Gravity of a Distant Sun

by R. E. Stearns

  CHAPTER 12 Days until launch: 30

  After three quiet days of sleeping in two incredibly small rented rooms and living on meager algae-based food and water rations from Yăo Station’s temple, Iridian, Adda, Noor, Rio, and Wiley had spread out along a corridor that led to the station’s water treatment plant. According to Shingetsu, this was where people came to buy water and Patchwork access, so there was a good chance the drones were there too. Someone had strewn multicolored glow sticks across the center of the corridor, lighting pipes near the ceiling that were exposed for long stretches in both directions. They disappeared into the floor by the elevator that Iridian’s crew had taken from the residential mod.

  Throughout the second level, where Iridian would’ve expected dirt and patched surfaces stained with gods-know-what like the port and the residential mod, the floor and walls were spotless. Small cleaning bots darted back and forth among the colorful lights, at a speed and silence that suggested somebody had been keeping them oiled and powered. The bots left the amateur artwork on the walls but took off everything else. It was skipping the artwork, Iridian realized, because the blue lines spiraling like twisted ribbons were projected onto the walls from a circle of projectors near the floor, sending blue light careening up and into the piping above in delicate curves.

  Old as the cleaning bots were, the fact that they were functional explained why there weren’t any on the first floor. People would’ve disassembled them for parts. It was interesting that the Odin Razum hadn’t. Maybe they couldn’t be bothered to learn how. “Gods-damned secessionists,” Iridian muttered.

  “Hey.” Noor’s angry exclamation echoed off metal walls. He continued more quietly, “What makes you think those gangers are secessionists? Shingetsu said some of them are those Kuiper urody.” A quarter second after Noor stopped talking, Iridian’s implant translated the last word as “freaks.”

  Defending the secession, insulting Kuiper colonists who’d probably never done him any harm . . . “Gods damn it, you were a secessionist too, weren’t you?” Iridian cared less about that than she did about whether Noor would hold up his end of this op, but it still bothered her.

  “Yeah, and it’s a long, old story,” Noor snapped. “What does it have to do with the fucking op?”

  “Not much, unless some of those gangers are friends of yours,” Iridian said.

  Noor’s single bark of laughter was disturbing in a way Iridian couldn’t define. “They’re not.”

  Wiley had befriended him, somehow. Noor must’ve pulled the same thing on him that he had on her, holding back his secessionist attitude until after she’d made up her mind about him. Wasting weeks of her life in the ITA’s sim prison made lies of omission more annoying than they used to be. And, hell, maybe she shouldn’t blame a tech guy for hiding his past while he was surrounded by former NEU soldiers.

  Iridian peered around the metal column she stood behind, watching the distant lights of the gang’s territory. If somebody walked between her and the lights, they’d go dark for a second. Two did. “I like Kuiper natives. They never tried to cut off the hand that fed them.”

  “Because it was so far away they couldn’t reach it,” said Noor.

  “How sure are you about these IDs you’re broadcasting?” Rio asked in a rough whisper that carried from her position across the corridor.

  “The station intranet doesn’t have much, but it did have the pattern Marsat used for employee IDs in the ’10s,” Noor said. “Can you believe those Marsat scientists left them sitting outside a secure server? They’re hard to fuck up once you have the pattern. The ones I made are a match for midlevel access anywhere in the original facility.”

  Rio nodded like Noor’s answer satisfied her. The unsupervised station management AI, the one Adda called Mairie, was a bigger danger than whatever the Odin Razum threw at them. The routine Noor and Adda put together for the op removed any identifying info that Yăo’s AI might take off their comps and broadcasted IDs that wouldn’t set off security protocols. Adda had said the AI wasn’t armed, but that didn’t make it safe.

  “Looks clear,” said Wiley. “Nobody’s pointing anything at us, anyway.”

  “No turrets,” said Rio.

  “Can’t tell more without an overhead view,” Wiley added.

  “Yeah, that would’ve been nice. Move out.” Iridian stepped out of her hiding place and walked in long, low-grav strides over the glow-stick-strewn floor, toward the brighter lights of Odin Razum territory. Talking them out of the drones would be easier on everyone. Only Rio had the armor to withstand a mass assault. None of them had ranged weapons heavier than a glow stick.

  The shapes in front of the lights resolved into four or five people, who stopped whatever they were doing with the pipes near the entrance to the water treatment plant to watch Iridian’s team approach. One of them yelled something in what was probably Russian. Echoes and water rushing through the pipes above messed with Iridian’s implanted mic, and the translator didn’t offer an English version.

  “They see us.” Wiley had found a length of pipe that he held like a weapon at his side. “Noor, your comp’s transmitting, yeah?”

  “It has been for the past four minutes.” Noor sounded annoyed. “Why would I walk up to this place without something to keep the fucking unsupervised station AI off my ass?”

  More people came in from the better-lit water treatment mod. Iridian counted ten people in dirty jumpsuits with a dark M in an orange circle on the chests and arms. They approached with blank yet strangely intense expressions. Some of the jumpsuits had the sleeves or legs torn off, and knife hilts stuck out of nine or ten belts. A couple of them had strapped knives to their arms with thin tubing, too. Sharp shards of metal had been punched through folds of the jumpsuit legs in rows that reflected the multicolored lights.

  They looked eager for something, and they seemed to be a vanguard for even more people stalking toward Iridian’s crew. The age range was around Iridian’s and Adda’s or a bit older, mixed in with a few sallow-faced teenagers and older folks. Their eyes looked off, somehow, although the multicolored dim light would’ve made anything look strange.

  Oh no, Adda subvocalized. Iridian squeezed her shoulder. Iridian would do the talking, or fighting if need be, so Adda didn’t have to.

  “Fuck me, there are a lot more people behind these.” Wiley twirled the length of pipe in his hand. “I’ve got thirty.”

  “Same.” Rio’s fists clenched at her sides. She looked ready to punch out any of these strange people who came in range. “Is this all of them?”

  “That’s all the priestess said to expect, but how should I know?” asked Noor.

  Iridian pulled her knife and slid it back into its sheath, confirming that she could get to it quickly when she wanted it. “Well, let’s say hi.”

  Wiley grinned at her like he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. In the Shieldrunners, “saying hi” meant that two or three massive infantry shield vehicles moved up, shields raised in front of whoever they were escorting, and asked civilians who might be secessionists blocking the path to disperse. Sometimes that went well.

  The first of the people came within four meters of Iridian, Wiley, and Rio, who walked in front of Noor and Adda. The people stopped moving and started talking in hoarse whispers that startled Iridian. It sounded like the subvocalized version of Adda’s voice that played through Iridian’s comms. Iridian caught only fragments of questions as people piled up behind those who had reached her crew first. “. . . here now?” “Can’t be the same . . .” “. . . waited so long to . . .” “. . . want me to do?” in mixed Russian and English. One of them also said, “Hey, you here to send something to the Patchwork?” but somebody else shoved him and told him to be quiet.

  They’re asking because Mairie is asking, Adda subvocalized.

  Wiley answered the Odin Razum person’s question over Adda’s words. “No, but we’re passing through this facility, so we need you to clear a path here.”

/>   When Iridian turned to check on Adda, her eyes were wide, and she was biting her lip. The station intelligence, Adda subvocalized. Listen to the questions and look at their eyes. Noor’s IDs describe us as Marsat employees. Mairie’s influenced these people, and we’re potential supervisors. But if Casey already sent Mairie our real identities . . . It sounds like the Marsat IDs are taking priority, but it’s evaluating conflicting inputs.

  A shudder crawled up Iridian’s spine. That was a lot of influenced people, and Casey was involved. She struggled to concentrate on Adda’s whisper while Wiley and Rio started a mostly one-sided argument with the Odin Razum man selling Patchwork access. He was doing more staring than talking. Are you saying that Casey beat us here? Iridian asked Adda.

  No, Adda replied. Well, not exactly. Casey had to use Mairie’s drones to send a message to Shingetsu, and the Odin Razum knew who we were when we arrived. Casey must’ve reached out to Mairie through the drones too. Casey would’ve sent Mairie our IDs, and maybe biometrics. If Mairie understands criminal charges, it would’ve sent those too. So we’re acting like guests or trespassers Mairie’s already aware of, but we’re broadcasting Marsat IDs.

  Adda wasn’t talking like Casey had installed itself on Yăo. They weren’t trapped on this fucked-up hab halfway into Jupiter with an awakened AI . . . yet. But Casey still had them cornered. Adda had warned her that Casey would find its way in, but Iridian had thought they’d have at least a fucking week before that happened. It sounded like Mairie was already cooperating, for lack of a less human term, with Casey. The crowd’s unnatural attention pressed on Iridian like a blade, and she had no way to defend herself.

  Although she did have two soldiers, two tech experts, and a whole lot of unspent rage at Casey. She could do a lot of damage with that. I am so gods-damned tired of these fuckers trying to use us, she told Adda. We’re taking these drones back. It was a pitifully weak strike against such powerful AIs, but Iridian wouldn’t stand still and wait for Casey to tear up Adda’s mind again.

  Iridian interrupted Rio and Wiley’s unproductive discussion with the staring Odin Razum. “Casey used one of Mairie’s drones to warn it we were coming, but Mairie likes Noor’s corp IDs better than whatever Casey told it. And all these people are under Mairie’s influence. That’s how they know us.”

  “Oh shit.” Wiley hefted his length of pipe between himself and the Odin Razum. The nearest two quit staring at nothing, focused on the weapon, and backed up a few steps.

  “They’re all influenced?” said Noor. “You said Casey couldn’t get here.”

  “Casey isn’t here,” Adda said aloud, in a firmer voice than Iridian expected given what she’d just concluded. “And I’ve never seen it influence people on this scale before. One of the first station management intelligences did something like this with its development team, though, so I’d assume Mairie’s capable of it. I think this is Mairie’s work.”

  “Gods, I hope Mairie’s too old to let Casey push it around.” Iridian could dream.

  “So,” said Rio, “will the Yăo AI let us get the drones or not?” Of all of them, Rio was the only one who’d maintained mission focus. Except for Tash’s death on the way out of Ceres stationspace, Rio had missed all the manipulative shit Casey had put Adda and Iridian through. It must’ve been peaceful to have no real idea what they were up against.

  “If Mairie thought we were a threat, I think it would’ve used these people to defend an environment-critical section of the station like this,” Adda said. “It’s not doing that.”

  “Why are all these people here, then?” asked Noor.

  “They’re watching, not attacking. It might . . .” Adda didn’t like to share guesswork with people she didn’t know well. When she had evidence to back her up, she’d be more forthcoming.

  “At least Mairie likes a clean hallway,” Iridian muttered. “That’d be why all the bots are still running here.” Casey wasn’t influencing the people in front of them. Mairie was. And if Mairie used them to watch Iridian’s crew take its drones away from it, that’d serve it right.

  Unlike the mod connector between the port and the station’s internal structure, all of this archway’s lights were on. Metal in Odin Razum members’ noses, necks, and jaws, gleamed where implant jacks were often installed. Two of them even had the newer temple jacks like Noor’s, a Kuiper design that Adda said boosted connective stability. It was interesting how people like Noor would embed Kuiper tech in their heads while they called Kuiper folks names. Maybe they assumed some NEU designer thought of it first, or they just didn’t recognize the contradiction.

  Where the light hit the Odin Razum people’s jacks, it exposed red, inflamed skin around the metal. Some had hair snarled around the connectors in ugly tangles that must’ve hurt like hell. Now that Iridian was looking for them, most of the Odin Razum had jacks. “What does a bunch of backwater thugs need with that many developers, pilots, and drivers?”

  “I don’t know about devs and drivers, but it seems like there’d be a lot of pilots out here,” Rio commented.

  “And don’t you think there are other reasons people might want a jack?” Noor tapped his head near the jack beneath his hair.

  Adda glanced around at the Odin Razum. She looked like she had something to say, but this was too much of an audience for her. Iridian took her hand and backed away from the crowd. Noor trailed behind them, leaving Rio and Wiley to watch the milling Odin Razum.

  “Workspaces expose anyone with a jack to different influence risks than people who only interact with intelligences through consoles,” Adda said. “It’s easy to forget that. But as long as Mairie wants us as supervisors, it won’t hurt us.”

  “Does it really want supervision?” Iridian asked. “It took a decoherence reset to make AegiSKADA accept yours.”

  “All intelligences are developed to seek an approved supervisor,” Adda said. “Since Barbary’s previous owners and AegiSKADA’s developers were both so security-focused, we didn’t have permission to supervise AegiSKADA until your reset put it in concurrence mode. That let me set myself up as approved. Both the intelligence and the ID pattern here are so much older and simpler that Noor’s IDs would let us skip all that.”

  “Hey, it was good work, wasn’t it?” Noor huffed. “Simple.”

  Adda looked over at Noor, eyes widening and hands rising to ward off his annoyance. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that what you did was easy. Simple can be very difficult.” Her face flushed, and she started paying more attention to the clean floor than what they were talking about. That was the end of Adda’s eye contact and verbal conversation for the next few hours.

  But you won’t take Mairie up on that supervision offer, Iridian subvocalized. Adda ducked her head even lower. Much as Iridian hated to push her, she said, Babe, please. Promise me you won’t. She needed to hear Adda say it, even if she didn’t say it out loud. Adda did not need to be supervising anything so soon after Casey had influenced her.

  I promise, Iri.

  They had more immediate, if not more horrifying, problems. Rio’s suit reservoir represented the only water the crew owned. Getting Shingetsu the drones should keep the crew hydrated with the temple’s water long enough to start earning money. “So it’s not going to stop us from taking the drones, no matter what Casey tells it?” Iridian asked aloud.

  Adda looked as anxious as she had when she’d first said the Odin Razum were influenced, but she shook her head. I don’t know what Casey is capable of telling it, Adda replied, but in the current state of affairs, I expect Mairie to let us do whatever the Marsat IDs say we’re allowed to do.

  When Iridian turned her attention back to the Odin Razum, Noor was watching her and Adda instead of the influenced gang, looking as suspicious as he had when he’d thought Iridian had gone to Sorenson ITAS to break out a prisoner for Captain Sloane. Iridian hadn’t talked to Adda about telling their new friends about the comms implants. Now wasn’t a great time.

  A conversation
with the Odin Razum, however, still seemed like the safest way to start the search for the drones Shingetsu wanted. Iridian missed her shield. If the Odin Razum really were influenced, maybe Iridian was talking to the AI and not to the people themselves. “Where are these drones?” Iridian asked loudly. “We want to . . . do an inspection. Preventative maintenance, you know.”

  “Authorized.” Each Odin Razum member spoke the word like it’d just occurred to them. Most looked surprised and pleased to remember the access Noor’s Marsat IDs granted Iridian’s group.

  Mairie’s definitely prioritizing the Marsat IDs, Adda subvocalized. Thank all the gods and devils.

  “Nice work on the, um, broadcast,” Iridian told Noor. “I think you just outplayed a fucking awakened AI with it.”

  Noor grinned. “That’d make a great bar story if somebody believed me, wouldn’t it?”

  “Somebody show me where the drones are,” Iridian said to the Odin Razum. They parted to create a ragged path into the water treatment plant. “Shieldrunners, move out,” she said for Wiley’s benefit. He nodded to acknowledge the order, and he and Rio took point on their way through the opening in the crowd. The op seemed to be distracting him from his loss, at least.

  A white man with most of his pale blond hair shaved off, except for a pattern of curved lines on the sides of his head, separated from the other Odin Razum. He took a few running steps to get in front of Wiley and Rio and led the way. The unexpected cleanliness continued into the next mod, the water treatment plant. It contrasted with a wet, earthy smell that grew as they walked. It got colder the farther they went. The pipes on the walls followed them in too, feeding larger ones in the plant that wound their way into large metal containers.