by B. V. Larson
Durris shook his head. As my XO he knew his place was on the command deck whenever the captain was away. Yamada begged off as well. She didn’t like parties much—at least not loud, large parties.
Accordingly, it was less than an hour later that we docked and Rumbold accompanied me down the tube to Phobos. We were both wearing formal attire. Our dress-blues were pressed with nano-precision and our emblems shown with an intense luster that spoke of internal power sources.
“You think he’ll kill us, sir?” Rumbold asked in a husky whisper.
“A man ought not to live in fear, Rumbold. Loosen up and enjoy yourself.”
“I intend to! I’m only hoping the mad doctor will let me get good and drunk before he reveals his true intentions. It would only be right, after all.”
I smiled outwardly, but inside I was worried. How could I not be?
Somehow, Vogel’s creations had taken over battleships in the past. They’d run rampant afterward, crewing the very ships they’d built. By the reports, they were devastating colonies abroad.
Certainly, Vogel had helped us with three solid performers. But did that mean I could trust him completely?
What if he’d given me the gift of three competent workers with the very purpose of gaining my trust?
Paranoid delusions? Perhaps, but my mind’s-eye kept coming back to the image of Halsey being struck dead by those ghastly machines.
How had they gained his trust? Had he simply opened the door to his cabin and let them inside? If so, I had no intention of doing the same thing.
I knew that if they were trying to take Defiant from me, it was because they wanted the ship, not my flesh and bones. I was entirely expendable. Therefore, I saw it as my job to seem affable rather than repulsed by everyone and everything on Phobos. I had to keep them thinking their plot had a chance.
At least, that was, until my ship was completely repaired and ready for action. At that point, I could show my true opinions.
-19-
If you’ve never partied with an engineering team in deep space… well… I can’t recommend it.
The crowd was a crowd in name only. Some two dozen subdued individuals in white nano-fiber resembled blocky blobs of snow in an otherwise decorative barroom. A few were boisterous, but most were drinking in stoic silence.
The walls of the establishment were raspberry. The ceiling was a collage of moving holographic color, and the lasers projected upon the floor depicting a rippling, reflective pond. Loud music thumped from the red walls until the narco-drinks numbed you and made everything seem normal. At that point, the music seemed to become muted.
Most in attendance were drunker than I. I’d activated my internal blood-toxin filters and cranked them up to the fullest. The filters were expensive toys I’d found useful time and again. I was feeling good, to be sure, but not past the point of oblivion.
Rumbold wasn’t bothering to alter or hide his state. He’d taken up with a sultry scientist with long, red hair which defied her lab suit. She’d torn holes in the fabric purposefully, claiming she was feeling hot. Her skin and hair were spilling out of her white coveralls, both in stark contrast to it. The smart clothing tried to mend itself, but she kept pushing away the crawling straps and cinches.
As the party progressed, so did their behavior. Rumbold and his newfound companion were clapping one another on the back almost as often as they were hammering for fresh drinks.
Variants served the drinks to the crowd with silent efficiency. I still found the cyborgs as unsettling as ever. Such was their speed and dexterity they were able to deploy arms reaching three meters or more to their fullest extent in a split-second. Slinging drinks from behind the bar to a waiting patron occurred in the blink of an eye.
I couldn’t help watching this in concern. If the variants decided to become aggressive, well, every human in the room would be slaughtered inside a single minute. As it was, those flashing arms might have caught someone and broken a nose or ripped away an ear as they delivered drinks with unnecessary speed.
“Can’t you get them to slow down?” I asked Director Vogel.
He was sitting at my side wearing a dour expression and sipping a coffee laced with potent drugs.
He shrugged in response to my question. “Do they really alarm you so much?”
“Yes, they damned well do,” I told him. “They should alarm you as well. You can’t know they aren’t plotting a takeover right here on Phobos.”
He snorted and shook his head. His expression was that of a man bemused by a fool. I found it aggravating.
“How can you sit there and feel no remorse for what your machines did aboard Victory?” I demanded with sudden vehemence. I knew that my emotions were coming out more strongly than I’d intended, but I couldn’t hold back. The drinks and the atmosphere were having some effect on me, after all.
Vogel made a flippant gesture. “You’re drunk,” he said. “I don’t take the words of a drunk seriously.”
Standing up, I found I wasn’t swaying or bleary-eyed. My mind was sharp—perhaps sharper than usual.
“What if I were to threaten you?” I demanded. “What would they do? Would they move to protect you?”
“No. They aren’t security variants. They’re bartenders.”
Deciding to test his theory, I drew my sword.
One must understand the nature of modern society to fully understand the meaning of such an act. Although the run of the mill worker on Earth might have found the brandishing of a power-blade unexpected, they by no means were unaware of its significance.
Director Vogel’s eyes went from sleepy to wide-awake within a split-second. His mouth formed an “O” of surprise.
“Are you mad?” he demanded. “Have a care, Captain, or I’ll have your commission.”
A half-smile crossed my face. “I’m only a captain of the Guard, it’s true,” I told him. “But you’re the man who created a crew of treacherous machines.”
“That’s not so—!”
I leaned close to him, interposing the sword between myself and his person.
“I watched them behead Halsey,” I told him. “I watched that on a live feed, I experienced it as if I was there.”
He stared at the sword in his face, which I’d switched on. Plasma ran down the length of it and ran back again, forming a horizontal line that lit up his dark eyes.
A hand fell on my wrist then.
“Hold, Captain!” Rumbold said to me. “You’ve had a bit too much to drink, that’s all!”
I straightened and looked at the variants. They were still slinging drinks robotically. A few of the patrons had left out of concern, but others stared curiously.
With a flourish, I lashed out with my blade. The air sparkled and then there was a flash of discharged energy. Smoking, a severed arm dropped from a variant that had just delivered a drink. The arm was withdrawn, and the variant’s oh-so-odd eyes swiveled to stare at me. There was no expression on that painted face to indicate what it might be thinking of my act.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said to Vogel. “It was my mistake. I’ll retire to my ship now.”
Marching out of the bar, I swept down the passages sheathing my blade. Behind me, I heard the pattering footsteps of Rumbold. He caught up and looked over his shoulder as if he thought a hundred angry technicians might be pursuing us.
“Captain Sparhawk!” called a voice.
I stopped, breathing hard. After a moment’s thought, I turned on my heel and faced the man who addressed me.
It was Director Vogel. His expression was one of concern.
“Captain,” he said, “let me tell you how sorry I am for your loss—for Earth’s loss.”
I didn’t speak, not trusting myself to do so.
Vogel slowly approached.
“I hadn’t thought of the human angle to all this,” he admitted as he walked up to us. “I hadn’t considered—you have to understand, the variants are my life’s work. They are like my childre
n. A man has a right to protect his children, doesn’t he, even if they go down a dark path?”
“No,” I said flatly, “not when those children kill thousands—possibly millions. You must reject them. You must accept your gross failure. If anyone down at CENTCOM had any brains, they’d shut down the lot of them.”
Vogel considered. “You might be right. Why wouldn’t they do such a thing? I’ve been afraid of that possibility for some time.”
“Huh,” grunted Rumbold.
We both looked at him, and he shrugged. “Seems more than obvious to me. They need the variants. They need them now more than ever. They must have fresh ships. This time they might not let them aboard those ships—but they want the ships built in the first place.”
His words rang true, and we didn’t feel the need to discuss the point further.
“Walk with me, will you?” Vogel asked serenely, his pupils dilated.
I agreed, and Rumbold again tottered in our wake.
“The variants didn’t fail as you think they did,” Vogel told me in a quiet voice. “I went over their code before and after I heard of the disaster. There was no error. No self-awareness that grew to the point of rebellion.”
Puzzled, I shook my head. “Are you denying they killed the crew of at least one battleship?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying they were given fresh parameters. Their malfunction wasn’t their fault—or my fault. Of that much, I’m certain.”
“I see,” I said, “and what evidence do you have to support this theory?”
“It’s more than a theory, but I have nothing other than my word to support it. Anything I dredge up wouldn’t convince anyone. I could just as easily be showing you code that was overwritten.”
“Right,” I said, “which renders your statements meaningless.”
“No,” he said, “not at all. Think, man! If I didn’t do it, if no one here on Phobos did it—then who did? And why?”
He had managed to give me pause. I didn’t like to admit it, but his candor was disarming. He’d been defensive as the creator of the variants, but he was also realistic. The least I could do was try to respond in the same manner.
I tried to push past emotions and the lacework of drugs in my mind. The latter was easier than the former.
“All right,” I said, “I’m willing to entertain your claims because I’ve seen your machines in action. The variants aboard my ship showed no interest in aggression or rebellion. They’re fascinated by fast, effective action. That’s all. The same clearly goes for your variants here on Phobos.”
“They didn’t even care when you whacked one’s arm off!” Rumbold interjected loudly.
“Quite right,” I said, glancing at him. “All right, Director Vogel. I’m willing to be convinced you and your people aren’t at fault. Where do we go from here?”
“That would seem obvious,” he said. “We have to figure out who really hacked into my creations and suborned them.”
“And how do we do that?”
He sidled closer. “You could take me with you. We’ll figure it out—me and my variants.”
“Won’t you need an assistant?” Rumbold asked.
We glanced at him. I almost smiled.
“Did you have anyone in mind, Rumbold?”
“As a matter of fact, the lady I was speaking with expressed a wish to leave this rock—her words, not mine!”
Vogel huffed. “You’re talking about Dr. McKay, aren’t you? She’s not been working out. I’ve been considering transferring her back to Earth.”
“Perfect!” Rumbold said, clapping his hands together. “Two birds with one stone—don’t you think?”
We were both frowning at him in incomprehension.
He came closer and his powerful alcoholic breath washed over us.
“You see,” he said, “you can’t very well form an obvious team of investigators. You have to take people who are leaving for other, supportable reasons. In McKay’s case, she’ll be heading home for a transfer.”
“Why would we need to go through such complications?” Vogel asked.
Rumbold laughed and shook his head. “I can see you’re new to scheming. Whoever did this is connected. They can’t be allowed to see what’s coming.”
“I agree with your helmsman,” Vogel said after careful consideration. “They’re bound to hang all this around my neck sooner or later. I would appreciate your help in finding out what really happened, Captain Sparhawk.”
Slowly, they convinced me. The matter had to be investigated. I’d been told by Perez that CENTCOM was handling the investigation internally—but I knew what that meant. They’d probably cover up the matter as best they could and find blame outside their organization, presumably placing the matter at Director Vogel’s feet.
Their other option was far more sinister. If CENTCOM had been compromised, my own superior officers might be actively behind the plot. In that case, an investigation was bound to be fruitless. If anyone was going to get blamed, it would likely be me.
Coming to a decision, I led the group toward the docking tube, and I took them aboard Defiant.
We had a lot of careful planning to do.
-20-
To say Vogel and I didn’t trust one another was an understatement. He was a deep-gov scientist, the kind that Guardsmen rarely ever met. He held service people of any stripe in low regard.
To him, I was a foppish, self-important dictator determined to get into his way. To me, he was an irritant and quite possibly a traitor to all humanity.
Unfortunately, we had to work together. Both of us had too much to lose. Our careers were dangling on strings before our noses, not to mention our very lives.
“I’m only going to work with the three variants you already have embedded in my crew,” I insisted during the second hour of intense negotiations.
The narco-beers had long ago been filtered out of my bloodstream. I missed the chemicals dearly. Vogel was competent, but he was also difficult to deal with under the best of circumstances.
“Three isn’t enough,” he insisted. “We need a full squad of them. The trio you have here—they don’t even have the correct cross-section of skills.”
“They’ll have to do. Perez specifically ordered me not to bring home more variants.”
“Are you making that up?” he asked.
My face reddened slightly. I could feel it.
“I’m not accustomed to lying, sir,” I said.
“No… no I don’t suppose that you are. I reread your psych profile upon your return to Phobos. You’re painfully honest, Sparhawk.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t meant as a compliment.”
“But I’ve chosen to take it as one.”
We eyed each other for a moment in anger.
“Look,” he said at last, leaning forward. “We’re about to undertake a clandestine mission. If you can’t even lie for a cause so important—”
“I’m capable of tactical duplicity. Sometimes the omission of critical details is just as powerful as the fabrication of facts.”
He nodded at last. “Good enough. That will have to do. Six variants—”
“What’s that?”
“I can do with six. We can hide three of them in crates in the hold as we approach Earth. That is what you meant by acceptable duplicity, isn’t it?”
I considered his offer carefully. He’d reduced the number of variants required to six in a remarkably short time. This fact made me want to press further.
“Three,” I said, “the same three who’ve been aboard all along.”
He made a gesture of disgust and slouched back in his chair. “This is all because you won’t break your commitment to Perez? The man isn’t to be trusted.”
“Nor are you, Director Vogel. You’ll have to make do with the three variants aboard. That’s all I can do for you.”
“What about my personal staff? How many people can I bring aboard?”
“H
ow many do you need?”
“Five.”
I nodded after a moment’s consideration. “We have ample room in the living quarters for more crewmen. We lost a number of technicians. Your five will be welcome.”
“Ah-ha!” he said, waving a stick-like finger in my direction. “It’s not me you don’t trust, it’s my variants.”
“Of course it is. My marines could kill your entire staff within ninety seconds after I gave the order. The variants, however, would be much harder to dispatch.”
He appeared alarmed by the idea, but I pretended not to notice.
“Very well,” I said, “as we’re now in agreement, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me. I must get back to commanding my ship.”
I walked toward the conference room door, but before I could reach it, his hand jumped up to bar my path.
“Yes?” I asked him sternly.
“Would you really order your men to kill my scientists? They’re a pack of harmless civilians!”
“We’re not thugs, Director. I was speaking about a hypothetical case. Despite the fact you’ve been scanned and DNA traced since you came aboard, you might not be what you seem to be.”
He frowned. “You’ve been running background checks?”
“Yes, and much more than that. Yamada has worked up a complete file on you. The results have been fed to me during our meeting via my implant. As far as my technicians can tell, you’re human. But they could be wrong. You could simply be a traitor to your planet.”
Director Vogel appeared to be alarmed. He removed his arm, and I left him behind to think about his position. He had to understand he was in a delicate spot. I wasn’t going to let him have a free hand aboard my ship.
Just as important, all of our lives were very much in danger. We were engaged in a deadly business. It wouldn’t surprise me if we were all executed before this was over, or turned into “unpersons” by those who dwelt on Earth in her longest shadows.
I hadn’t told him about that part yet. I doubted he knew—how could he? It was only by discussing matters of state with the Council that I’d come to grasp the true nature of the political system on Earth.
