by Gem Jackson
Were they an APSA crew? This was a point of contention. The ship wasn’t flagged as APSA, they could all agree on that at least. As a primary authority in the Solar System, APSA ships all broadcast an IFF signal, even when they were pirate hunting. They were the cops, arresting the robbers. They didn’t need to hide. Plus, there was the fact that Leon didn’t recognise the ship. From the moment he had decided to leave Titan and sign up with APSA he had done little but read and watch everything he could get his hands on about APSA vessels, space stations and infrastructure. This vessel didn’t match anything in the APSA fleet. It looked too good.
From what he could see, which frankly wasn’t much anyway, it was a battleship. A large battleship at that. It was definitely thinner and longer than an APSA ship. It was sleek. This was a peculiar design choice for a space-faring vessel. So what was it? Chinese? Russian? It bore none of the hallmarks of their state. Plus, they too would have been broadcasting an IFF loud and clear. Torren was emphatic that it wasn’t Martian, and Sleet was similarly sure that it wasn’t Jovian either.
“It could be Vestian?” suggested Torren.
“Maybe. But that doesn’t help much, does it?” said Sleet.
“Why not?” asked Leon. Sleet looked at him as if to answer his question but shook her head and turned away.
“4 Vesta? There’s a big shipyard there, right?” said Torren, somewhat slower than was necessary. “The Vestian shipyard is a state-independent constructor of capital spaceships. But they’re commercial. They don’t make warships for anyone, at least not beyond their own defence fleet. They make them for other people.”
“I see,” interrupted Leon, determined to finish the point now he had seen where it was going. “So maybe it’s a Vestian made ship, but that wouldn’t tell us who was operating it now.”
Torren nodded approvingly.
The ship loomed larger and larger in the cockpit window as they approached. They had been ordered to slave their controls to the larger vessel to be brought into dock. This capability was the reason Predovnik and the Captain had been nervous about keeping the Jackdaw’s Straw alongside the Aggressive. All hell broke loose when Ardbeg acceded to that command, but he brooked none of the objections raised. To resist at the wrong time, he told them, was a certain death sentence. Timing was everything.
Whoever remotely piloted the Jackdaw’s Straw did so skilfully and without incident. They were brought alongside a rear, port-side docking porthole and gently secured against the larger vessel's hull.
Leon could feel his heart beating in his chest. Adrenaline flooded through him. Who were they? Would they think he was a pirate too? Was this the end for him? The cycle of gut-churning questions rolled end over end in his mind. He felt dizzy, trying to force his mind onto the outside world. Just staying upright was becoming difficult. Was he stood up straight? Or was he standing at an angle? He couldn’t tell.
“Jesus, Starflight, pull it together, yeah?” snapped Sleet. “Torren, bring him along. Let’s go.”
Torren muttered something and yanked Leon along by the back of his jacket.
“This way Starflight.”
Leon tried to say something, but it took everything he could muster just to organise his feet beneath him.
He stumbled the short distance through the yacht to the airlock where the others were already assembled. Murray was there, still handcuffed and gagged, but no longer defiant. He was scared. Bruises covered one side of his face. He held his right arm close to his body protectively. Was it broken? Or was it his torso? Cracked ribs maybe?
The airlock alarm buzzed. The seal was complete and pressures were balanced. Without ceremony, the doors on each side opened in unison.
On the other side, three armed drones hovered. They were similar to the ones used by APSA forces to board hostile ships. Except these looked more modern. They were quieter too.
“Proceed as instructed. Do not resist. Follow the blue line.” The voice emitted from the drones was human. The accent was familiar. Whoever was speaking from the drone was from Titan. Ardbeg took the lead and stepped through. They all followed. Leon focused on the blue line, marked on the walls of the corridors. He tried not to look at Murray. He tried not to catch his gaze. He tried not to notice the silent fury in Murray’s unflinching, undeviating eyes.
Chapter 14 – September
Dr Ramachandran was not easy to find. Getting from the city lighter port to the lab was an exercise in trial and error. At least it was located centrally. The passages heaved with people, slick with sweat in the dense, humid crowds, droning AC units straining to lower the temperature.
Stalls selling street food where everywhere, clinging to walls and forming islands amid the wider passages. The smell was intoxicating; grilled meats mingled with seafood and rich spices. Tariq picked up a tray of dal vada, fried lentil dumplings, for them both as they searched.
The artificial sky projected above them was constantly interrupted by thundering adverts, enticing those below to engage in dialogue with glistening AI sprites. Tem caught conversations in at least Hindi, English, Mandarin and Spanish over the space of a hundred metres.
“Hey sailor, you’re looking lost. Anywhere you want to be?” A sprite was following Tariq, hopping from screen to screen along the walls. She was young and slim and lithe, dressed in a fashionable, yet revealing, green dress. She moved playfully, touching her hair and face as she held eye contact with Tariq.
“I can help,” she continued. “Geovox guidance software will get you or your drone where they need to go, on time, everytime.”
“We need to get to this address.” Tariq unfurled his tablet and held it towards the sprite.
“Hold it a little closer, sugar. Like that. I can get you there. Want me to take you?”
“Just directions will be fine.”
“Whatever you say, sailor. You’re the boss. Say, where are you eating tonight? I know a couple of great places to eat nearby. If you tell me what you like, I can point you to some good bars too.”
Tem nudged Tariq in the ribs. “I think you’re in there. Why not just hand over your credit card, it’ll be quicker.”
“Just the directions will be fine, thanks. We’ve got a table booked already.”
“Whatever you say, Tariq,” giggled the sprite. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
Using the Geovox directions they made quick progress tracking down the lab. From the posters and notices pasted over the door and walls, it looked like it had been shut down for a long time.
Reluctantly Tariq agreed to speak to the sprite again to get directions to Ramachandran’s flat. After some outrageous flirting from the AI, Tariq got what they needed, losing only a little dignity and a lot of personal information.
“If your kids could see you making eyes at an AI half your age? Man, they’d cringe. That was fucking awful,” laughed Tem.
“Just don’t,” said Tariq. “The apartment is out of the centre. It’ll be a couple of miles at least.”
It took the two of them almost an hour to track down the apartment. Their route took them away from the neon crush and wide streets to narrow, identikit corridors. There were no high-def screen here, just run-down residential blocks. The people they encountered were a bitter lot. They all seemed to be walking the other way, letting them pass begrudgingly.
They squashed themselves into descending paternosters; clunking contraptions made up of elevator-like compartments fixed together in a constantly moving chain, with one side always going up and the other side always going down. Tem considered that at some point each compartment would have to shift across and begin its return journey. She shivered at the thought of being inside when that happened. They sank deeper into Ceres, past floor after floor of cold, identical habitations cut and concreted into the icy crust.
“This is it,” said Tariq. “Little Pune.”
“It looks like shit.”
“Thanks, Tem. Why don’t you open with that when we meet the good doctor?”
“I like Madrid.”
“What do you know? You’re a tourist. I’m just saying that this place is rough.”
“There’s no romance in your soul, is there?” asked Tariq.
“I grew a plant once,” said Tem.
“What?”
“Plants. Y’know? Flowers. Romance. Plants are romantic, aren’t they?”
Tariq paused mid-step and eyed her suspiciously. He shook his head slowly as she turned back to face him. “Plants? Where to start? So many questions.”
“Y’know what?” She started walking again. “Why don’t we just find the place?”
They passed door after door, turning left and right. The pocked walls had been painted bright colours at one point, oranges, blues and purples. Over time, the colours had faded, leaving a mottled patchwork of ghostly patterns and shapes. They saw nobody. They heard nobody.
“Here is it. Apartment thirty-six twenty-eight,” said Tariq. Tem knocked hard on the door. No response. She knocked again, and the door opened. A woman scowled from within.
“You’re not them. I don’t know you,” she said and went to close the door.
“Dr Ramachandran? Dr Aadita Ramachandran?” asked Tariq.
“Yes. Obviously. What do you want?”
“I’m Tariq Abbas and this is my colleague, September Long. We’ve come a long way to speak to you Dr Ramachandran. Can we come in?”
“I didn’t ask who you were, young man. I asked what you wanted. Listen!”
With that she left hold of the door and walked back into the apartment.
“Well?” she shouted back towards them. “Are you coming in or what? Good Lord, you’re a slow pair.”
Inside the apartment, Tem was able to get a better appraisal of the doctor. She was older than Tem, probably mid-fifties. She wore loose clothing; cotton, patterned pants and a rusty orange top that clung to her slim, athletic torso. Over this she was swathed with grey and blue shawls. A shock of curled, platinum-grey hair cascaded to her shoulders and framed an intense, drawn face.
“What are you staring at?” Dr Ramachandran sank back into a tattered sofa and reached for a small hand-rolled cigarette. It was already alight, its glowing tip burning intensely as she inhaled.
Tem left the hallway and picked her way across the cluttered living area.
“Who were you expecting?” Tem asked.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Dr Ramachandran, ignoring her. Tariq joined them from the hall.
“We’re from APSA,” said Tariq. “The Atlantic Pacific Security Alliance.”
“I know APSA.”
“Of course. We’re intelligence officers and we’re investigating what happened at Lancaster Orbital.” Tariq let that hang.
“And? What do you want with me?”
“We were told that you could help us with something,” said Tem. “We have some questions of a scientific nature that you might be able to shed some light on.”
“Oh,” said Ramachandran. “You were directed to me? As a scientist?” She took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Well. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not up to much anymore. I think you might have wasted your time. Now. Run along. I’m sure there are plenty of scientists just hanging around Pune or Agrabad.”
“Are you drinking?” asked Tem.
“Oh, little girl, no. I’m not drunk. But I think it’s time you left.”
“No, you misunderstand. I meant, are you drinking?” Tem retrieved the hip-flask from her pocket and took a slug. She offered it to the doctor.
“Oh. In that case, yes,” the doctor took the hip-flask and swigged deeply. “You’re growing on me.”
“Mind if I take a seat?” asked Tem.
“Sure. Why not?”
Tem sat down on a chair opposite the doctor. It was not a good chair. Tem was fairly confident that the previous owner had died whilst sitting in the damn thing. On the far wall, behind the doctor, she caught sight of a large vivarium, lit up in the slow-drifting smoke that hovered at eye level. It appeared to be empty.
“You like lizards?” asked Tem.
“Oh, him?” Ramachandran glanced backwards, craning her neck towards the bright glass tank. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere. He’ll be back when he’s hungry.”
“A snake?”
“A lizard? A snake? Do you think they’re the only things that live in a hot tank? Enough. What can I do for you? I don’t want you two hanging around all day. I’m expecting someone.”
Tem looked at Tariq. His eyebrows looked like they were determined to migrate over the top of his scalp. She imagined she was wearing something of a similar expression. What the fuck was it? A turtle? An alligator? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Dr Ramachandran, I’m not sure how familiar you are with recent events, but there’s a specific issue we’d like some assistance with.”
“You want this back?” Ramachandran rattled the hip-flask at Tem.
“Yes. I do.” Said Tem. “Though you can finish it if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good enough for me. So, what do you want to know? I don’t imagine you need to know anything about Kessler syndromes all the way out here.”
“No, it’s not that. Well, not directly anyway. Do you know how the Kessler syndrome began?”
“We do have news media out here.”
“Right. Of course,” Tem suppressed a sigh. She was hard work this one. “So you’ll know that someone managed to steer an APSA destroyer into the orbital.”
Ramachandran interrupted, laughing to herself and rocking forwards. “And you’d like to know how anybody managed to get hold of a large, military spacecraft so quietly that nobody saw it coming?”
“Exactly.”
“You got any leads?”
“Yes. Just this so far though. It was captured as the Enigma, the destroyer that is, passed by Ceres.” Tem pulled her tablet from her pocket and unfurled it onto a space on the cluttered coffee table between them. Ramachandran, now alert, took out a pair of half-moon spectacles and slid them on absentmindedly. Tem fought the urge to comment further. It was like a switch had been flipped and a previously dormant part of the doctor’s mind had suddenly flickered into life. In these situations, she had learned, it was better to sit back and observe. Ramachandran blinked and her reverie broke. She turned to Tariq.
“You. APSA doesn’t need four ears for this, just hers will do. Go get something else to drink.” She directed Tariq to the door. “Oh, don’t look so confused. Turn right as you get out and follow the purple line on the floor. It’s a bit faded in places, but it’ll still guide you to the nearest store. Get something nice. I’ll trust you to find your way back.
Tem nodded at Tariq, and he left the flat. She sat silently as Ramachandran watched the communications fragment half a dozen times. The doctor inhaled deeply on the butt-end of the cigarette and stubbed it out. “Well. I know what I think. But first, I want to know your suspicions. Tell me, Long. Thoughts?”
“I don’t know,” said Tem.
“I didn’t ask you what you knew, I asked what your thoughts were.” Ramachandran leaned towards Tem, grey eyes focused unwaveringly upon her. Tem shifted in her seat and rolled her head, stretching out the tension. She didn’t like this dynamic, but it felt like it had a direction and that could be worth exploring.
“I don’t know. I mean, everyone thinks it’s radiation poisoning. There’s so many indications.”
“But you don’t think that now?” asked Ramachandran.
“Well, no. Not now.”
“Why?” Ramachandran took a drag on the cigarette.
“It would have been picked up, surely? Virtually every ship is filled to the brim with radiation sensors. Hundreds norma
lly and thousands on a vessel that size.”
“Exactly,” said Ramachandran, “There are dozens to monitor and protect the crew and then hundreds more related to sensitive pieces of electronics.”
“Yes. It’s just not plausible that anyone could sabotage or deactivate enough to irradiate the crew to that extent.”
“So, what happened then?”
“I can’t believe that it was taken by force. There’s no evidence of that whatsoever. Nobody could achieve it so cleanly. The crew were obviously still in control as they passed Ceres and they don’t look as if they mutinied. No terrorist group or foreign power has claimed responsibility and there has been zero chatter about this from deep space intelligence. It has to be something to do with that clip.”
“The clip that looks like radiation poisoning?”
“Yes.”
“But almost certainly isn’t radiation poisoning?”
“Yes,” snapped Tem. Ramachandran laughed and rolled backwards onto the sofa.
“Well, come on girl, you know what you need to ask. It’s why you came here.”
“I don’t know why I came here.”
“Yes, you do. To speak to a scientist. To ask questions.”
“Listen, if you know something, just say it. Get to the point.”
“You’re a detective, aren’t you Long?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, if you can’t even figure out the right questions to ask, then you’re not a very good one are you? Goodness me. Have they stopped teaching how to think on Earth? Use a bit of jugaad, use your brain, girl.”
“Stop calling me girl.”
“Then ask me a better question.” After a few seconds Ramachandran visibly softened. “Girl,” she caught Tem’s glare and batted it away, “you have something that looks a lot like radiation poisoning, but the evidence says it’s not. Separate out the cause and the consequence in your mind.”
Tem rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt like something was just on the tip of her brain. Every time her mind grasped at it, whatever it was would become smoke and drift into nothing. “Dr Ramachandran. Is there any way that you could simulate the effects of radiation poisoning without triggering radiation protocols? Or at least most radiation protocols.”
