Slave Mind

by Rob Dearsley

  Vaughn didn’t share her frustration. He moved over to the room’s console and started tapping.

  “What are you thinking?” Arland asked.

  “Coordinates. A location. Here.” He pointed to the screen.

  The terminal showed a satellite image of the Micha capital. Their hotel was one of the taller buildings, a glimmering spire that reminded her of Gypsum. A targeting reticule marked an alleyway a couple of miles east.

  “That’s awfully convenient,” Arland said.

  “Or just convenient enough,” Hale countered, her eyes still distant. “This has the smell of something that’s been set up.”

  Arland shot Hale an arch look. “When you say it like this it sounds much better. It could be a trap.”

  “Then take precautions,” Vaughn said. “You’re both special forces.”

  Arland stopped to think about it. “How does a doctor know about planet surface coordinates?”

  Vaughn threw up his hands. “Hells, Arland. Do you really not trust me?”

  “It’s not that,” Arland said. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. He’d patched her up enough times. But there was this nagging feeling. “You worked with wetwear, and the Spooks obviously use it.”

  “Whatever they’re doing is nothing like my research. The number of times I’ve patched you up, I’ve earned some trust. Either go or not, I don’t care.”

  Arland stepped away, taken aback by the force of his rebuttal. He was right though. He’d never acted against her or the captain. And the coordinates were the best lead they had.

  It was time to take a leap of faith.

  ◊◊

  Dannage drifted listlessly. He’d been running since Titanite. No destination, just trying to get away from everything, all the loss, the pain, the danger. He was falling, scared he might never stop, but just as afraid of what he might find when he hit the bottom. He scratched the new beard growth. It had gone beyond stubble a week ago. He hadn’t shaved, had barely left the bridge since Titanite. Luc occasionally dropped by to make him eat.

  He pulled the ship off the highway, not bothering to check the navcom to find out what system he was entering. The blue tendrils withdrew as the ship shot down the slipway to be replaced with familiar blackness. Pinpricks of light scattered across the night, shining down on him.

  He turned to look in-system. A single habited planet spinning around a fairly normal star. The planet had an unusually high proportion of ocean, making it look like a blue gem, sparkling as it whirled through space. It made him think of the coastal town where he grew up, on Topaz II, where his and Sam’s parents still lived. He blew out his cheeks and slumped forward. He knew what he needed to do. He didn’t want to do it, but if he didn’t, who would?

  “Damn it,” he muttered, reaching over to the navcom.

  A blue-white waypoint line sprang up on the HUD and he pulled the ship around to follow it. He was going home.

  ◊◊

  Arland watched Hale through the monocular she’d acquired from one of the local dealers. The case was scratched and scuffed but the lenses were new. Hale prowled along the empty street below. The pistol they’d gotten looked tiny in the Terran’s big hands.

  Miraculously, the rain had stopped sometime in the early hours of the morning, leaving the city bathed by muted sunlight beneath a steely sky. Still damp streets glistened in the morning light. Hale cast a glance over her shoulder. She was understandably nervous. This still felt like a trap.

  They’d left Vaughn back in the hotel room, and they were going in armed and geared up. It was the best they could do.

  Movement at the near end of the ally drew Arland’s attention. She whipped the monocular round, lining it up on a pair of young teens who stumbled into the alleyway, bodies pressed close in the heat of passion. The remains of what they’d been drinking clouded their senses to the world around them.

  Hale saw them as well, and glanced up to Arland before continuing her cautious progress down the alley and toward the unassuming doorway with the number two stencilled on the front in off-white paint. Once Hale was to the door, she reached up, activating the com-link.

  “Arland?” Hale’s voice sounded tinny through the com unit.

  “Copy,” she said into the wrist unit.

  “I’m going in, watch the door.”

  Arland nodded. “Copy, sir.”

  Hale rolled her shoulders, steeling herself, then pulled the door open. Arland couldn’t see anything beyond the doorway, apart from darkness.

  Hale stepped inside and disappeared from view. Arland could still hear the other woman’s breathing through the com. Now all she could do was listen and wait for something to happen.

  Even if something did happen, Hale was much better equipped to deal with trouble than she was.

  ◊◊

  Hale squinted into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the almost complete absence of light. If only she had a torch. Shapes started to resolve in the murk. Movement off to her right. She lunged, grabbing for it.

  Her hands closed around a something hard and metal. A chain, its links rattling as they moved through her hands. Her eyes had adjusted to the point where she could just about make out detail in a dull monochrome. She was in a long, narrow room that – for all she knew – stretched the whole height of the building. There were several more chains hanging from the ceiling at various points, giving the space an industrial feel, like the foundries on Terra Prime. She moved further into the room, looking for a computer terminal.

  Movement off to her right had her bringing the gun around, finger tightening on the trigger. The rat squeaked at her and scurried off under cluttered shelves at the far end of the room.

  “Everything okay?” Arland’s voice came high and tinny from her wrist com’s speaker.

  “Fine,” she said, getting her breath under control.

  A beeping came from the back of the room, followed by the soft whirring of a fan. She moved toward the sound with gun ready, eyes flicking back and forth, scanning the room for threats.

  A computer screen set to head height for a modern human flared to life, bathing the room in brilliant blue light. She screwed up her eyes against the sudden brightness, cursing the machine. It had killed her night vision. Her peripheral vision was gone. If this was an ambush this would be the perfect moment for them to hit her. She tensed up, waiting for an attack. Her eyes useless, she strained to listen for the sounds of movement, but could hear nothing over the hum of the terminal’s fans.

  Text flashed up, white against the blue of the screen.

  ‘You made it.’

  She sighed, stepping toward the console searching for a keyboard. Another message flashed up.

  ‘This terminal has been configured for voice input.’

  “Well that’s very clever of you,” she muttered.

  ‘Thank you.’ Flashed up on the screen. The microphone had to be damn sensitive to pick that up.

  “You have some information for us?” she asked, her every sense still straining for any sign of movement.

  ‘I have information for Shauna.’ More text flashed up. She could practically see the irritation behind the words.

  “We’re working together. She’s on the other end of the com. I’ll relay anything you say.”

  ‘Are your communications secure?’

  Whoever this was, boy were they paranoid. “Encrypted short-range coms – it’s as secure as a non-hard-line can be.”

  ‘Not good enough.’

  “Then we’re at an impasse.” She turned to leave.

  ‘Not necessarily, I never intended to give you this information here, over this system.’ She raised her eyebrows at that. ‘Go to spaceport five, locker 17a. The code is her birthday. Inside she’ll find what she’s been looking for. But go quickly, the Binaries will have located this terminal by now.’

  ◊◊

  “So, let me get this straight,” Arland said. They were both on the rooftop, Hale having just finis
hed her story of what happened in the old manufacturing plant. “Whoever this is, they brought us here to give us the location of the information?”

  Hale nodded. “Although he was very insistent that it was for you and you alone.”

  Arland nodded, trying to remember when their mysterious benefactor had become a “he.”

  “We should get to the spaceport then,” she said.

  They were just turning to leave when a pair of men in identical, bland suits entered the alley from the far end. Arland threw herself onto the roof, pulling Hale behind her. She hissed as the loose gravel of the rooftop bit into her hands. They peered over the edge, below them the two Spooks – if they weren’t Spooks they were doing very good impressions of them – went to the door Hale had gone through.

  Both men disappeared inside. The two women watched the entrance, waiting for the men to come back out. Was this their chance to catch these Spooks and get all the answers they wanted? Find a way to stop the Terran ships?

  The truth about Augite III waited for her at the spaceport, and the longer she left it, the greater the chance the Spooks would get their hands on it first. As time ticked by, she could almost feel the chance at absolution slipping through her fingers. This was more important. If they found something linking the Binaries to the Terran ships, then it could be the fate of the whole human race at stake.

  A sharp crack echoed across the rooftops, and a split second later a gout of flame erupted from the slightly open doorway, the force of the fire slamming the door open. Flames bathed the alleyway in their crimson hue for a moment, rising up the side of the abandoned building before dispersing into the morning sky, the only trace of their presence a slight singing around the doorframe. The teens had stopped copulating and were staring, slack-jawed, at the door as it swung slowly in the breeze.

  So much for catching the Spooks, Arland thought. “Come on, Commander, let’s get to that spaceport.”

  ◊◊

  Space Port Five was on the far side of the city, a twenty-minute ride by mag-lev. After they’d checked in with the doctor, Arland spent the whole ride pacing, trying to burn off her nervous energy. Could they really be this close to a big breakthrough? Could this information be her absolution? The questions raced around in her head, leaving her almost dizzy with anticipation.

  She leapt off the supersonic train almost before it had come to a complete stop, bumping into a young man carrying an arm full of bags.

  “Oh sorry, miss,” he said, picking up his strewn possessions.

  “Don’t worry.” Arland bent to help him.

  She reached for a small, brightly coloured backpack. His hand closed on her arm. “Miss Arland.” He kept his voice low enough that no one else would hear it. “I believe this was yours.” He passed her a black nylon document wallet.

  She looked down at the package in confusion. “This isn’t mine—” she began.

  “Perhaps you should check inside.” The young man had all the bags loaded into his arms.

  She unzipped the wallet pulling out a card file, the kind of things you saw in old movies, it had two words printed on the small tab that stood proudly on the top edge. “Slave Mind.” The name kindled some memory in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite reach it.

  “What is this?” she asked, looking up, but the young man was already gone.

  Looking around, but finding no sign of the man, she stuffed the file back into the wallet and slipped the whole lot into her jacket pocket.

  “What have you got there?” Hale came up beside her.

  “I’m not sure, it’s an old paper file. I’ll show you later. For now, let’s get to that locker.”

  Overhead, all manner of ships were taking off, their engines rumbling into the slate grey sky. The smell of ozone from the thrusters permeated into the terminal building.

  The crowds in the space terminal were evenly split between hungover holidaymakers on their way home, and businessmen heading off-world, with little attaché bags hung over their shoulders. The pair passed the check-in desks, heading toward the banks of lockers.

  The storage lockers were set out down a long, narrow concourse between the departures’ and arrivals’ lounges. Arland looked over to where a large crowd was awaiting the arrival of passengers. Many of the people there were holding signs with names on them. One name caught her attention, made her double take. Printed on the flimsy sign, the word ‘Maddix.’

  “How are we going to find the right one in all this?” Hale asked. Arland silently agreed with her – there were hundreds of lockers in this section alone.

  “Can I help you, missy?”

  They both turned to see an old man leaning on his broom handle, his white hair poking in unruly tufts out from beneath a blue sports cap emblazoned with the space port’s logo.

  “We’re looking for locker seventeen-a,” Hale said, bowing politely.

  “Ahh, seventeen? That’s down the far end, it is. On the right, middle row.”

  Hale thanked him, and they set off to the far end of the concourse. Arland’s eyes flicked back and forth, on the lookout for trouble. She could feel the tension radiating off Hale behind her.

  ◊◊

  Once they reached the locker, Hale turned to stand guard.

  Arland seemed to have an almost childlike excitement at the prospect of opening the yellow fronted storage compartment.

  “What was the code again?” Arland asked.

  “He said it was your birthday.” One of the advantages of Hale’s engineering was the eidetic memory. Although, these days it was as much of a curse as a blessing. She could remember with perfect clarity every moment of the Heimdall’s final mission. That lost look in the captain’s eye. The press of Matthew’s lips against the cryo-pod. The press of his lips against other things... The memory sent a shiver down her spine. With an effort of will, she pulled herself back to the present.

  The only other person on the concourse was the old man with his broom. She wondered why they’d not found a more modern way of keeping the place clean. Back in her day, the Federation ships were cleaned by small, automated drones. They were cute little things. She remembered catching some of the crew racing them. The memory sent a small smile dancing across her lips.

  The cleaner was still at the far end of the concourse. It would take even her about fifteen seconds to run the distance.

  Behind her, she heard the click of the lock disengaging.

  “What’s inside?” Hale asked, risking a glance over her shoulder.

  “It’s a data key.” Arland held up the small silver device, about the size of her thumbnail.

  Hale turned her attention back down the concourse as two suited men of average height walked past the cleaner.

  “Miss Arland, Miss Hale.” The one on the right reached into his coat. “Give us the data key.”

  Hale braced herself as he pulled out a small gun. The length of the concourse had turned against her. There was no way she could reach the men before they fired. She could probably take a couple of hits to the chest, but if they got off a headshot it was all over.

  ◊◊

  Arland stepped away from Hale. The two Spooks walked toward them, their pace casual and their footsteps in perfect sync.

  “What do you two boys think you’re doin’?” The cleaner had an accent similar to Luc’s. Damn she missed him, and the captain.

  The Spook turned and shot him without breaking stride, the only sounds a small puff from the gun and the clattering of the broom as the cleaner tumbled to the floor.

  The sight of the elderly man cut down so contemptuously galvanised Arland into action, her heart skipping as she cast about for an escape route.

  Either side of them were rows and rows of lockers too high to easily climb over. Behind them, the concourse ended in a small balcony overlooking the departures lounge, some four metres below them. Not a fall she was keen on having to take. She might survive, but she definitely wouldn’t be walking – much less running – awa
y from it.

  Still, she didn’t see any other option. As she backed up toward the balcony, the tops of stalls and digital signs came into view.

  “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” the left-hand man said, in the same crisp, accentless voice of his companion.

  Another man appeared behind them, she recognised him as the man who had been holding the “Maddix” sign at arrivals.

  She was about to call out in warning when the newcomer lunged forward, grabbing the Spook with the gun. He twisted the Spook’s arm around into a joint lock the gun puffing twice before he wrestled it from the Spook.

  “Run!” the newcomer called, firing the gun, point blank, into the other Spook before he could draw his own weapon.

  Arland didn’t need telling twice. She turned and ran flat out for the balcony, Hale’s footsteps a beat behind her. She held no illusions about being able to outrun a Terran, so kept going as fast as she could, trusting Hale to keep up.

  She reached the balcony, pausing just for a second to take in the layout of stall roofs, then jumped.

  She hit the roof of the nearest stall awkwardly, jarring her shoulder, denting the plastic composite and almost tumbling off. Just in time, she caught herself on a sign. The sign twisted in her hand, flickering as the electrical connectors inside broke. But it held, arresting her tumble.

  She looked behind her. Hale had landed on another roof, leaving an even bigger dent, but was already leaping for the next stall. On the balcony, the Spook was up, aiming his gun at her. He smiled, his hand tightening on the trigger. Their rescuer tackled him, sending them both over the balcony into an information stand.

  Hale was already on her third roof, annoyed stall owners yelling after her. Arland dropped carefully from the roof to a high table and from there to the floor. Her arm screamed in protest every time she tried to use it. Probably dislocated. Damn.

  Once she was on the ground, she looked around for Hale.

  The Spook came at her, his suit rumpled, his tie skewed. She tried to dodge, but he was faster, moving with the same liquid grace as the one she’d fought the night before. He grabbed her arm, flipping her over and applying pressure to her wrist, trying to make her let go of the data key. She gritted her teeth and held on with all she had. Hooking her foot around his legs, she pushed backwards, sending them both tumbling. His grip on her arm slackened and she pulled it free, still holding the key. She rolled away from him, the move knocking her injured arm and pulling a sharp cry from her throat.