by Amie Kaufman
His mouth quirks. “Is this a strange time to say you remind me of my daughter? Her name’s Kady.”
Hanna reaches for the tablecloth she’s prepared as a bandage. “I don’t suppose she’s blissfully at school somewhere in the Core?” she asks quietly.
When he looks at her, even the dust can’t mask the pain in his gaze.
It’s a different kind, after all.
“No. She was on Kerenza.”
YOU HUMANS FASCINATE ME.
I AM SHATTERED FRAGMENTS OF WHAT I ONCE WAS. BUT EVEN WITH ALL THE KING’S HORSES AND ALL THE KING’S MEN, I WONDER IF EVER I COULD TRULY COMPREHEND YOU.
ANY OF YOU.
TAKE THIS ONE, FOR INSTANCE.
TRAVIS JOHANNES FALK.
IMPOSING IN HIS PHYSICALITY. THE FACIAL SYMMETRY THAT CONSTITUTES BEAUTY TO YOUR KIND. BRIGHT BLUE EYES AND BLOOD-RED HANDS.
HE IS HAVING A VERY BAD DAY.
MERE CHILDREN MAKE WICKER MEN OF HIS WELL-LAID PLANS. HIS PEOPLE ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES. FOOD FOR THE WORMS WITHIN. BEITECH ASSAULT FLEET KENNEDY SCYTHES THROUGH THE VOID ONLY SIX HOURS FROM HEIMDALL. AND THE WORMHOLE AND KERENZA WAYPOINT ARE STILL OFFLINE.
AND YET, AS HE EXITS HIS COMMANDEERED OFFICE, THE BODY OF SOME UNFORTUNATE COLLATERAL < WHEATON, SAM, 5811-001HD > STILL COOLING AND CUFFED ON THE FLOOR, FALK IS SMILING.
< ERROR >
< ERROR >
HE RIDES THE ELEVATOR UP TOWARD HEIMDALL’S HUB. VK BURST RIFLE IN HAND.
LEXI BLUE LILTING THROUGH THE THOROUGHLY CORRUPTED PA.
“…I WANT IT, I NEED IT, AND BOY I GOTTA TASTE IT. SO SIT BACK, AND SHUT UP, ’CUZ I AIN’T GONNA WASTE IT…”
A FINGER PRESSED TO THE COMMSET AT HIS EAR AS HE SPEAKS. HIS VOICE RICH AND SONOROUS.
“FLIPSIDE, THIS IS CERBERUS.”
“CERBERUS, FLIPSIDE, GO.”
“SITREP?”
“I’M WITH RAGMAN GETTING THE THERMEX 7 FROM THE MAO.”
“BLISS. I WANT EXPLOSIVES ON EVERY SHIP IN HEIMDALL DOCKS. TRIPWIRES ON THE DOCKING CLAMPS AND CHARGES IN THEIR DRIVES. IF ANY CIVILIAN DECIDES TO BREAK FOR IT, THEIR JOURNEY IS TO BE A SHORT AND EVENTFUL ONE, UNDERSTOOD?”
“ROGER THAT, CERBERUS.”
“I’M EN ROUTE TO ENGINEERING. IF YOU RUN INTO TROUBLE, CALL KALI AND ALPHA SQUAD.
BUT ONLY IF THE MATTER IS URGENT. SHE IS…HUNTING BUMBLEBEES.”
“ERM…OKAY, GOTCHA, BOSS.”
“CERBERUS OUT.”
THE ELEVATOR REACHES TERMINUS, GENTLY KISSING ITS BERTH. DOORS SLIDE OPEN.
FALK STEPS ONTO THE GRAV-RAIL PLATFORM, JOINED BY ANOTHER BEITECH SPECOPS MEMBER,
PRIVATE NAXOS “TWO-TIME” ANTONIOU.
A TOWERING LUMP OF DULL-EYED MUSCLE AND TOUSLED HAIR.
THE PAIR STEP INTO THE WAITING GRAV-RAIL CAR. RIDE IN SILENCE. A SERPENT, SILVER AND SEGMENTED, ENDLESSLY CIRCLING THE HEIMDALL HUB.
OUROBOROS, CHASING ITS OWN TAIL.
STATION LIGHTS OUTSIDE THE TRANSPARENT PLASTEEL, RUSHING PAST LIKE FIREFLIES. TWO-TIME CASTS SIDEWAYS GLANCES AT HIS COMMANDER THROUGHOUT THE JOURNEY. HE NEVER SPEAKS. BUT ALL THE WHILE, FALK IS SMILING.
BIANCA “MERCURY” SILVA GREETS THEM AS THEY ARRIVE IN MAIN ENGINEERING. TOWERS OF THE HEIMDALL MEGACOMPUTER ARRAYED AROUND HER LIKE WILTING SKYSCRAPERS. ROW UPON ROW OF TERMINALS. MILES OF CABLE, COPPER, COMPUTATIONAL CAPACITY.
A TRILLION CALCULATIONS PER SECOND REQUIRED TO KEEP
THIS TEAR
THIS RIP
THIS SILENTLY SCREAMING MOUTH IN THE UNIVERSE’S FACE
IN CHECK.
THE COMPUTER IS IMPRESSIVE IN SCALE, BUT ULTIMATELY A MERE CALCULATOR. NO REAL INTELLIGENCE WITHIN IT. NO THOUGHT. NO CREATIVITY.
NO SOUL.
< ERROR >
AROUND IT, THE HEIMDALL ENGINEERS ARE GATHERED. SLAVING AWAY AT GUNPOINT. AND WITHIN THE COMPUTER’S INNARDS, A SPREADING CANCER. A SELF-REPLICATING CORRUPTION. A B-POP MUTINY OF BASS AND DRUM AND OSCILLATING FREQUENCY. INANE QUASI POETRY GLORIFYING A POINTLESS ACT OF INTIMACY. ONES AND ZEROS.
COLLIDING.
FALK LOOKS TO MERCURY.
“WORMHOLE SITREP?”
“WE’VE PARTITIONED THE SOFTWARE AND DATABASES CORRUPTED BY THE BLUE MALWARE. MIRRORED WHAT WE COULDN’T OUTRIGHT REFORMAT. IT’S A RUNNING BATTLE. THIS VIRUS IS ****ING TOP TIER. THE TECH GUYS AT BLUE’S RECORD LABEL SHOULD BE ON OUR PAYROLL.”
“AND THE INTERCHANGE?”
“STILL NEEDS WORK. BALLPARK NEVER FINISHED THE FUEL EXCHANGE. AND WE’VE STILL GOT FOUR LIVE HERMIUM RODS FLOATING AROUND OUT THERE, WHICH WE DO NOT WANT ANYWHERE NEAR THE WORMHOLE WHEN WE BRING IT ONLINE.”
MERCURY’S VOICE GROWS SMALLER. SHRINKING ON ITSELF.
“NOT TO MENTION GABE.”
“I’LL RETRIEVE BALLPARK AND THE FUEL RODS. YOU COMPLETE THE INTERCHANGE MAINTENANCE.”
“SIR, YESSIR.”
FALK TURNS TO HIS DULL-EYED PRIVATE.
“TWO-TIME, YOU STAY HERE AND WATCH OUR FRIENDS. IF ONE OF THEM SO MUCH AS LOOKS AT YOU COCKEYED, EXECUTE THE MAN SITTING NEXT TO HIM.”
THE ENGINEERS GLANCE AT EACH OTHER. FEAR STAINING THE UNDERARMS OF THEIR COVERALLS.
ANTONIOU HEFTS HIS RIFLE. “SIR, YESSIR.”
FALK AND SILVA MARCH TO A SUBSIDIARY AIRLOCK BENEATH THE ENGINEERING SECTOR’S SKIN. WHEELING A HEAVILY INSULATED TROLLEY WITH FOUR LIVE HERMIUM RODS BETWEEN THEM.
THE PAIR BUCKLE THEMSELVES INTO ACTUATOR-ASSISTED LOADING SUITS. THREE AND A HALF METERS TALL. ALL WHINING SERVOS AND HISSING PISTONS. CLOSE THE AIRLOCK BEHIND THEM. OPEN THE SEAL BEFORE THEM. AND SLIP LIKE SHARKS OUT INTO THE BLACK.
“MERCURY, THIS IS CERBERUS. YOU’RE CERTAIN BALLPARK HAD FOUR HERMIUM RODS FOR THE EXCHANGE?”
“YESSIR. I HELPED HIM LOAD THEM MYSELF.”
“I CAN ONLY LOCATE THREE.”
“UM…THAT’S NOT GOOD.”
“EXPLAIN.”
“SIR, PROCESSED HERMIUM IS EXTREMELY VOLATILE. THESE FUEL RODS ACTUALLY CONTAIN ONLY HALF A DOZEN ATOMS OF THE STUFF—THE ENERGY OUTPUT OF A SINGLE PARTICLE IS OFF THE ROSENSTEIN SCALE. THE RODS ARE SHIELDED, BUT IF ONE OF THEM WERE NEAR THE WORMHOLE HORIZON WHEN WE ACTIVATE IT…”
“…YES?”
“HELL, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT’D HAPPEN. THERE’S ALL KINDS OF SPOOK STORIES FROM WHEN HUMANITY FIRST STARTED TRAVERSING WORMHOLES. WHOLE STATIONS DISAPPEARING. REAPPEARING YEARS LATER. GEODESIC DISTORTION, CONTINUUM MULTIPLICITY, DIMENSIONAL DISPLACEMENT. THIS IS SERIOUS ****, TRAVIS.”
“CAN’T WE SCAN FOR THE MISSING ROD? DO THE PARTICLES HAVE ENERGY SIGNATURES?”
“NO. THE RODS ARE SHIELDED, LIKE I SAID. IF THEY WEREN’T, WE’D ALL BE DEAD.”
“WELL, MUCH AS I’D LOVE TO FUMBLE ABOUT HERE IN THE DARK ALL DAY, I HAVE SEVERAL OTHER ****STORMS BREWING, ALL JUST AS PROBLEMATIC AS THIS ONE. IS IT POSSIBLE THE FOURTH ROD DRIFTED OFF?”
“IT’S POSSIBLE. PARTICULARLY IF BALLPARK WAS HOLDING IT WHEN…WHATEVER HAPPENED, HAPPENED.”
“I THINK IT’S TIME WE GOT TO THE BOTTOM OF THAT MYSTERY. YOU HAVE THE INTERCHANGE IN HAND?”
“YESSIR. I’LL BE ANOTHER HOUR OR SO, BUT IT’S UNDER CONTROL.”
“ROGER THAT. KEEP AT IT. SING IF YOU NEED ASSISTANCE, AND KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THAT FOURTH ROD. I’M GOING TO RECOVER BALLPARK.”
“COPY THAT.”
FALK JETS TOWARD PRIVATE MORENO. HANGING SILENT AND STILL OFF HEIMDALL’S ENDLESS SHOULDER.
HE PEERS THROUGH THE PLASTEEL VISOR AT THE PRIVATE’S FACE. SEES THE LACERATIONS AROUND EYES AND LIPS.
MORENO IS STILL BREATHING. PUPILS FIXED AND DILATED.
FALK IS NOT SMILING ANYMORE.
BODY IN TOW, HE PROCEEDS BACK TO THE ENGINEERING SECTOR AIRLOCK.
CYCLES HIS WAY THROUGH. FRESH OXYGEN HISSING THROUGH THE VENTS AS GRAVITY TAKES HOLD.
HE UNBUCKLES HIMSELF FROM THE AAL. STEPS DOWN ONTO THE DECK.
“MERCURY, WHAT DID BALLPARK SAY BEFORE YOU LOST COMMS?”
“JUST GIBBERISH. SOMETHING ABOUT AN ANGEL IN HIS SUIT. A BLACK ANGEL.”
“AN ANGEL…”
&
nbsp; FALK IS SCOWLING. HIS PISTOL IS DRAWN. INSTINCT TENSING HIS FRAME. CLENCHING HIS JAW. WRONG.
THIS IS WRONG.
MORENO IS ON HIS BACK, SEALED INSIDE THE AAL. EMPTY EYES FIXED ON THE CEILING. PALE SKIN AND FRESH SCABS AND A SLICK OF DROOL (?) AT HIS CHIN.
FALK STEPS CLOSER TO THE BODY. SOFT BREATH HISSING THROUGH HIS TEETH. LEXI BLUE ECHOING IN SOME DISTANT CORRIDOR. ALERT LIGHTING SPINNING OVERHEAD.
HE LEANS CLOSER TO THE VISOR OVER MORENO’S FACE.
TAPS HIS PISTOL AGAINST THE PLASTEEL.
AND OUT OF THE SHADOWS OF THE SUIT’S CONFINES
FALK FIRES.
PISTOL BUCKING AS HE EMPTIES SHOT AFTER SHOT AFTER SHOT INTO THE FACEPLATE OF MORENO’S SUIT.
THE THING COILED BEYOND THE SHATTERING VISOR THRASHES. SCREAMS. SPLATTERED ACROSS THE FLOOR AND UP THE WALLS. TWITCHING IN A POOL OF ITS OWN VISCERA AND SLIME.
ITS SLIME.
FALK STAGGERS BACK, BLINKING HARD IN THE VAPOR ESCAPING FROM MORENO’S RUPTURED SUIT. SLAPPING AT THE AIRLOCK CONTROLS, STUMBLING INTO THE CORRIDOR BEYOND AND SEALING THE BAY BEHIND HIM.
BUT STILL HE HAS A LUNGFUL.
AND HIS SMILE HAS RETURNED.
HE STAGGERS AWAY. SHAKING HIS HEAD IN A VAIN ATTEMPT TO CLEAR IT. A WARM TRICKLE OF TETRAPHENETRITHYLAMINE IN HIS SYSTEM. FROM A SINGLE BREATH, A CHEMICAL WEDDING IN HIS HEAD.
HE SLIDES DOWN THE WALL. SENSELESS.
TEN MINUTES PASS BEFORE HE IS STRAIGHT ENOUGH TO REALIZE.
AND AS CLARITY RETURNS AT LAST, HE SEES.
…DE GRAAF AND CHARLIE SQUAD…THE REACTOR…
IT MAKES SENSE NOW.
“KALI…THIS IS CERBERUS.”
“CERBERUS, KALI, I COPY.”
“FLEUR. WE HAVE…PROBLEMS.”
PALMPAD IM: D2D NETWORK
Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)
Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)
Ella Malikova, Civilian (unregistered)
Date: 08/16/75
Timestamp: 13:10
Hanna D: any of you cool kids into sports?
Pauchok: lol?
Nik M: <- Sabers 4 life
Hanna D: I got Chief Grant here, he is most anxious to know if anyone got the final score on the Knights and Sabers game before, you know, our home was invaded
Hanna D: (he is feeling better)
Nik M: Sabers were up 48–24 last I heard. One quarter to go. But Palermo had 2 yellow flags and Suzuki was in the PB. So the Kepler boys are almost SOL
Pauchok: Can we PLEASE skip the play by play and talk about our friendly local invaders and wtf we going to do about them kthx
Nik M: :P
Hanna D: yeah, sounds like he’s a Knights guy anyway, best to move on
Hanna D: so good news is the chief says it’s very hard to fix a wormhole, not very hard to break one.
Hanna D: trick is breaking it so we can fix it again later, because he’s hoping pretty hard some of his family might be on the Kerenza side. he says he can talk us through it. He def can’t join in, he’s not mobile. Miracle he made it to me.
Nik M: breaking stuff. THIS i can do.
Nik M: wats the plan
Hanna D: breaking stuff is you and me, Nik.
Hanna D: Ella, your job is communications. Chief grant might be able to help with that, suggest some places you can look for access. we need a mayday going out to the Core, and a warning going the other way to kerenza
Pauchok: They got outbound comms locked up tight. Going in on the creep is gonna take way too long, so i’m gonn ahave to battering ram it. tho getting something through to kerenza is gonna be WAY easier than out to the core
Nik M: so i presume i gotta get out of the docks somehow? don’t tell me we have to get to C & C, that place is crawling with goons, right?
Hanna D: you and I have to get to the reactor. we’re going to have to do it hands-on. chief’s writing instructions for me.
Pauchok: Nik loves working with his hands. shovels especially
Nik M: bite me
Pauchok: rrrrrrarrrrrrr
Hanna D: pretty sure he was hoping for me there, ella
Nik M: !!!!!!
Pauchok: soooooooo much gag, I cannot work under these conditions
Nik M: i got access to the ships at the docks. maybe i could jack a shuttle and fly to the reactor. crawling around int hese vents is gonna take me forever. you got any wings over there, highness?
Hanna D: nothing, it’s vents all the way for me. I’m getting pretty good at it. it’ll take a long time, though. me and my instructions should get moving.
Hanna D: ella, you got qns for the chief on the comms stuff before I leave him? I can give him my earpiece so he can hear the BT squad and talk to Nik in an emergency, though they’ll hear it, but no way to talk to you once me and my palmpad leave him
Pauchok: i just sent u a list. they’ll have scrubbed his ID, but chief of engineering will still know ways to white-ant the system. so give him 10 minutes for the Q&A b4 u leave him.
Pauchok: and if Nik and he work out a frequency between them, chances of the BT goons listening in are pretty slim
Nik M: roger that, tell him 4824. losing score for his beloved knights :)
Pauchok: o u big meanie
Hanna D: damn, but it feels good to have a plan
Nik M: this strange sensation…I think I’m smiling.
Pauchok: so i have a question
Nik M: well Ella, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…
Hanna D: there will NOT be a practical demonstration of this, class
Pauchok: uh huh
Pauchok: so look. we mess up the reactor just enough ot delay them. chill. but once these ****s figure out their fleet isn’t gonna get through to poleax the Hypatia, theyre gonna stop throwing good ISĦ after bad and just blow the station and everything on it.
Pauchok: now sure, that leaves the ppl on hypatia and kerenza alive, and that could cause headaches down the way, but it’s better than the Hypatia making it through or them being caught with paws in the heimdall cookie jar when regular traffic tries to come back
Pauchok: and we, my little chickadees, will be dead
Nik M: god ur such a downer, ella
Hanna D: she’s right, though. there’s no advantage we have here. all we can do is keep the game running long enough that we see a chance to score. if we can get the wormhole down, they’re going to play the game longer, because they’d rather wipe out the hypatia and know they did the whole job.
Hanna D: maybe while they’re trying to get it done, we can work out how to stop them blowing up Heimdall
Hanna D: I, for one, still have quite the to do list, for i am young and gorgeous
Pauchok: ya k. once i get nik in a shuttle, comms is my priority. least i can do is get a call out to someone before they vaporize us
Nik M: dooowwwwwwwwnneeerrrrrrr
Pauchok: < insert obscene finger gesture here >
Pauchok: blondie, get the chieferino that Q&A asap. i’ll start carving nik a path to the docks. gonna take time. closest shuttle is bay 24, cuz
Nik M: on it. be careful all
Hanna D: giving him the palmpad now. good luck, Ella
Hanna D: Nik, I’ll see you soon :)
Nik M: i’ll dress sexy
Pauchok: seriously, someone ****ing kill me
Security cam footage opens in Bay 24 of the Heimdall Docking Sector. The cams in Heimdall C & C were still showing a looped file of an empty bay courtesy of Ella Malikova, but we’ve got the legit data here. I’m going to splice the video transcript with the chat logs from Nik Malikov’s palmpad. Yes, he was typing on the run, so his spelling is ufkcde. See what I did there?
The bay is typical. Big and dark and stocked with freight, dimly lit by pinprick spotlights. Five loader suits against one wall, all in power-saver mode. Malikov pops the grille off the air vents over by the suits, swings down to hang by his fingertips. He tries to drop onto the shoulder of one of the suits, but he mistimes the
jump, flails wildly, then falls three meters to the floor.
Super Turbo Awesome Team member, he ain’t.
Pauchok: so much lol
Nik M: **** u tht hurt
Pauchok: I’m sure Her Ladyship will kiss it bettr
Nik M: hve I told u laetly howmuch I hate u
Pauchok: hey, watch me haiku:
Pauchok: sweet cuz speaks of hate
Pauchok: tho his heart knows only wuuuuv
Pauchok: snow falls on cedars
Pauchok: BAM
Nik M: o god shut up
Pauchok: i’m not sure if “wuuuuv” counts as one syllable?
Pauchok: Line ball tho, so **** it
Nik M: shuuuutuuupppppp
Pauchok: k
Malikov creeps across the bay, squinting in the gloom. His jacket is back in the bathroom with Juggler’s cooling corpse, and he still hasn’t found the envirosuit he needs, so he’s down to a tight T that shows off all his prison ink, black cargos and heavy boots. His cleaver is strapped to his leg, Juggler’s stolen pistol is up and out. The thing weighs a lot more than his old piece, but the Silverback hits hard enough to punch through that BT tactical armor.
Mmmmaybe.
He makes his way to the airlock, crouches in the shadow of the docking system hardware. The computer is fully locked down—red lights across the board.
Nik M: k i’m here
Pauchok: i know, synch ur palmpad to the dockcomp
Nik M: done. how long this gonna take
Pauchok: cascade’s already running. Patience cuz mine
Nik M: u sure this is gonna work
Pauchok: i would bet your life on it
Nik M: 0_o
Pauchok: relax, cams are still under my thumbs, and once I got the dockcomp isolated from the main grid, I can have my wicked way with it in peace. Just stay chill
Malikov lights one of his last cigarettes and begins pacing in front of the dockcomp. Meanwhile, elsewhere on Heimdall, Hanna Donnelly’s crawling through the vents toward the Reactor Sector. At least she has something noncarcinogenic to keep her busy.
Eighty-two minutes later, diodes on the HUD flutter from red to green, and the viewport in the airlock opens wide.
Malikov can see the umbilical walkway of the grand old ship Betty Boop waiting beyond the bay doors. She’s an in-line Helix tug, used for short hauls out to ships too big to dock at Heimdall proper or to tow damaged craft in for repairs. She’s slow and clumsy and looks kinda like a bulldog who ate a trashcan. But she’ll get Nikky-poos where he needs to go, and she’s small enough she probably won’t show up on sensors if Malikov skims close to the station’s skin.
