Against That Time

by Edward McKeown

  Because I am a computer, it did not occur to me that I would need such a ridiculously limited device. I realize my mistake too late for my internal factories to make one. I still have my spiderbot in my body. I rearrange its limbs in a tight package around its core, in a square shape and extrude it into the pocket of coverall, then pull it out of my pocket.

  McCaffer looks at it. “Odd-looking model.”

  “I made it myself. They were all the rage back in my colony.” I place it against his unit and affect the transfer of his confidential code. Another coup for our side.

  “Ok,” he peers at me. “Are you sure you’re twenty?”

  “Twenty-one in three months,” I reply. “It’s one of the features of the genetic drift on my colony under a red star: large eyes, pale skin, and we are small and slim.”

  It occurs to me that I may need to use some artifices to appear older. Altering my basic Maauro matrix could be dangerous and I will not attempt it now, but there are cosmetic methods. Not for the first time I note the disadvantage of having been patterned on a game simulation with huge eyes and an almost impossibly slender figure. Still, I had lost forty-percent of my mass in my last combat on the asteroid, 50,000 years ago, so I could not be much larger without creating hollow places inside myself that would not be combat-effective. Beyond that, I have grown accustomed to my own face and have no more desire to alter it than any other living being.

  “Well,” McCaffer continues. “I’d say your colony did well in the genetic lottery. Ok, keep an eye on Fels; call in if there are any issues.” Again he reaches out and pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Word of advice, watch yourself with Fels. He strikes me as the sort to love a girl and leave her.”

  I decide that defending Wrik’s’ fidelity is not indicated and merely nod as McCaffer walks off.

  I enter the bar to look for Wrik to find him in a quiet booth in back, asleep while sitting up. His body is doubtless taxed despite all the repairs I have made to it. I slide silently into the booth, forestalling the approaching waitress with a hand. She fades back to the other few occupied booths. Despite the late hour there are some other people scattered about, but none near us.

  It will appear odd if I sit motionless and silent, yet I do not want to wake Wrik. I set my body to go through a series of motions for the next fifteen minutes so I will appear to be conversing with Wrik. He is far into the booth and with his back to the restaurant. My mouth moves, my hands stir and I change facial expressions, but all without sound or enough motion to disturb him. Meanwhile I monitor Wrik’s vitals. He shows considerable stress and is in need of food and rest.

  Eventually, his eyes open and I immediately cease my meaningless motions.

  “Oh, hi? Guess I must have drifted off for a catnap.”

  “An odd expression for a brief sleep considering that animal spends eighty percent of its life asleep.”

  “Right now I envy it. How did it go with McCaffer?”

  “Not only has he accepted me as a chance encounter, but as a suitable minder for you. I have his private access code to report your movements and activities to him.”

  Wrik gives a weary nod. “Yeah, I made a fuss about free access and not being followed. They’ll be glad to get one of their own close to me.”

  “He warned me to expect attempts on my virtue by you.”

  Wrik grinned. “Sound advice for a young lady and I second it, nothing more untrustworthy than a spacer on leave. A respectable girl like you should be more careful of the company she keeps.”

  “My onboard weaponry should suffice to protect my reputation.”

  “Yeah, from anything short of an ASAT Team.”

  “Now,” I say, leaning forward and waving to the waitress, who approaches, professional smile firmly in place. “You need to refuel with an expensive meal to support our cover.”

  “Great. I am starving. Given McCaffer’s suspicions of me I don’t think anyone will be surprised if you spend the rest of the night with me and we rise late. Once my head hits a pillow, I am going to be down for a while.”

  “Agreed. Champagne?”

  “Finest kind.”

  I woke hours later to find Maauro on the bed watching me. I rolled up to sitting, feeling refreshed and surprisingly healthy. I suspected that Maauro had continued her ministrations while I slept.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Ready to get on with the mission and get the hell off this crushing, stinking planet.”

  “I have sent for your favorite breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” About then I focused on the fact that Maauro was wearing one of my shirts and appeared to be wearing nothing else. Other than the fact that the high-end bed under her was crushed by her weight, she looked like a young lady who’d enjoyed a good night. “Is that your chassis?”

  “No, it was easier to simply don one of your shirts.”

  “Looks good on you.”

  She smiled. “Are you flirting with me, Wrik?”

  “Not with my girlfriend due on the same planet.”

  “Would you be more comfortable if I donned the coveralls I was wearing?”

  “It might be best.”

  Maauro rose and, to my surprise, simply unbuttoned the shirt and slipped out of it. For a second she stood there, her pale body shining. I looked on, startled. Her body was slender and perfect, but the mounds of her breasts lacked nipples, her flat stomach held no belly button and she was entirely hairless and sexless. Her form shimmered, and a moment later, the loose and flowing green coverall appeared on her.

  The sight of her body unsettled me. I wasn’t sure if it was because it was so close to real, or by the omissions that kept it from being so. I also wasn’t sure if it meant anything that she had showed me herself this way.

  The door chimed.

  “Breakfast,” she said.

  An hour later, shaved and showered, I accompanied Maauro to a series of meetings with Mysol’s staff, and interviewed the few people on my list of the original biogenetic staff. The three of them were minor functionaries, lab techs and a security guard, none of the doctors or scientists. Maauro waited outside during my interrogations, seeing and hearing through my eyes. It was she who pointed out the rehearsed quality of the responses.

  “This indicates a single source of briefing for these people,” Maauro whispered in my mind. “These people may have remained here for the reasons we have been given; a marriage, a better job – but they are hiding something.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Continue the interrogations. Have lunch with the section heads. Ask the questions I have listed for you. If you forget, ask me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  We return to the Star and Comet after our first full day of poking and prodding to no avail. Wrik had gone through the motions of his investigations and certifications, checking employment and housing records on the missing science team.

  As Estrella Lostly, I filed my false reports on Wrik’s activities with McCaffer’s office. Fenster had me transferred to McCaffer’s staff for “the duration” as she put it. I was to keep the public relations man informed of all of Wrik’s activities. This came with a salary increase and an increased degree of security for me. No one would miss the nonexistent Lostly in her old section, the ubiquitous and numerous Department of General Services, and no one on Fenster’s or McCaffer’s staffs would have known her before. I could not have engineered a more elegant use of bureaucracy had I planned it.

  So while Wrik manipulated the physical world of witnesses and documents, I mined troves of data, both what the City authorities willingly gave him and what I could hack my way into without betraying my presence. I was truly impressed by the depth and nature both of the city central AI’s security and the thoroughness of the data-scrubbing efforts in the less secure secondary systems. All I could tell is that these personnel left
the city on a series of Ribisan ships for interim destinations where they were to proceed further with their journeys. The fact that no final destinations were listed for the freighters and transports and their next ports-of-call were all Ribisan, made it impossible to crosscheck against Confed records. So seamless a story had to be a cover.

  Unfortunately, it was an excellent one. All trails led to the Ribisan side of the equation where the Confederacy had already made inquiries, which drowned in red tape before we were assigned. It was quite likely that the ships were real and had even run on the dates indicated. Whether the scientists had been on board was another matter.

  I further discovered that vast amounts of money were being funneled through Tir-a-Mar’s treasury, sums that would be a significant percentage of a planetary GNP. With that came equipment and orders that could have supplied computers for a dozen Tir-a-Mars.

  Wrik sighs with relief as the door to our suite closes. He looks at the small monitor bot that we left; he calls it a spider. It blinks a cheerful green, indicating that no one has attempted to enter or penetrate our security.

  We walk directly to the bedroom. Wrik throws his jacket over a chair, kicks off his shoe, and falls full length on the bed with a groan. I draw the curtains so we will not be spied on.

  “Another corporate dinner with the notables,” he says. “How long did this one go on? Damn it’s 12:30 a.m..”

  “Was the food not excellent?” I ask.

  “Yes, as was the wine, but who could relax and enjoy it? Every question is a chance to blow my cover with a lot of very sharp people. God, this is the third night of this. I am not even sure what lies I have told. Maauro, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

  “You worry overmuch. I have monitored your stories and prompted you when continuity errors surface. Beyond that most of these people are just making conversation with a far-traveler, much more in accord with what you have informed me your customs are. They likely do not remember the details and any variance will be chalked up to the human tendency to tell “tall tales.”

  “I’d still feel better if you were next to me.”

  “No one would expect Estrella Lostly to be there. Further my cover is far thinner than yours. It doubtless raises some eyebrows that I am spending nights with you. Hopefully they put it down to your sexual prowess and my desire for advancement. ”

  He laughed. “Hopefully.”

  “Remember, you are only the commander of a minor vessel. You need not know the answers to many of the questions asked. On anything significant plead that you cannot respond due to security or that you need to defer to higher authority. As tightly as Mysol and Fenster run Tir-a-Mar, it should resonate with them.

  “Rest now. More awaits us tomorrow. We must do as much as we can before Jaelle and Dusko arrive. The additional players will accelerate the pace of the game.”

  After a brief morning coffee with a number of people who really didn’t want to talk with me, I started making calls on people with knowledge of Malich or the biogenetics work his team had done. One of these was a Morok professor named Dok. We entered the glass-walled turbovator. McCaffer led, flanked by his two young aides: Lesley, a colonist favoring a dark-blue body dye that reminded me of Telberd, and an earnest and somewhat high-strung intern named Dothea, from an old colony. She had the look of an albino, an adaption to her native orange star. She wore dark lenses in her eyes that gave her an eerie look, but was otherwise the more talkative of the pair. She was about Maauro’s size and apparent age and kept trying to involve her in discussions of clothes and fashion.

  Lesley had a father in the Confed Navy, so he was relatively friendly. McCaffer was professionally well mannered and only barely gave the impression of being on a fool’s errand.

  “I’ve confirmed with Professor Dok that he’s available for our meeting,” McCaffer said, “though he seemed reluctant to waste your time having nothing to add to his earlier statement about not knowing Dr Malich’s plans.”

  I smiled without warmth. “He may know more than he realizes. Some comment Malich made about his family, his interests, finances, relationships, and studies. For the completeness of my investigation, I must interview all witnesses myself.”

  “Yes, yes,” McCaffer said with a dismissive air as one of the aides pressed a control on the elevator’s virtual panel.

  “In any event,” Dothea said, clearly trying to defuse tensions, “we will see Professor Dok shortly and find out.”

  The elevator started forward down the well-lit tubeway that mixed clear plaststeel and other metals, giving one the feeling of standing in a slow-moving groundcar. We passed over a street, then into another building for the vertical trip from the upper section of Tir-a-Mar to the lowest, where Dok worked. I took hold of the pole and raised my eyebrows at Maauro. With her blindingly fast reflexes she was able to counter the elevators movements and was the only person not holding a pole or railing. She caught my gaze and reached for a railing.

  The turbovator started down. Levels passed by us and we could see citizens and machinery moving about their daily chores.

  “It’s twelve kilometers to the spectrography lab,” Lesley added, to break the silence. “Since they study Cimer itself, it’s the logical place for it.”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  The elevator jolted, then slowed. McCaffer frowned then leaned forward and pressed our destination button again.

  With a further lurch the elevator dropped.

  “Free-fall!” I shouted. Dothea screamed as she floated off the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” McCaffer yelled, wrapping both hands around a railing. “There are full safeties. We’ll stop in a second.”

  “Wrik,” Mauro mind-spoke to me, “we will not stop. The safeties have been locked out.”

  “Sabotage,” I hissed back mentally. “Can you do anything?”

  “Not electronically. You must distract McCaffer and the others so I can stop the elevator by force.”

  “We’re not stopping,” Dothea cried.

  My mind raced. “The panel must be locked up. All of you on the floor! Face down and cover your eyes.” I pulled my laser from its holster, dialed it to low power while trying to keep on my feet in the plummeting elevator. Only a trained spacer could have managed it.

  “What are you going to do?” McCaffer demanded, eyes wide.

  “Do what you’re told,” I ordered. “Face down, eyes covered. There could be fragments.” The three complied. I aimed at the panel. “Ready?” I sent to Maauro.

  “Yes.”

  I fired over the heads of the three on the floor. The panel shorted and sparked. Dothea screamed. At the same instant, Maauro’s right hand emitted a glow and a wash of heat she slammed it through the plaststeel walls of the elevator and into the wall beyond. Immediately a long trail of sparks lit up the outside. Her grip on the railing kept her wedged on the floor as she exerted her strength. The elevator slowed jarringly. The three on the floor raised their heads.

  “Down,” I shouted, firing again.

  My hand, fingers flattened into a wedge, rips through the elevator wall. At the same instant I trigger my plasma torch. The plasma around my hand protects it as it cuts into the wall, otherwise I would have to accept material loss from my chassis due to abrasion with the wall. The metals that compose me are far harder than the material of the elevator, or wall, but the forces involved are great. I am grateful for the protection my weapon gives me. Drag created by the plasma and my arm slows the plummeting turbovator. But the g-load is too much for the railing I have hold of with my Infester arm. A flaw in the metal yields a stress fracture that multiplies immediately, causing the railing to rip free.

  No matter. I spread the fingers of my plasma-protected hand to create greater drag as Wrik fires again over the three humans on the floor, covering my actions. Dothea is screaming and crying in panic, whic
h aids our plans. I snatch at one of the vertical take-holds that are better made to distribute the load and put a crushing grip on it to make my handhold more secure. We jolt and slow, the pole degrades but bears the stress. Excellent, my only other choice would have been to brace myself against the ceiling and that would have been harder to hide.

  The elevator slows and I bring it to stop almost even with a floor. I do not want it to appear as if this was a controlled stop. Before the others can raise their heads I rip a slab of wall metal, cut with my plasma torch so that it tips into the elevator car and jams against the ceiling. To the humans it will appear as if this stopped us. I extinguish my torch and nod at Wrik. I then step away from the others as far as I can and begin emergency cool down procedures, exchanging those surface parts I can, with deeper parts so that I do not burn anyone who touches me. I redirect heat into the soles of my feet to radiate into the elevator hoping no one realizes I am the source.

  The others are on their hands and knees now as Wrik holsters his weapon.

  “Thank God,” Lesley says. He turns to comfort Dothea. The thin girl is shaking and incoherent.

  “Told you, told you,” McCaffer stammers. “Full safeties.”

  “There’s your full safety,” Wrik says pointing up at the ceiling. “We must have snagged something in the shaftway when we were bouncing around. It bent in and jammed us.”

  “Out, out,” Dothea pleads. In the distance, alarms shrill.

  “Are you all right, Lostly?” Wrik calls to me across the elevator.

  “Yes, yes. I think so.” I imitate the higher-pitched speech and stammer of the humans.

  “Really?” he mindsends.

  “I am undamaged. Thank you. But I will need to refuel soon.”

  He nods.

  McCaffer and the male aide move carefully to the doors and try to force them open. After a second, Wrik joins them. As the smallest and weakest-appearing member of the crew, I must kneel beside the terrified Dothea and pat her shoulder while they struggle with a door I could simply run straight though if I needed to. It is rather annoying, as is this whole assassination attempt on us.