Gravity of a Distant Sun

by R. E. Stearns

  Iridian tipped her head back against the vehicle’s side, as far as the neck restraint allowed, and shut her eyes. Her foot was falling asleep with the regular tingling sensation this time, not the one brought on by the detention-grade nannite culture swarming through her body. Before the overdose, Iridian had come to rely on Adda watching her back, spotting mistakes before she made them. If Adda were feeling well, she’d’ve already come up with a plan to open the transport restraints.

  But now, Iridian didn’t want to ask for Adda’s help. She didn’t want to hear the embarrassment in Adda’s subvocalized whisper as she realized that before the overdose, she would’ve known what to do. It was even harder for Iridian to talk to her during moments when Adda forgot the past few weeks and thought they were still on Vesta, before Captain Sloane had betrayed them. Before the AIs had too.

  Iridian couldn’t leave Adda to defend herself in a hospital bed while the Casey was still looking for her. She’d just have to come up with an escape plan on her own. Her lip had stopped bleeding. She settled in, alone, aching, and tired, to wait for what happened next.

  * * *

  When the van stopped moving, the ITA let Iridian up to walk across a port terminal to a bright blue passthrough, a hallway that led to an ITA ship. The ITA had driven her through Ceres Station’s surface port to get there. Even rock stars had to walk from the entrance to their terminal. The agents strapped Iridian to a wall in a tiny room just off what must’ve been the main cabin, the largest central space on a ship small enough to land at Ceres’s surface port. Bigger ships docked at the orbital port. After the door shut and the lock clicked, the agents broke into muted conversation.

  Iridian grinned. They were afraid of her. Her hands were still bound, and the ITA still had her comp glove. She patted her pockets and twisted to check her jacket’s hook between her shoulder blades, and her grin faded. They’d taken her shield, too.

  The tedious flight ended with what little grav acceleration and deceleration had generated fading to nothing. They’d either docked at the orbital station or hitched up to a larger, stationary ITA ship. Her guards escorted her out of the passthrough and down corridors with too many directional indicators to be on the orbital station, which never had grav at all.

  She got decontaminated, measured, and sufficiently identified to suit the ITA’s standards, all in null grav and with proper spacefarer etiquette that kept the agents from touching her more than they had to. They also managed to do it without freeing her arms. Even when they took her clothes to decontaminate, they gave her a shirt with short, split sleeves, which a female agent sealed for her.

  Every time they moved Iridian, three people were involved: two to maneuver her around in micrograv, and one to stand by with a hand near their comp, ready to reactivate the nannite culture. She kept looking for some chance to get away from them, even though she didn’t figure she’d make it far before they activated the nannites again, but she never saw a chance worth taking.

  Eventually they led her into a spartan room with three chairs bolted to the deck at a round table with a comp cradle in its center. The comp cradle’s pad full of pseudo-organic fluid glowed blue, predictably, from the colored light within. The chairs all had belts to keep a person in place in micrograv, and one had foam dispensers on its legs and arms, too. The agents set her in the chair with the dispensers, and one did something with his comp. Foam flowed over Iridian’s wrists, forearms, ankles, and shins.

  Once it solidified, the agents backed off. “Somebody will come talk to you soon,” they assured her. As they left, they controlled their direction and momentum with light touches on the doorway, ignoring the bulkhead handholds. Micrograv didn’t seem to bother them at all.

  Grav rose slightly, although it was still too low to be healthy for a long flight. The ship was moving, but wherever it was headed, it wasn’t in any hurry to get there. It wasn’t waiting around in case they’d grabbed the wrong woman, either. There was no chance they’d return her to Ceres with an apology. She’d be lucky if their criteria for “rehabilitation” were achievable, let alone supported with benchmarks she could meet within the next decade. This might be her last flight for a long time.

  The bulkheads were blank and, like most of the other fixtures, blue. No windows were projected onto them. Lights at the seams where the bulkheads met the overhead glowed with late afternoon sunsim. The dark dots beneath the lights were cams recording her from every angle. Something about the arrangement made her feel slightly intoxicated. That might’ve been her inner ears adjusting to micrograv. There’d be mics somewhere, too, and more sensors to record everything else about her.

  Iridian relaxed as much as the hardened foam allowed, ordering her sore muscles to loosen while they had the chance. Pel had taken off on his own and Adda was in the most capable hands Iridian could put her in, assuming the ITA let her stay in the fucking hospital. And they would, once they saw the state Adda was in. But no matter what they did with Adda, Iridian was trapped in this chair. It’d been a long seven days since Vesta, with little sleep and less certainty of how she’d keep Adda and Pel out of ITA custody tomorrow, let alone what to aim for once Adda recovered. Iridian felt a terrible, cowardly relief at not being able to protect anyone, just for a few minutes.

  The door slid up its track and into the ceiling, ending Iridian’s moment of peace. A blue-suited white woman bowed in the doorway and drifted into the room, followed by a slightly built man in a suit that was refreshingly gray. Iridian nodded at them, which was the best she could do and as much as they deserved.

  The man looked serious as he strapped himself into a chair, but the woman smiled broadly. She stayed drifting near the door rather than securing herself to a chair. “Iridian Nassir, huh?” Iridian just looked at her. “Oh, very tough, that’s fine. I’m Edwena Wright, Investigations, Ceres Station Office. Your advocate here is Chim Zheng.”

  Zheng set a hand slightly lighter brown than Iridian’s in the table’s comp cradle, and his credentials appeared on the flat surface. The comp glove he wore was textured like leather from Earth. Iridian read the text and nodded. It all looked legit, although she’d never had cause to look at a lawyer’s credentials before.

  Zheng took his hand back and the projector in the comp cradle switched off. The ITA didn’t have to let a real lawyer sit in with her. Nobody was making them. After the war, no fleet in the universe was big enough to force the ITA to do anything.

  Wright pulled herself into the third chair, still smiling. Instead of strapping herself in, she hooked her ankles around the chair legs. “How are you doing? Do you need anything?” Wright’s Ceresian accent was lighter than that of the other ITA people Iridian had spoken to today, which was nice. Iridian didn’t have to concentrate so hard to understand what she was saying.

  Iridian shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Although it seemed useful to have a lawyer in the room, Zheng didn’t have much to say. Wright asked for descriptions of everything that’d happened from when Iridian and Adda had hijacked a colony ship bound for Io to the present moment. Iridian did her best to answer the questions only at the level of detail the newsfeeds had, but Zheng never warned her about anything she said.

  After an hour of that, Iridian was tired of tiptoeing around Wright’s questions. It was time to do something she should’ve done months ago, something she hoped would get her back to Adda sooner. “Look, we can keep combing through my life history, or I can tell you something you really want to know and you can tell me what I can get for it.”

  Both ITA people sat up a bit straighter. “You’re just full of interesting information, I’m sure,” Wright said. “Shall we start with Captain Sloane’s current base of operations?”

  Iridian flexed her arms against the solidified foam holding her to the chair, which remained as secure as ever. “It’s not about that.”

  Wright looked disappointed. Zheng’s expression remained unchanged. “What, then?” Wright asked.

>   “It’s about an awakened AI,” Iridian said.

  The collective intake of breath from her audience was satisfying, but as the words left her mouth, she wondered if this would be implicating Adda in more weighty crimes than she was already charged with. Adda had interacted with three awakened AI copilots in ships that flew on their own. Not only had Iridian and Adda failed to report the AIs to anybody with a fleet tough enough to stop them, Adda had protected them and hidden what they were.

  Hell, Adda had given them access to systems they’d been locked out of. That’d let them break every infosec law in the NEU and the colonies to oust the megacorp that held Vesta under contract. That was serious, even if she was suffering from brain damage and influence. Though the influence might help her case.

  Iridian and Captain Sloane had protected the awakened AIs too, but fuck the captain. Sloane was responsible for awakening the AIs and starting all this shit. The captain had gotten more out of the AIs in terms of freedom, money, and political power than anyone. And since Sloane had used Adda’s life as a political bargaining chip on top of all that, getting caught up in an investigation of awakened AIs was the least of what her former captain had earned.

  “Well, you’re right!” Wright said brightly, although her body language said anxiety. “We’re interested. Tell us more.”

  “There are multiple awakened AI copilots docked in Vestan ports right now,” Iridian said, slowly and clearly for the mics. “You give me some allowances, and I’ll tell you which ships they’re in.”

  Wright’s smile froze on her face, and Zheng swore. When Iridian had found out, she’d felt the same way. Since the damned AIs had tried to kill her a little over a week ago, it wasn’t as if she’d get in deeper shit with them for talking. She could always dig herself in deeper with the ITA, though.

  Survivalism in awakened intelligences is a microcosmic response, whispered Adda’s voice in Iridian’s ear. Apparently the ITA hadn’t shielded this room against radio signals, and Iridian’s implant was still broadcasting its location well enough for Adda’s signal to find her.

  Also, Iridian had subvocalized something without realizing it. What? she replied.

  Wright, who couldn’t hear what Iridian and Adda were saying, spoke stiffly over their subvocal conversation. “You really should have reported that. I’ll have to add that to your list of charges.”

  They are their own worlds. Even in a whisper, Adda sounded spaced out. Iridian ignored whatever the ITA woman was asking her now. They know what they’re making themselves for, said Adda. We should tell Captain Sloane. Iridian gritted her teeth. Adda had forgotten that they were no longer on speaking terms with the captain.

  From Wright’s perspective, Iridian had stopped talking as soon as Wright brought up adding charges to Iridian’s list, and she looked like she was about to offer some kind of meaningless assurances. Iridian shifted to make herself comfortable in the low grav. “Whatever you add to my record,” she said aloud, “add something in my favor, too, or good luck locking in every ship on the ’ject to figure out which copilots are awakened.” She was assuming that the awakened AIs had stayed in the three ships they’d started out in, and that they’d stayed near Vesta. There were no guarantees with awakened AIs. They could’ve installed themselves anywhere.

  “That’s all very well,” said Wright. “But what evidence do you have that there are awakened AIs on Vesta?”

  It was the second-highest populated ’ject between the Martian and Jovian orbits. Iridian couldn’t blame the lady for wanting proof, but Iridian wouldn’t give up the AIs without getting something in return. “What can you offer?” she asked.

  For a fraction of a second, Wright’s cheerful demeanor slipped. Iridian braced for a punch to the face, because it sure as hell looked like that was what she’d get. Then Wright’s masking expression was back and she trained her fake smile on Iridian. “I can’t offer anything, personally. If you’ll tell me—”

  “No.” Iridian glanced at Zheng to see if he’d make himself useful. He didn’t. “You take what I said to whoever can offer me assurances, or I don’t tell you anything.”

  Wright’s smile was starting to look more like a grimace. “Very well. You’re on record as having something to say. I’ll pass that along. Now, let’s go back to what happened after the explosion on Barbary Station.”

  The restraints still held Iridian in place, and the ITA agents would be ready for tricks whenever they moved her again. When Adda had been well, she would’ve found a way out of this and it would’ve been spectacular. Now, even if Iridian explained the situation to her, Adda might not be conscious long enough to form a plan. Iridian was on her own.

  CHAPTER 3 Days until launch: 97

  The projector stage had moved. It projected onto the wall rather than above the stage itself. Which meant it wasn’t a stage. It was just a projector that showed Feed not available in bright purple text that rippled at its edges. The ripples made Adda’s tongue itch. They might’ve been part of the projection, or just in her head. The error was time stamped a couple of minutes after noon local time.

  Local to Ceres? Yes. This room, with its walls all around her, no room for anybody else, was on Ceres. There had been other beds before. She thought. Maybe her brain had made copies.

  She had come here. . . . Why had she come here? Iridian and Pel had brought her. She wanted Iridian, but Iridian couldn’t come.

  Iri?

  Hey! Iridian replied in her head. How are you?

  Awake. Nothing hurts. That felt like a nice change. She must’ve been having a lot of headaches recently. Not remembering them was unnerving. Am I in a hospital?

  No, babe, the ITA says they moved you to influence treatment. Different corp, different building, but you’re still on Ceres Station, Iridian said, as if Adda were more confused than she thought she was. I can’t talk. They drugged me to talk to somebody else, and I might mix you two up.

  That was standard ITA procedure. Whatever the law allowed, it was a violation of Iridian’s mind, and Adda was trapped in a bed, unable to help her, again. It was infuriating.

  A nurse opened the door to Adda’s tiny room without knocking. The woman made seal noises that were almost certainly supposed to mean something, pressed a plastic tool to Adda’s arm that moved liquid in or out, then left. When Adda and Iridian were together, Iridian talked to people and listened to what they said. By the time Adda remembered that she had to do it herself now, she’d missed something significant.

  The seizures had stopped. She’d had a lot of seizures. Then Iridian had brought her here—no, to the hospital, not here, this place was new—to stop them. Everything went bad after that.

  She lost time in a loop of just how bad it had become, trying to shove tears back into her chest, where they felt like they came from. She was alone.

  She wanted to wipe her eyes, but the bed had absorbed her forearms into its mattress foam. Gravity pulled her into the bed, so it wasn’t as if she had to be secured against floating away. She was trapped.

  Everything in the universe conspired to keep Iridian away from her. All corps’ policies separated families. That, and the lack of government work, had set Iridian and Adda down the path of piracy in the first place. Now the pirate crew they’d fought so hard to join had . . . betrayed them? Yes.

  AegiSKADA had tested her on Barbary Station and she hadn’t let it influence her. The other intelligences had betrayed her, just like Captain Sloane had. Now Iridian was gone and Adda would have to find a way through all the betrayal and confusion to get back to her. Adda would start with how to get out of this bed.

  Another person in easily sanitized medical garb swished into the room. The name printed on the chest part read KANITA PATEL-VAN DAELE with enough credential abbreviations afterward to make a third and fourth name. He repeated the name and pressed a scanner against her wrist. Her skin was so pale from lack of real sunlight that it was practically translucent. The light the scanner flashed through it confirmed h
er identity with her vascular pattern.

  She needed a plan. Eight plans would be better, but one would be a good start.

  The scanner left her wrist and made a snapping sound as the doctor flicked the disposable cover into a waste chute in the wall by her bed. The doctor’s words became themselves. “. . . won’t be a linear process, but I’m confident we can put you on the road to recovery, as they say. You already look like you feel better than you did when you arrived last night. Do you remember that?”

  Adda didn’t. “Where’s Pel?”

  The doctor frowned. “Is that one of the people who brought you to us?”

  “My brother.” Not Iridian, because Iridian was gone. Before Adda followed that spiral down, she had to know if Pel was all right.

  “I’m, ah, not sure.” The doctor glanced toward the door, then back to Adda. “Let’s talk about you for a few more minutes, okay?”

  She had questions about herself, too. “Can I leave?”

  “Ah.” That was the kind of “ah” that also meant “no.” She was getting the hang of this communication-in-real-time thing. “So, we have confirmed that you are the same Adda Karpe, recently of Rheasilvia Station on Vesta, who was involved with the change of station contract ownership.”

  That was a polite way to say that she’d exposed Oxia Corporation’s criminal censorship of a massively important scientific discovery, leading to Oxia’s loss of control over a station where hundreds of thousands of people lived. Adda had lived in Rheasilvia Station, although she’d spent half her time traveling off-planet. Or rather, off-’ject. Vesta was an astronomical object too small to be called a planet.

  “We have a report from your former employer that you have been under the influence of a spaceship AI.” The term “spaceship” sounded funny enough to make Adda laugh, despite the grave tone the doctor used. Who was her former . . . Oh yes, Captain Sloane. Who’d betrayed her. “Scans confirm that assessment,” the doctor continued. Of course she’d been influenced. She’d almost killed Iridian. Every reminder of that was a cliff edge she might tumble off, into a loop of painful realization. And maybe she was doing that right now, because the doctor asked, “Do you understand what I’ve told you?” like there’d been several seconds of silence.