on the drama unfolding on the other side of the airlock.
In the next moment, Logan transmitted a three-hundred-sixty degree view over Eidolon’s net, as seen from the shuttle’s external sensors. Marta saw the raiders herding her fellow crew members as one of them began shouting demands.
A sense of obstinate rebellion came to them from the big cat.
His frame moved past Marta toward the front of the shuttle’s passenger cabin. Kneeling, the AI lifted a panel to reveal access to the belly of the craft and the open port where the ram air turbines were slung.
She stopped when Logan raised a hand.
the AI reassured her.
Marta knelt beside him and peered past the propeller, considering what Logan had just told her.
She hesitated and glanced over at the cat, whose form was still plastered to the airlock’s plas window. Logan twisted toward the Proxima cat.
The cat abruptly dropped to the sole of the ship and stalked over to where the AI knelt. Crouching, the cat craned his neck down into the hole. Beyond the turbine engine, plants half a meter high topped with clumps of white waved gently in the nighttime breeze.
