by Corey Ostman
But will he understand me?
“Do you miss your gun?” Tim repeated.
“Yes,” Jacob said, then raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little nosy for a toy?”
“I’m talkative because I have a lot to say,” Tim said.
“Mhau told me you were different,” Jacob said. “I didn’t know what she meant. I guess I should stop being surprised on Ceres.”
Wait. How would Mhau know? Grace wouldn’t have talked. Had Kyran? No, that was even more inconceivable than Grace—Kyran hadn’t even wanted him activated in the first place, and certainly wouldn’t blab about a blue gel sentient at Bode-6. Mhau was an engineer, so perhaps she’d deduced from his capabilities from their time together in the blurp network. His respect for Mhau increased.
Jacob was still watching him. Tim thought about his words carefully before he spoke.
“Yes,” Tim said, “I am different.” He rose on all fours. “And I have something to tell you. Something that can help you.”
Jacob folded his arms. “That so?”
“Kyran’s been doing a fair amount of reading,” Tim said. “Ink seems to affect cloisterfolk more than any other clade. I’ve got my suspicions as to why, but I think I can help you replace the fantasy with reality.”
Jacob laughed. A laugh that was frayed around the edges and tinged with despair. It wasn’t clear to Tim if Jacob was reacting to the offer of help or to the absurdity of conversing with a PodPooch.
“How?” Jacob said. “I don’t want an upgrade. No implants. No sensory blocks.”
“No, nothing of the sort. Just a modified sleep squeeze.”
“Yeah, great.” Jacob waved a hand dismissively. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any credits.”
“Not a new sleep squeeze,” Tim said. “I can modify the software on your old one. If my calculations are correct, you’ll be off Ink for good.”
Jacob’s mouth twitched. Then he turned to gaze out the viewport.
Does he believe me? Or does the thought of being free of Ink scare him?
“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “Sounds like a magical fix. And I don’t trust magic.”
“You could try. Get back on your paws. Live your own life.”
“I was gonna die here,” Jacob said. “I’d accepted that.”
“If you kept Inking.”
Jacob nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Tim took that as interest. He circled the room and landed on the bed again.
“It’s an idea I got from plugging into the bode. Hyper awareness,” Tim said. “I can modify you to become more aware—and fascinated with—small details.”
“You want to plug me into a computer?” Jacob said, turning to Tim. He looked disgusted.
“No, no,” Tim said. He shook his head, floppy ears waving in the low gravity. “Just to fix your squeeze.”
“Sounds more like change than fix.”
“If I’m correct,” said Tim, “the effect on you will be subtle. You might not even notice. But I think a minor tweak will make you prefer the delicious complexities of reality to an Ink illusion.”
“This is crazy,” Jacob said, turning back to the viewport.
“Less crazy than sitting in a room thinking you’re hiking a canyon?”
Jacob’s head drooped. “How’d you know about that?”
Tim began to answer, but realized Jacob was ashamed, not surprised. He was shaking. Though Tim was meters away, he could see sweat beading on Jacob’s forehead.
“I know a protector when I see one,” Tim said. “You want to do this. Get back to your job. What you trained to do.”
Jacob turned to look at Tim. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were dull. They both knew he had nothing to lose.
“Ok,” Jacob said. “Make the mod.”
Chapter 24
“Did you tell Mhau about me?” Tim asked in Grace’s dermal.
Grace slowed as she made the left turn at the end of Spoke-B. She’d been patrolling the outer spiral.
“Of course not,” she said subvocally.
“She mentioned I was ‘special,’” Tim said. “At least, that’s what Jacob told me.”
Grace pivoted, her posture rotating from horizontal to vertical as her legs dropped.
“Told you?”
“Yes. We had a nice conversation.”
“You had what?” she shouted, forgetting to subvocalize.
“Not to worry,” the PodPooch said. “But I am curious as to why Mhau thinks I’m special.”
“Tim, we don’t know Jacob that well. You shouldn’t be—”
“Jacob is fine, Grace. I understand him.”
Grace sighed, letting herself slow down.
“Is Kyran back yet?” she asked.
“Yeah, and Jacob’s just left.”
“Where is Mhau?”
“Chamber Two.”
“All right. Let me talk to Mhau first. Then the three of us need to have a meeting. I’ll be there with her shortly.”
Chamber Two wasn’t far. Inside, Grace’s Martian acquaintance, the Waltz, had docked and disgorged its roiders, fresh as tomatoes from the red planet. Their cruiser had not been shot down, and they had not been subjected to extortion. Her visible presence, rooting out Lee’s associates at every docking bay since the day she wore the badge, had kept them safe.
A dozen men and women were milling around the Waltz, sorting out and claiming their supplies. Grace moved further in, mingling with the roiders, listening to their chatter and welcoming them to Bode-6.
A younger roider tried to walk too quickly with a pair of transit crates. The walk turned abruptly into a skip, then a run, then a crash as the crates and roider came tumbling down a few meters in front of her.
“Hey! Are you all right?” It was Mhau. She emerged from the other side of the Waltz, a tool clutch held under her arm.
Grace stooped to assist the roider. Mhau nodded to her.
“Grace.”
“Mhau,” Grace returned the nod. “I was wondering if—”
“Tapang! Got a problem,” said a technician, bouncing up to them.
“What’s wrong now?” Mhau asked.
“All the passengers have disembarked, but the crew cabin is sealed—” The tech pointed toward the forward section of the Waltz. “And we’re certain the captain is still aboard.”
“Why can’t you unlock it?” Mhau asked.
“We had to do an emergency depressurize on the main cabin,” the tech said. “Ship thought it was still in vacuum.”
“Can my protector credentials override the lock?” Grace asked.
“Perhaps,” Mhau said, rubbing her chin. “But let’s try my way first. Had the same problem before with two of the crawlers. I’ll be at the workstation in my quarters.”
“Couldn’t you do this with your ptenda?” Grace asked.
“There are malfunctions throughout the bode, Grace,” said Mhau. “I have to be able to see the connections.”
Grace nodded, then turned to the tech as Mhau left the chamber. “You sure everyone else is off the ship?”
The tech nodded. “Manifest said twenty-two passengers and three crew. All accounted for.”
“Except the captain,” Grace said. She felt a cold shiver up her spine. “When was the last time you had voice communication with her?” she asked.
“We haven’t,” the tech said. “She hasn’t responded to any of our transmissions.”
“The crew just left without their captain?”
“I told them about the malfunctions we’ve been having and asked them to get off.”
Grace bounced over to the Waltz. The cold exterior of the ship still cracked and popped after entering the heated airlock. She waited as the last pair of roiders fumbled with their containers and bounced into the outer spiral. She and the tech were alone, the room secure.
Grace reached for her holster, activating Marty’s infrared sensor. She wanted to focus on the people—where they had been, or still w
ere. She scanned the hold of the Waltz, causing the walls to glow with residual infrared. The access hatch was open and she pulled herself inside. She panned Marty and received the same infrared feedback. The hold was entirely bare. She stood and listened to the soft reverberation in the room. Nothing.
Her ptenda pinged.
“Grace?”
“Go ahead, Mhau.”
“The problem with the Waltz may be another communications failure similar to our previous glitches. I’ve tried resetting the ship from here, but I’m not getting an acknowledgment.”
Grace moved to the hatchway of the bridge. She scanned the access pad adjacent to the bridge bulkhead. It read LOCKED. She tapped the UNLOCK button in the upper right corner, but she only got a crass buzz as feedback.
“Still locked. You want me to try my credentials now?” Grace asked.
“Please,” Mhau said. “And I’ll leave this to you, if it’s ok. Another critical system went offline. Ping me if you need anything.”
“Acknowledged.”
Grace brought her ptenda close to the access panel and transmitted her protector code. The panel display winked green as the bulkhead locking mechanism turned over.
Grace spun the wheel and cracked open the door.
“Captain Saltari?” she said, moving onto the bridge. An empty captain’s seat and three vacant crew stations were directly ahead, facing a wide arc of control panels. The captain was not kneeling to check a circuit or otherwise concealed within the electronic paraphernalia.
Crack! A sharp noise. She raised Marty, its laser rangefinder dancing across the control panels. She wasn’t sure if the crack had been a loud thermal pop or somebody moving. She bounced toward two closed doors on the opposite side of the bridge.
“Captain Saltari?”
Grace tugged on the first door. Locked. She tapped on the smooth metarm just above the unlock ring. Another crack followed by a low groan.
“Captain Saltari—are you in there?”
“Protector Donner? Is everything all right?” The tech’s voice sounded hollow. He was still outside the Waltz and Grace didn’t fancy any visitors until she’d located the captain.
“Remain where you are,” Grace shouted. She returned to the port door and spun its wheel. The gaskets indicated the door opened outward, so she pulled. Beyond, the chamber was dark except for the dancing red dot from her weapon. She thumbed Marty’s ENVIRON controls and a brilliant light sprang from its muzzle, illuminating the room.
First she saw boots.
Captain Saltari lay on the deck, still in her pressure suit, helmet off. Her eyes stared directly at Grace, frozen. A thin line of blood ran from her left nostril to the top of her swollen upper lip.
“Get a medic!” Grace lunged forward, pulling herself toward the captain and straddling her legs.
The eyes didn’t track her.
“Captain! Can you hear me?”
Grace waved her hand in front of the captain’s face. Saltari wasn’t moving, wasn’t seeing. Grace touched the woman’s cheek. Cold.
She tapped her ptenda.
“Grace?” Kyran said.
“Kyran—I’ve got a medical emergency aboard the Waltz. I think the captain’s dead, she—”
I don’t think she’s dead, I know she’s dead.
“I’m on my way,” said Kyran.
Grace lowered her ptenda and looked at the captain. Her left eye was bloodshot and there was a scrape across her forehead and her right cheek. She turned Saltari’s head and saw circular bruises on the neck.
Circular bruises. Grace sat back on her haunches. She’d seen such bruises before. Back at the academy—a class on crime scenes. Aposti. It was an aposti method. Death without the use of technology.
For a moment she was back in Bod Town, a den of unrestrained tech in Port Casper. An aposti had killed there. She’d found him; they’d fought. She remembered how he jumped forward as she fell, both hands extended, intent on crushing her windpipe. She’d rolled out of the way and stunned the aposti with a phasewave blast.
Her mind raced. How could an aposti come to Bode-6? Mars was one thing, but Ceres? It would never support life without technology.
She tapped her ptenda. “Kyran—wait! Stay there.” Grace stood and moved back to the bridge. “Go to Bode-6 lockdown.”
“But the captain—”
“Saltari’s dead. And I’m certain an aposti did it.”
“Aposti?” Tim’s voice. He barked at Kyran, his voice anxious. “Do as Grace says! Go to Bode-6 lockdown. Now!”
Grace moved into the passenger chamber, spinning starboard and out, training Marty on every corner. But she knew the aposti would already be gone.
Chapter 25
Grace toe-dragged to a stop just outside Kyran’s apartment, heart racing. There’s an aposti here. She checked the tube on either side. Empty to her right. To her left, a single roider approached, but she’d seen the woman with the orange exoskeleton before.
The access panel glowed red, SECURE blinking in the status display. She was about to tap it when the door opened.
“Get in,” Kyran said.
She grabbed the sides of the doorframe and pulled forward. The door slid shut behind her.
“Door locked?” she asked.
Tim was in Kyran’s chair. His mimic coat pulsed yellow. “Locked,” he confirmed.
Kyran hovered at her side. “Grace, you said an aposti. Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Saw their mark on the captain’s body. Pressure point attack.”
“But why kill the captain?” he asked. “It’s not like it’s illegal to be aposti.”
“The captain’s murder has to wait,” she said. “I want to make sure you and Tim remain secure. Jacob went home, you said?”
“Yes. And we’ll be fine here,” Kyran said, waving his hand to indicate the apartment. “It’s my den, and Tim’s more than tripled security since he plugged himself in, anyway.”
“Why did we have to send Jacob away? We could have used him,” Tim said.
“He’s in no shape to take on an aposti,” Grace said.
“Don’t underestimate him,” Tim countered. “He’s at peak lucidity since I modified his sleep squeeze. His reaction times have improved and are now on par with your own.”
“I’m not underestimating him,” Grace said. “But I don’t trust him enough to arm him. And I have concerns about his relationship with Mhau. After all, how’d she find out about you?”
“Mhau, too? Do you mistrust everyone?” Tim asked, incredulous.
“For now, I have to.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Kyran.
Grace nodded at him. “First, we have to strand the aposti at Bode-6. No ships in or out. Divert them to other bodes.”
“Doing it now,” Tim said, his coat shimmering. “But this will raise a swarm of alerts on systems that Mhau tracks, you know.”
“We can explain later,” said Grace. “Once I’ve bagged the aposti.”
Capturing an aposti wouldn’t be as easy as nabbing Lee. And their makeshift prison? It won’t hold an aposti, not for long. True, they were technological luddites, but they excelled at exploiting human weaknesses, and Bode-6 had too many gullible marks.
“I’ve checked the belt schedule. There aren’t any cruisers scheduled to arrive or depart for two days,” Tim said.
“What about surface crawlers?” Grace asked.
“Hold on,” Tim said, cocking his head. “Two teams are out, due back by thirdrise. That’s it.”
“Can you sync to my ptenda?”
“Done.”
“Good.” She tapped her ptenda. It bleeped oddly. The display flashed and then resumed its quiescent mode, showing Grace’s heart rate and blood pressure.
“What the—?” She tapped the ptenda again.
“Grace, I’m seeing status code 4AC01,” said Tim. “Unable to connect.”
“Is your comm working, Kyran?” she asked.
“Not mine.”
<
br /> She stared at her display. Great. A comm failure.
“I just checked the blurp,” Tim said. “Comm failures are occurring in about half of the connections in the bode.”
“I can’t go out there without a comm.”
“You could take me with you.”
“Out of the question—”
“What’s that?” Kyran said, interrupting.
Grace looked up from the PodPooch. Kyran stared out the main viewport. His arm raised slowly, pointing outside to the shimmering silver plain, where a metallic form moved.
“A loafer?” Tim hovered over to the window.
A meter-tall robotic sentry tracked the exterior of Bode-6. It sported a gold cylinder for a body and four spindly appendages hinged at an articulated waist. Grace recognized a cutting laser attached to one arm, same as the type she’d seen on Mars.
The loafer’s apparent heading would take it right past Kyran’s apartment.
Grace slid to the viewport. “There aren’t any loafers here, are there?”
“None on Ceres. That I know of,” Kyran said. “There are plenty on Earth. And Mars.”
“Tim, could it—”
The PodPooch flashed red. “Probable breakout attempt!”
Not now. Not with an aposti loose. Or was that the point? Grace bounced down Kyran’s hall and into her bedroom. The loafer was roughly ten meters from the isolation pod and advancing rapidly.
“Guys!” she yelled, Kyran and Tim followed closely behind. “We need to head it off before it reaches the pod.”
“And move Lee,” said Kyran.
“No. We won’t move Lee.”
“What?”
“This loafer could be a distraction,” said Grace. “If I deal with the loafer, who would they expect to be watching Lee?”
“Jacob? …oh,” said Tim.
“Exactly.”
“I still don’t think Jacob would—” began Tim.
“No time.” She pointed to Kyran. “I need you in the pod with me. Don’t want Lee attacking me from the rear. Got something to cover him with?”
Kyran nodded and bounced over to the storage wall.
“Tim,” she said. “I need you to wait out here. You’re the last line of defense. LEMP Lee if he makes it past Kyran.”
