Renegades

by David Liss

  There are places you don’t want to be when you experience complete and utter system failures, and among these is a spaceship. This was a relatively small one, and there were nine beings on board. I had no idea how long the air would last without life-support systems, but I knew the answer wasn’t a really long time. Maybe hours, maybe minutes.

  I reached out to grab on to something. Anything. I took hold of the back of a chair so I wouldn’t float around like space junk. Everyone else would be able to use night vision, and they would need to get around to try to figure out what had gone wrong. If I started flailing about in the dark, I’d just get in someone’s way.

  I heard Tamret say something in her own language—it sounded strangely guttural and sharp.

  “My HUD is down,” Mi Sun said in English. “And it sounds like even the translator nanites are offline.”

  I didn’t answer, but I felt a tightening in my chest. If the ship and the tech trees were down, and even basic functions like translation weren’t working, it could only mean one thing.

  “We may have been hit with an electromagnetic pulse,” Charles said, echoing my thoughts.

  I knew a little bit about EMPs. The good news was that as soon as the attack was over, the ship, and presumably the people in it, would reboot and the systems would come online again. That meant I could expect my translation abilities to return eventually. The bad news was that someone was deliberately attacking us.

  Ardov! I thought. He had been restrained only by plasma bonds created by the Former tech. They would now be offline. So in addition to our other considerable problems, we had a dangerous enemy running loose—or at least floating loose—on the ship.

  Someone said something in a series of hisses and clicks. I presumed it was Steve.

  “We need operational silence,” Mi Sun said.

  She was right. If Ardov was loose on the ship, in the dark, the last thing we wanted to do was to give ourselves away by talking.

  Knowing that it was probably true was one thing, but it didn’t give me any idea of what to do about it. I still couldn’t see, and even if I could, what good would it do me? Ardov’s tech would be offline too, but he was still a lot stronger than I was.

  There was also the possibility that his tech would not be down. Maybe he had some kind of EMP-proof implant that would protect him from the effects of the attack. That seemed like the sort of things the Phands might develop, though I was just guessing. If he had something like that, we were in huge trouble.

  I had to stop and think—though I didn’t have much of a choice. There wasn’t much else I could do.

  Maybe Ardov is up and functioning, I reasoned, but what good does it do him? He can’t operate a nonfunctioning ship. That means he needs to incapacitate us before shutting down the pulse and reactivating the systems.

  Would he kill us? Had he started killing already? If his original skill tree was maxed out, he would have lots of nonlethal combat options at his disposal, but that didn’t mean he would use them. Being pummeled unconscious was better than being killed, but it was still something I wanted to avoid.

  I closed my eyes—not that it made a difference—and listened. I heard a faint click somewhere and the sound of a body bouncing against the wall. I knew the sound. It was a medical dispenser. He was administering some kind of injection, presumably to make people sleep. I had to hope it was not something deadly.

  How would the dispenser work? Was it purely mechanical, designed to function during an EMP attack, or did Ardov have some sort of override?

  Assuming he had a way of insulating himself from the effects of the EMP, he would have all the abilities that came with a maxed-out standard Confederation skill tree. That was the bad news. The good news was that I had a pretty good idea of those skills and their limitations. I knew, for example, that he would have excellent, but not perfect, night vision. If I moved slowly enough, and was lucky, maybe I wouldn’t draw his attention. Once he believed we were all unconscious, he might reactivate the system. When the lights came back on, I would have a chance—one chance. I would have a moment of surprise when I could hit him with something. There were PPB pistols on board, and while one shot would not take Ardov out, it would slow him down long enough for me to shoot him as many times as it took. I had to find a weapon.

  The one place I was sure I could get one was in the emergency weapons locker on the escape pod. It was also the best place to hide so Ardov wouldn’t find me. I knew where the pod was relative to my current position, but once I started moving, I would lose all sense of direction. On the other hand, I could push myself off and float. I would look no different from an unconscious person. The only way he would be able to tell if someone was conscious would be by watching their movements or listening to their breathing.

  Hoping I was not giving my location away, I pushed off against the wall and, keeping my breaths slow and shallow, gently directed myself across the ship toward the open hatch of the escape pod.

  My hands found nothing but wall, and I was sure I’d miscalculated, but as my fingers probed, I felt the slightest of indentations. Then, moving farther in that direction, I hit empty space. This was it. It had to be. I grabbed what I believed had to be the doorjamb of the escape-pod area and twisted my body so I would swing back in the other direction. Once I’d completed the arc, I let go and drifted back, until a few seconds later I bounced gently off the bulkhead.

  I now knew I was in the right place. There was nothing to do but probe along the walls until I found the emergency weapons locker. I began doing this, working my way slowly from one end of the spherical space to the other. It was tedious work, but there was nothing to be gained by rushing.

  At last I found the box, which was held against the wall with a material that seemed a whole lot like Velcro—I assumed to keep it in place during weightless incidents. Fortunately, it had no electronic components. I slid the the unlocking mechanism and, gently opening the box, maneuvered my hand into the narrow crack to feel around for the pistol. I had to hope I didn’t get the business end of something sharp by mistake. At last my fingers moved along the familiar pistol shape. I grabbed the weapon and closed the box.

  Now I had a gun that did not work to use on a target I couldn’t see. I probably had a fifty-fifty chance of escaping Ardov’s notice. My best bet, I realized, was to stay where I was. When the lights came on and the gravity kicked back in, anyone still conscious, including Ardov, would have a moment of disorientation as they tried to figure out where they were and what was going on. I would know exactly where I was. Up and down were tricky things without gravity, but I used the doorjamb to maneuver myself to a position where I could put my feet on the floor quickly. While Ardov flailed and fell, and while he looked desperately around and tried to figure out who was where and what they were doing, I would be able to spot him and start firing.

  I didn’t know if his skill tree would be up and running as quickly as the rest of the ship systems, but I had to assume the revival would be instantaneous. I would need, therefore, a fraction of a second to adjust the weapon’s settings so I did not accidentally kill him. What I wanted was the highest stun setting, and I wanted to hit him at least a half dozen times.

  So, as prepared as I could be under the circumstances, I waited motionless and in silence. In absolutely darkness, it’s hard to tell ten minutes from two hours, especially when you are holding on to a doorjamb with one hand and a pistol with the other, waiting for a target to appear. My hands began to ache. I felt the air growing heavy and stuffy, warm from so many bodies in close proximity, but I still gripped the wall. I didn’t see that there was any other choice.

  Then, in an instant, there were lights and gravity and sounds of machinery kicking back to life, of grunts and groans of the semiconscious who had been too high up crashing down. The cool breeze of circulating air swept across my face. I’d been ready for this, poised and waiting, but the light still shocked my eyes, and the sudden existence of gravity hit me like I’d been
tackled.

  I stumbled as my feet made awkward contact with the floor, but I then planted myself and glanced around the ship. I saw Tamret, Steve, Dr. Roop, Charles, and Mi Sun, all unconscious—though, I hoped, unharmed—as they fell to the deck. Some distant part of my brain registered that I did not see Villainic, but I assumed he had found a tight spot in which to hide. I’d figure out what happened to him later.

  I did see Ardov, though, at the navigation console. He had positioned himself so he would land in the seat when the gravity came on, and he was now plugging in what looked like tunneling coordinates. His plan had clearly been to incapacitate our crew and redirect the ship.

  That was not about to happen. I couldn’t tell how far along he was, but he would not be able to finish once I’d blasted him into unconsciousness. I raised my pistol, confirmed the setting, and took an instant to double-check my aim. His reflexes were a million times better than mine, so if I missed with the first shot, I might not get another chance.

  I had him. I squeezed off the shot that I was certain would stop him in his tracks.

  Except it hit the interior of the escape pod.

  It did that because the door to the escape pod had hissed closed a fraction of a second before I pulled the trigger.

  There was no porthole—I’ve seen such things in movies and comics and games, but you really don’t want a glass window in a small craft that is going to be ejected from a ship under dangerous conditions—and I had no idea what was happening on the other side of the door.

  I glanced around, looking for the control panel that would let me open the door, but it was a Phandic ship, and my understanding of their technology was patchy at best. I saw what I hoped was the main control board, and a switch that seemed likely to operate the main door. I moved toward it when I felt a deep rumble. The pod lurched hard to my left, and I had to grab on to the wall to keep from falling over.

  My first thought was that the ship had been hit by enemy fire, but then I realized that that couldn’t be right. The impact had been too soft, but also too immediate. It came from right under my feet, vibrating through me.

  Then I understood what I’d felt. The escape pod had been disconnected from the ship.

  I grunted in frustration and dashed for the control panel, scrambling to find a way to somehow reestablish the link. The pod was no longer coupled to the ship, but the ship had been holding a stationary orbit, so that meant inertia would keep us near each other, at least for a little while. All I had to do was find a way to dock. I saw nothing that looked like basic controls, so I would need to access the main computer. I worked out how to get to the top of the operations menu, and I was looking for some kind of docking command when I felt a sudden lurch and the momentary sensation of weightlessness before the pod’s own gravity and inertial compensators kicked in.

  The escape pod was moving away from the ship. I was being separated from everyone I knew.

  Do not panic, I told myself. There is no reason to panic, and therefore I won’t. This was what I chanted to myself even while I completely panicked.

  All I had to do was turn this thing around. Maybe it was just a standard protocol to move a safe distance from the ship. I had to hope so. If the pod had any kind of default programming, such as to find the nearest planetary body, things could get trickier, so I needed to act fast and make sure I didn’t drift too far away.

  I found the navigational-control access and shifted it to my workstation. That also activated the main viewscreens, so I could see the ship on one screen, growing increasingly distant. From another I watched the long-uninhabited planet, growing ever closer.

  I worked my way through the confusing Phandic commands and ordered the pod to come to a full stop. That would give me a moment to breathe while I figured out how to return it to dock.

  A message popped up on the screen. protocol violation. please enter override clearance.

  Only the Phands would require an override clearance in an escape pod, a vehicle you use if things are in utter chaos. Were they looking for a password of some kind? I had no idea. Tamret would be able to figure it out in seconds, but I didn’t have her skills or her confidence.

  Tamret. She was trapped on that ship with Ardov. She was unconscious and helpless, and he was in control and clearly meant to take my friends somewhere they wouldn’t want to go.

  I thought about my data bracelet. I could try contacting her, but taking the time to do so would mean less time to crack my own control problems. If Tamret was conscious, I might distract her from any life-or-death struggle in which she was involved. If not, I’d be wasting my time.

  I had to take the chance. Tamret could probably remotely patch into the pod’s security system and override the programming. If I didn’t act soon, I would enter the atmosphere and be trapped on an abandoned planet. I knew there was no intelligent life down there, but I had no way of knowing what kind of dangerous creatures might prowl the surface. I didn’t know what my food or water options would be there. The time for delay was over.

  I keyed my bracelet to contact Tamret, and waited the second I would have expected her to respond if she could. Nothing.

  Then I heard her voice, her tone breathless and urgent, like she was mid-struggle. “Zeke, where are you? I need help—”

  Then her transmission cut off. There was a flash of light, and the ship vanished into a momentary rip in space. They had tunneled out of the system. Tamret needed me, but now she was gone, and I was spiraling toward an uninhabited planet, utterly alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  It was time for some inventory taking. With the fate of the galaxy on the line, and with Alice seriously injured, maybe dying, on board our ship, I was now separated from my friends, who were dealing with my greatest enemy’s most loyal and vengeful servant. Back on Earth, my parents were in the hands of the invaders who hated me, led by a woman who would not hesitate to hurt them if she thought it would bring her some advantage. Meanwhile, I was plunging toward a planet so worthless that even the Phands hadn’t bothered to conquer it. I was alone, with limited supplies, food and drink designed for aliens whose nutritional needs might not be compatible with mine, and heading into dangers for which I was totally unprepared.

  These were all bad, but they were not the worst thing. Tamret had said she needed help, and I couldn’t do anything for her. I’d promised I would always be there, and now, because I was the genius who’d thought it was a great idea to hide in an escape pod, I could not help her.

  This was one of those disasters that everyone always felt sure was my fault. In the past, those had always been decisions I’d made. In tight spots I’d chosen to act, and I felt like almost every time those actions had been right, but they’d also had unintended consequences that had made beings across vast expanses of space hate my guts.

  This time it was much worse. Those other mistakes I could look back on and tell myself that I’d done the right thing. This time I had somehow accidentally launched an escape pod, separating myself from the others. I didn’t know where they were heading, and it was entirely possible they hadn’t yet figured out I was on the escape pod.

  In the meantime, they were heading off to some unknown location, but I had to think Ardov was sending them back to Junup or even directly into Phandic hands. Although I knew virtually nothing about it, I thought of Planet Pleasant and shuddered.

  What could they do to protect themselves? There was no way they could change their destination once in tunnel. The most they could do would be to gain control of the ship and drop out of tunnel entirely. Assuming they were awake and could overpower Ardov, that is. Otherwise, they would be facing a whole lot of Phandic forces when they got to where they were going.

  What if they did get away? With time running short, they were hardly going to take a detour to rescue me. They were going to have to figure out what had happened to Captain Qwlessl or go after Ghli Wixxix and the others directly. Those were the only logical choices, and tha
t meant that the best-case scenario was that I would be completely sidelined until Junup was either out of power or my friends failed.

  Now, I realized gloomily, it was time to think about the worst-case scenario. I was heading toward an uninhabited planet full of unknown dangers and limited, possibly inadequate, resources. While my Former upgrades had been working, I’d been playing in creative mode, but now the settings had been switched to survival. I had to shut down the part of my brain that was worrying about my friends. I needed to figure out what sorts of supplies I had, what sorts of dangers I might face, and how I could stay alive.

  Maybe no one lived down there anymore, but it was the site of a secret dig for Former artifacts, which meant there might be stuff on the planet for me to use. That sounded promising until I remembered I was talking about finding things on a planet. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d had a hard time finding overdue library books in my own bedroom. I wasn’t Luke Skywalker, and I couldn’t count on crashing my ship within strolling distance of Yoda’s hut.

  It was time to try to figure out the Phandic computers. The only other times I’d tried to make sense of their systems, I’d been desperately searching for just the right thing with no time to spare. Now, at least, I was under a little less pressure. I checked the pod’s inventory of supplies, and found there were enough food and moisture packs to last eight beings eight days. I did a quick analysis on the contents of the packs and found they were biologically compatible with my physiology. I had hoped to go my whole life without having to taste Phandic food, and I didn’t think it would be good, but at least it would be edible, which was definitely a plus. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and only adrenaline and terror were keeping my hunger from distracting me.