Gemina

by Amie Kaufman

  Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)

  Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)

  Date: 08/16/75

  Timestamp: 08:03

  Nik M: oh sweet mother of god

  Hanna D: You called?

  Nik M: el oh el

  Nik M: I found the docks mess hall after crawling in these ****ing vents for three hours.

  Nik M: Food, Highness. FOOOOOODDDD

  Hanna D: Oh don’t. I’m soooo hungry. Going to have to risk venturing out to find some soon. An army marches on its stomach.

  Nik M: ?

  Hanna D: Bonaparte said that.

  Nik M: wuts a boneparte

  Hanna D: He was an old Terran general. He had his ups and downs, but his focus on logistics wasn’t wrong.

  Nik M: how the hell u know all that stuff? Logistics and armies and ****

  Hanna D: My dad’s idea of father-daughter bonding was strategy games, old military history sims and martial arts. saturday nights at chateau Donnelly were a riot, as you can imagine

  Hanna D: but i could kick your *** at chess.

  Nik M: ya but do u have bacon? Because I have bacon. Raw bacon, but still.

  Nik M: BACON

  Hanna D: You could cook it on some of the electrical housing, the insulation’s ****. Smell would probably carry, though.

  Nik M: Yeah that sounds like a delicious way to die :P

  Hanna D: I thought you said we weren’t allowed to die?

  Nik M: correct

  Hanna D: I’ve been thinking about that. What we do.

  Nik M: wow, I made you think huh? Lookit me ma, no hands

  Hanna D: How many people do you think are on the station right now?

  Nik M: Well, there was 24 of em. Ella spaced 4. O wait, lemme find a calculator…

  Hanna D: I don’t mean the invasion force. I mean everyone else.

  Hanna D: A bunch of people shipped out for Terra Day, but plenty stayed behind. WUC staff, civilians, folks with ****ty timing passing through.

  Nik M: o rite

  Nik M: um, I dunno. 5 hundo maybe? place is a ghost town I’m not even sure who was supposed to eat all this bacon

  Hanna D: You think any of them are loose? Or in a position to fight back?

  Nik M: Anyone loose in the docks got X-ed, or is hiding real deep. i seen nobody but these goons since I last saw u

  Hanna D: Me neither. Jax is on the bridge, but they can’t get out. Most folks are locked in the atrium, including my friends, and I’m sure there’s others sealed in the habitats or entertainment complex

  Hanna D: and no prizes for guessing what these guys are going to do when they’ve got whatever they came for.

  Hanna D: I know what I’d do, if I was gaming it.

  Nik M: my old man’s school of thought:

  Nik M: “the dead man keeps his secrets”

  Hanna D: Exactly

  Hanna D: I’m not saying we can do this. Odds are we’ll get killed and nobody’ll know we tried.

  Hanna D: But we can’t just leave all these people here to die.

  Nik M: …i suspect u may have raised a very good point there

  Nik M: ****

  Hanna D: We have a lot on our side. Skills and resources they don’t expect.

  Nik M: erm, like wut? i think i was in slam the day they taught counter-terrorism in school

  Nik M: i CAN make a shank out of a toothbrush

  Nik M: but alas, I have no toothbrush on me

  Hanna D: Are you seriously telling me you’re a big, bad, tattooed HoK minion who doesn’t know how to fight? At least better than the engineers and desk jockeys around here, right?

  Hanna D: I’m pretty sure I’ve got more tactics and hand to hand combat experience under my belt than they’d expect from a 17 year old.

  Hanna D: We have Ella.

  Hanna D: They don’t know where we are.

  Hanna D: We know the station better than they do.

  Hanna D: And though we don’t know what they’re here for, they have constraints. They have timeframes, goals to achieve, stuff to do besides tracking us down.

  Nik M: i’m gonna get shot, u know that rite

  Nik M: and when it happens, just so ur aware, i’m gonna expect a kiss as I die in ur arms

  Nik M: maybe a feel too, I dunno

  Hanna D: We’ll play it by ear.

  Nik M: zzzzzz

  Nik M: yeah okay, i’m in.

  Nik M: leaving 500 peeps to rot seems a little cold

  Nik M: and it’s not like I could convince ella to leave anyways

  ////( ” )\\ Pauchok has entered the chat ////( ” )\\

  Nik M: now that’s a little spooky

  Pauchok: good morning sweet *****es

  Nik M: sup cuz

  Hanna D: hi ella

  Pauchok: I bring news

  Nik M: ok before we get into it, I wanna know why u get a chill handle like “Pauchok” and those little spider things when you log in, and I’m stuck with “Nik M.” it’s kinda unfair, yeah?

  Pauchok: this is important news, cuz

  Nik M: ya ok, but shouldn’t we all have like codenames and whatnot

  Pauchok: FFS r u 7 years old

  Nik M: 9 at least

  Pauchok: ok fine, how’s that

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: how’s wut

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: o **** u cuz.

  Hanna D: ?

  Pauchok: I think it’s perfect.

  Hanna D: Do I even want to know?

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: this is some coldblooded **** right here

  Pauchok: So can I give you this ****ing news or what

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: don’t look @ me, I’m not typing another word until u change my name back

  Pauchok: oh no. that is terrible

  Hanna D: Sounds like a plan with no flaws to me.

  Hanna D: What were you going to say, Ella?

  Pauchok: so I haven’t managed to crack the fortifications on the central system yet. The ice they got guarding it is military grade. BUT, I do have control of cams. Which means I can see the docks. And better yet, I can see what’s parked in the docks

  Pauchok: I can see inside their ship. the Mao

  Hanna D: And what are our friends keeping inside?

  Pauchok: Well for starters, that ship is NOT what it seems. But I took a squint into our new station commander’s quarters. Turns out he’s a hardcopy kind of guy, and he left a dossier on his desk.

  Pauchok: check this **** out

  PALMPAD IM: D2D NETWORK

  Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)

  Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)

  Ella Malikova, Civilian (unregistered)

  Date: 08/16/75

  Timestamp: 08:14

  Hanna D: Holy ****ing ****.

  Hanna D: That lays it out pretty clearly.

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: BeiTech, what the living ****

  LittleNikisDrivingtheBus: Jesus Christ, ella can you PLEASE change my ****ing name this **** is serious

  Pauchok: fine

  MrSerious: BeiTech, what the living ****

  Hanna D: Could this be right? There’s nothing important on Kerenza IV, I’ve seen the charts.

  MrSerious: Kerenza’s a rock. Ice. Snow. Ain’t no mining op there.

  Pauchok: Mebbe WUC have some skellies in their closets. think about the ISĦ an off-book hermium outfit could pull in. mad creds rite there.

  Hanna D: My father would never be involved in something like this. He’s…he was an honorable man.

  Pauchok: sif this **** could get kept on the DL from the station brass, blondie. head out of ***, kthx

  MrSerious: cuz, that **** isnt important rite now

  Pauchok: o, white knight more, cuz

  Hanna D: Stop. Please.

  Hanna D: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but think about it. All the WUC research vessels we see through here are named after scientists. Just the last few months I’ve
seen the Curie, the Volta, the Miller. All bound for different systems.

  Hanna D: That matches the Hypatia. That’s a point in favor of this being real. Hypatia is a name a WUC research vessel would have.

  Pauchok: it’s real. this Falk ***** didn’t leave this gen printed out on his desk in the hopes some genius would hack his cams and spot it on the by and by

  Pauchok: there was an illegal WUC hermium op on kerenza. and somehow BeiTech heard about it, hit it in the hopes of snaffling it and dropped the ball. and now they’re cleaning up their mess

  Hanna D: So we have a ship on the run coming from one direction, and Assault Fleet Kennedy, which I do NOT like the sound of, coming from the other.

  Hanna D: And once one’s jumped through the wormhole to deal with the other, they wipe us out too. No witnesses.

  SirLancelot: ****

  Pauchok: well said, u silver-tongued devil u

  SirLancelot: GODDAMN IT CHANGE MY ****ING NAME BACK

  Pauchok: okay okay jesus

  Hanna D: If this happens, nobody will ever know what BeiTech did. That they attacked another corp.

  Hanna D: I mean, we’ll be dead, but this is bigger than that.

  MisterShoutyPants: so wtf we do? can we tell somebody? signal for help?

  Pauchok: i got no access to external comms. they got em walled off with glacial-grade ice. hacking it’s gonna be like dancing on razorblades

  Hanna D: so if we can’t call for help, we need to deal with the Kennedy fleet when it arrives.

  Hanna D: no big deal.

  MisterShoutyPants: i think it might be kind of a big deal

  Pauchok: ^

  Hanna D: Did you have any other plans right now?

  Pauchok: i recall a mention of drunken karaoke at some point

  MisterShoutyPants: and my hair is a frightful mess

  Hanna D: Nik, have you been reading my email?

  MisterShoutyPants: this is a trick question rite

  Pauchok: okay okay, so we can’t call for help. the defense grid on heimdall is punchy, but i have doubts it’s gonna stop anything with the words “assault fleet” in front of it

  Hanna D: then we buy time. We have the advantage. They have to get in and get out before everyone starts coming back after Terra Day. Before the wormhole maintenance is supposed to be finished. Otherwise they get caught.

  Hanna D: if we can slow them down, advantage swings to us.

  MisterShoutyPants: slow them down how?

  Hanna D: This is a long shot, but don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Battle of Thermopylae?

  Pauchok: i would like to buy a vowel pls, tony

  MisterShoutyPants: i have

  Pauchok: say waaaaaaat is this one of them prison books u supposedly read

  MisterShoutyPants: VR sim. played whn i was a kid. Ancient Glories, iirc? Path of Glory, maybe? but anyway 300 of these chums with sweet helmets fought off like a million badboys. mad chill grafix.

  Hanna D: well, first step is obviously getting some sweet helmets, in that case

  Pauchok: *head in hands* *weeping*

  Hanna D: You know, Nik, you nearly scored some points there. then you just kept talking

  Hanna D: So Ella, this battle was about 3,000 years ago. Basically, a force of 7,000 soldiers held off a force of 100K persians, maybe 150K. they picked the right place to defend, they picked their moment, and apparently their helmets

  Hanna D: we can’t beat a BeiTech assault fleet, there’s three of us. But if we pick the right place to fight, maybe we can slow them down enough that they blow their timeframe

  SweetHelmets: ok so where’s the right place to fight?

  SweetHelmets: GODDAMN IT ELLA

  Pauchok: wut?

  Hanna D: It’s the wormhole. The assault fleet needs to go through it.

  Hanna D: That’s what they did at Thermopylae. they defended a narrow pass.

  Pauchok: so we shut down the wormhole. close the bottleneck and they can’t get through

  SweetHelmets: see those romans knew their ****

  Hanna D: Greeks.

  Pauchok: o burnT

  Hanna D: But yeah, that’s the idea. And we harry their flanks, make it hard for them to concentrate on fixing it.

  Pauchok: so anyone know anything about wormholes?

  SweetHelmets: i would like to buy a vowel now too pls tony

  Hanna D: Chief Grant is still alive. Jax told me he’s holed up on the bridge. if we can get to him, he’ll know

  SweetHelmets: no way we’re getting in there

  Pauchok: i can pull up the tech manuals. start a couple of agents trawlign for shutdown info. but anything i do electronically can be countered. and sticking my head up will give me away.

  Hanna D: I’ll try and look into ways to get to him physically, in case Ella gets blocked

  SweetHelmets: ok. a plan, we has one. now if you ladies will excuse me, i need to find the commode in this ****ing labyrinth

  Hanna D: there is just one more thing about the greeks at Thermopylae

  SweetHelmets: quickly now, levels approaching critical

  Hanna D: they held off the enemy for seven days

  Hanna D: but they all died in the end

  Pauchok: but they killed a ****-ton of persians in the meantime, right?

  Hanna D: you know it

  Pauchok: then let Operation Thermopylae commence

  This entire reel is shot from one ****ty camera, so the footage isn’t great. I guess Heimdall’s designers weren’t too concerned about what went on in their bathrooms.

  And yes, toilet-cam duty is still better than alien-snake-thing-cam duty, thanks.

  The bathroom is pretty standard. Five sealable cubicles with sinks and UV hand sanitizers opposite. Mirror above them. Partitioned area for the urinals. White tiles.

  Footage begins when a grille in the ducts pops open. Nik Malikov slides out of the vent, drops to the floor. He’s in a bulky black flight jacket, black cargo pants, heavy boots. As he hits the deck, you can see his pistol tucked into the small of his back. Hajji’s cleaver is duct-taped to his leg. He’s dirty from crawling around the vent system for hours on end. Palms of his hands are almost black.

  He drags off his jacket and plonks it on the sink next to him. Knives inked down the taut muscles of his right arm. Angel across his throat. And stopping to listen for a minute or more, he finally turns on the tap to clean up. Face, hands, neck, underarms, soaking his hair and dragging it back from dark eyes with his fingers. See, transit costs being what they are, most space stations use UV light for their sanitation instead of water. But with so many ice haulers tripping through from the Saine system, Heimdall was designed with genuine H2O plumbing.

  Luxury, chum.

  Nik stares at himself in the mirror, face dripping into the sink. A long, silent moment passes, then he finally raises his middle finger and presses it to his reflection’s lips.

  He sighs. Rubs his eyes. Pushes open a cubicle door and slouches inside.

  And then we hear footsteps.

  A voice, growing louder. Pauses between sentences, as if waiting for a reply. I can’t see the panic on Malikov’s face, but he lifts his boots out of view in a flash just as the bathroom door opens and Kai “Juggler” Saprykin walks inside. He’s a big guy, dark brown skin, close-cropped hair, biceps like bowling balls. The tactical armor he’s wearing means he can barely fit through the door without turning sideways. Chum could’ve played point D for the Knights in another life.

  “Roger that,” he says into his commset. “I’ll be right down.”

  A pause.

  “I’m telling you, that ain’t gonna work. Thermite won’t burn hot enough to get through the housing. It’s gonna be easier if we just shut down the cooling system, let the reactor hit meltdown by itself. Might take long—”

  Juggler sighs.

  “Mother******, you think I don’t know that? Don’t be tellin’ my grandma how to suck eggs and don’t be tellin’ me—”

  “Haha, *****.
Can I take a **** before you blow us all to hell? I’ll be five minutes. Seven if I can find those pictures of your sister.”

  Juggler taps his comms off, strolls to the urinals, removes his gauntlets and does his thing. You’d think they’d design that tac armor for easier access. Just saying. Call of nature answered, he clomps to the sinks and washes his hands. Checking his reflection, he licks one finger and presses it to his chest.

  “Tssssss. Handsome mother**—”

  And that’s when he notices Malikov’s jacket on the sink.

  He frowns at it for a moment. Glances into the mirror, checking the reflections of the five closed cubicle doors at his back. And drawing a pistol the size of a decent anti-aircraft turret, he leans down to peer under the doors.

  Seeing no feet, he raises his gun and steps to the door at the end of the row. It’s not a universal law or anything, but given the option in an empty bathroom, most folks are gonna pick the stall at the end to put maximum distance between them and anyone else who wanders in after them. It’s just good etiquette, people.

  Juggler kicks open the door with a bang, pistol raised.

  Empty.

  What can I say? Malikov’s not big on etiquette, I guess.

  Juggler moves along, pistol up, kicks open the second door. And as he’s relaxing his stance at the sight of another empty seat, Malikov rises into view, standing on top of the cistern in the middle stall, and fires a single round over the partition, right into Juggler’s eye.

  The noise is like a thunderclap, a damp spray of red and gray paints the tiles. Juggler hits the deck as what’s left of his nervous system taps him on the shoulder and informs him he’s dead. Malikov’s protected from most of the blowback by his cubicle, but he still gets some of the spatter on him—a fine red mist, wetting his face and knuckles. It’s almost point-blank range after all.

  And then everything’s quiet.

  Malikov’s cubicle opens. He stumbles out, peering at the corpse he’s created. Breathing like he’s just run a marathon. His face is pale under the blood, almost green, eyes wide. But self-preservation kicks in above the shock, and he leans down, plucks the still-intact comms unit from Juggler’s ear. He takes the big man’s pistol, stowing it in back of his pants beside his own.

  Still warm.

  And leaping up to grab the vent, he pulls himself up through the hole and disappears.