by A. R. Knight
DefenseCorp had long ago assumed any position that could be corrupted, cheated, or otherwise compromised should be handed over to mindless machines, though Sai had heard these spindly bots could be reprogrammed by anyone with enough time and effort.
This one, certainly, seemed slow. The giant camera lens in the bot’s center, a stem-like piece blooming into those lanky arms at the top, blending down into a wheeled base at the bottom, flashed an angry red Sai’s way after a long minute considering the ID number Sai had delivered.
“Sorry, those recordings are now classified,” the bot said. “You do not have clearance to access criminal belongings.”
“Criminal belongings?”
“Correct,” the bot said. “The ID number you provided belongs to an individual charged with deserting DefenseCorp. While this charge is pending, we cannot release any items to those without proper clearance.”
Sai stared at the machine. Willed it to make a different choice. When that failed, and the bored trooper in line behind Sai asked whether he’d be moving along sometime this century, Sai stepped aside and tried to come up with a different strategy.
Deepak had deliberately said to go check the Quartermaster, but Sai, and presumably everyone else in Sever, was still labeled as a criminal. So either Deepak didn’t know they were locked down, or he wanted to shove Sever’s status into their faces.
“Hey,” said a voice behind Sai, and he turned to see one of the Quartermaster’s human supervisors, wearing DefenseCorp crimson with a bright white QM badge on the chest. She looked like she’d been on the Nautilus for a while and hadn’t been sticking hard to the recommended exercise regimen. Not fat, but bendy, as if her bones couldn’t quite hold up her body. “What’re you doing here?”
Sai hadn’t made many trips to the Quartermaster while he’d been on the Nautilus—Sever tended to get whatever they needed between missions delivered, due to their deadly-and-dangerous status—so he didn’t recognize the woman, didn’t understand her question.
“Trying to get my own videos back,” Sai said. “Apparently the system thinks I’m a criminal.”
The woman nodded, “Because you are.”
Okay, jerk.
“Great, thanks for clearing that up,” Sai said. “Did you come out here just to tell me that, or did you have a point?”
“Good to know you’ve got some spirit in you,” the woman said, “You’re going to need that, if Deepak’s right.” She sent a look over Sai’s shoulder. “Don’t turn now, but keep your eyes open and you’re going to notice some new people on the Nautilus. Can’t say much about it here, but I can give you this.”
The woman reached out, and at first Sai thought she wanted a handshake, but then she pulled him into a tight hug, saying loudly that she’d thought he’d been lost on the last mission. Sai gradually took to the idea and returned the squeeze, feeling a small object find its way into his pants pocket as she pulled away.
“What was that?” Sai said, low.
The woman smiled in that sweet way customer service people have when they’re done dealing with you, “I hope you have better luck clearing your name, Sai. Great to see you again.”
Sai wanted to, could have reached out to grab the woman and hold her for some sterner questioning, but her words, her tone said that’d be a bad idea. Instead, forcing himself not to look behind him, Sai went back to walking, this time crossing the Nautilus and making for the barracks.
Sai’s former room would be gone, but the Nautilus had guest quarters. He felt the device in his pocket, the small rectangle. Sharp ends. A storage drive. Now he just needed some way to play it, and every guest room on the Nautilus had a terminal.
But, and Sai had plenty of moving walkway time to ponder this, what the hell was that?
Deepak makes a subtle allusion to go get stuff from the quartermaster and now Sai’s walking around with a drive with who-knows-what on it? The woman made it sound like Deepak had planned all this, which begged the question. . . why? Wasn’t this Deepak’s ship?
Sai remembered the woman’s comment about strangely dressed people onboard and dedicated his walking time to sweeping looks across the concourses. DefenseCorp’s crimson uniforms felt universal, all tweaked ever-so-slightly to note a person’s designated rank and assignment. Bundled in were other folks dressed like Sai in civilian or other clothing, vendors and other specialists on the ship for assignments.
Nobody screamed strange at first look. Nobody stood back to the wall, talking into a wristlet and watching Sai like a spy.
Sai tried to play the game: Even if Deepak wanted to pass along a secret message to Sai or whomever from Sever happened to visit the Quartermaster first, why turn to Sever in the first place? Deepak had a whole ship filled with loyal troops he could use.
If Sai, or any of Sever, actually had their own wristlets anymore, he would’ve called up Aurora or Gregor and asked what they thought. Without the devices, Sai had to keep the secret to himself while he made his way to the barracks.
And all he’d wanted was to see his wife and kids.
The barracks took their design cues from the asteroid making up the Nautilus, building into the rocky core with a mesh between mineral and metal. On the Nautilus’s mid level, near the main mess hall, the barracks had enough room for the fifty thousand soldiers stationed on the Nautilus, with triple that spreading around and below for guests and supporting staff.
Coming from the aft, Sai’s entry listed out the nearest rooms accessible from the closest double doors sitting aside the central concourse. The big hallway functioned as the Nautilus’s artery, and what few concessions Deepak allowed for decor hung here: squad pictures highlighting members, mission and campaign posters and decals, the frequent words-on-a-background pumping out optimistic slogans.
From the outside, the overwhelming propaganda could feel almost laughable, as if DefenseCorp wanted to drive its people into a homogenous mass that thought only in terms of objectives accomplished and contracts completed. For Sai, all the spirit brought him back, pulled at the sense he’d been missing in the weeks since Sever broke away and ran.
He’d traded his real family for DefenseCorp’s different, but very real in its way, version. Now, well, now Sai had Sever, and only Sever. Whether their fivesome would fit as well, Sai couldn’t be sure.
The barracks required a scanned ID to enter, something Sai had forgotten about until he stood in front of the doors, checking for a wristlet he didn’t have. Habit struck again.
“Need help?” said a younger man, coming up next to Sai. He wore a crimson uniform like the others, albeit one with some black stripes along the sides that Sai didn’t recognize. “Everyone forgets their wristlets sometimes. I did it last week.”
Forgot their wristlets? Sai never took his off. Literally never, even in the shower. But different people had different ideas.
“Yeah,” Sai said. “I’m trying to get to a guest room. Just arrived and don’t have things all sorted yet.”
“Things are a mess right now,” the man nodded, scanning his wristlet on the barracks doors, which shot open. “A lot of newcomers on the ship.”
“Heard that,” Sai said. “You know why?”
The man shook his head, “Guess DefenseCorp’s changing things around again. You know where to go?”
“Yeah, I’ve been here before,” Sai said. “Thanks for the help.”
Sai started walking into the thinner, emptier barracks hallway, where lights interspersed with gray and brown rock to give the whole thing a more natural appeal. He stopped when the man came walking in with him.
“Going this way?” Sai asked.
“Yep, need to make a pit stop myself,” the man said. “Like I was saying, I tend to forget things.”
“Happens.”
The two kept going for another few minutes, the man peppering Sai with questions about where he’d been, what he was doing on the Nautilus. Sai propped up excuses with the truth, talking about his former military experience, t
hat he used to work for DefenseCorp on this very ship before leaving for more private contracts.
The turn to the guest quarters, a room bundle tied together towards the Nautilus’s right side, came up and Sai made for it, only for the man to follow him again.
“Remembered that you’ll need another scan to get inside one of the rooms,” the man said, wearing that ever present light smile.
“Really?” Sai said. “Guess they’ve stepped up security. Never used to need one once you got past the barracks doors.”
“Like I said, lots of change.”
Except when they hit the guest quarters, Sai didn’t see any locked scanners on the doors. The rooms displayed the names of whomever happened to be staying there—set via the terminal inside the rooms themselves—and could tie their locks to the guest’s wristlet, but any room open was, well, open.
Sai stopped in front of a green-glaring scanner, ready to go inside, but the man had followed him this far. Stood close now, watching.
“So when are you going to make your move?” Sai said. “Because you’re running out of time.”
“Am I?” the man replied. “I’d hoped you’d go inside first. Keep things a little quieter.”
Sai shrugged, tapped the green scanner that sent the door whooshing open.
“So who’re you with?” Sai said, looking at the man. “Someone hunting deserters?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man replied, keeping that sanguine look going. “You’ll be too dead to care.”
“Thought your bosses wanted us alive?”
“Only some of you.” The man nodded to the guest room. “Shall we?”
Three
Inspectors
Fabricated food filled Gregor’s tray, all grown by spinning together proteins in the Nautilus’s food banks. After setting the tray down on the cool sheet-metal table, painted over in waving blues in a concession to the Nautilus’s inspiration, Gregor stared at his feast, watching as the solid, real meal before him obliterated the last weeks spent guzzling powdered calories.
The mess hall, too, bubbled with constant conversation. The big space, on the Nautilus’s lowest level, could seat thousands in its multi-tiered arrangement and offered up several creations at all times for those on the ship to indulge. The wide room, like the table, played up the watery vibe, with preferred walking paths painted out with strange fish and sections denoted by otherworldly coral drawings.
The way Gregor had heard it, the Nautilus’s lead chef at the ship’s christening had declared he wouldn’t serve in a mess so devoid of spirit. Needing something for the troops to do en route to their first contract, the DefenseCorp squads spent their time turning the mess into a place unlike any other on the ship, on any ship.
For all his gruffness, Gregor may have let his lips turn up when he saw the place.
“You going to eat that?” Rovo said, sitting across from him. “Or is the nice woman’s generosity going to waste?”
“I’ll eat it,” Gregor said. “I appreciate my meals.”
Before Gregor could take a bite, the nice woman Rovo referred to set her own tray down next to the big man, claiming a seat on the long bench nearly touching him. She’d been behind them in the line and offered to cover Gregor and Rovo when they realized that, without wristlets and their DefenseCorp accounts, they couldn’t actually buy the food they’d picked up.
“Me too,” the woman said, her build, her attitude, suggesting hard times spent for DefenseCorp. She wore the company’s classic crimson too, through the black stripes up the sides marked a division Gregor didn’t recognize. “You never know when your next might be coming, or what you might have to do to get it.”
“Like ask for charity from a stranger,” Rovo said. “Thanks again.”
“We’re all DefenseCorp here,” the woman said, “Not a problem.”
Gregor nodded and they all commenced with a bite or two or seven. The food was both as good and as solid as Gregor remembered, though the bites did have that flavorless tinge that came with lab spun protein. As if, with every chew, Gregor went a little further behind the curtain to see the nothingness at his food’s heart.
“I’m not sure where you two come from,” the woman said as the munching continued, “but I like to know who I’m sharing a table with. Name’s Zaydi, and while it’s been a long time, I’m from Poppyseed Nine.”
Gregor’s eyes sparked at that name. Not Zaydi, which he couldn’t care less about, but Poppyseed Nine. The Poppyseeds and a few other similar-named sectors had earned a reputation for their perfection. Multiple planets in habitable ranges, life everywhere. Those with means, with DefenseCorp backing them up, had taken the sectors for their own. Anyone born on those planets had no business eating in a DefenseCorp mess.
“I’m Rovo,” the rookie said, covering for Gregor’s silence. “And, uh, I’m not really from anywhere important. Did you say Poppyseed Nine?”
Rovo, such a smooth talker.
Zaydi set a smile that said she’d answered this question a thousand times, “You’re wondering why I’m not eating with the admiral and telling him how I’d like to buy his ship?”
“Frankly, yeah?”
“Because I didn’t like it,” Zaydi crossed her arms, leaned her elbows on the table. “Care to hear a secret?” That little grin widened. “The Poppyseeds are where the galaxy stashed all its awful people.”
Zaydi, having opened the door, went on while Rovo and Gregor devoured their meals. Whipping up stories about this and that awful person, beats that sounded much like the corrupt worlds Gregor had parlayed into a Sever position. What a non-surprise to learn yet another sector suffered from human problems.
“So what’re you two doing after this?” Zaydi asked in the relative silence after her last story. “Big plans for your first day on the Nautilus?”
“Waiting for our captain to decide whether we live or die, basically,” Rovo said, and Gregor grunted an agreement.
“How’s she going to do that?”
Gregor stopped, spoon halfway into his mouth. Rovo started answering Zaydi’s question, and Gregor resumed eating, covering up the pause. Neither Gregor nor Rovo had mentioned their role with Sever, had mentioned Aurora, yet Zaydi hadn’t seemed surprised at Rovo’s words.
The big man took a closer look Zaydi’s way as Rovo finished a blurred over description about why they were here, a potential mission to find someone that would be dangerous. Gregor had to give the rookie credit: the man could make up plenty on the fly, where Gregor would rather shake his head and say nothing.
“What’s your outfit?” Gregor said, the black lines on Zaydi’s uniform unwilling to be forgotten.
“My outfit?” Zaydi asked.
“Your squad.”
“Oh,” Zaydi looked at her own uniform, as if discovering it for the very first time. “I’m with an inspection team, running a tour on the Nautilus to make sure it’s going right.”
“Is it?” Rovo asked. “The Nautilus?”
Zaydi sighed, “Honestly? There’s some problems.” She looked between the two of them. “I can trust you both, right? No sharing?”
Gregor wanted to say that no, Zaydi had just met them. She shouldn’t be trusting them with any secrets, small, large or in between.
“There’s nobody for us to tell,” Rovo said.
“Okay, well, apparently someone’s been working in the armory here,” Zaydi said. “They’re putting together new suits that go against our policies.” Zaydi tapped her lips, came to a discovery. “You use power armor, right? On your missions?”
“We do.” Rovo looked like a lap dog, all in on Zaydi’s question.
“Then maybe you can help me out,” Zaydi said. “Nobody on my team works with heavy weapons, and we need to decide if the modifications are too dangerous. You said you’re new here, right? So you’ll be able to keep an open mind?”
“We don’t work for Deepak,” Rovo replied. “I’d love to help you.”
Gregor felt the slightest tap
on his ankle. On the front. Gregor shifted his elbow, knocked his knife off the table to the floor, where it bounced with a sharp clink. He bent down to grab it, gave a look Rovo’s way as Zaydi gave more details about the armor question, and caught Rovo’s right hand lingering below, offering up hand signals.
Rovo didn’t quite have Sever’s hand signs down to an art yet, but he managed the gist well enough. The rookie would lead, Gregor should follow.
Lead where, follow how? That remained a mystery.
At least it seemed like Rovo understood something about Zaydi wasn’t right.
“You have time now?” Zaydi asked at the end of her description. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“Do we?” Rovo asked Gregor. “Don’t think the captain wanted us back to the ship till late.”
Gregor shrugged. Because the whole squad had lost their wristlets, Aurora had gone back to the stone age and set a post-dinner time for everyone to head back to the Prisa. The Nautilus had clocks on screens all over the place, to time tracking wasn’t an issue, and right now they had hours yet to burn.
“There’s your answer,” Rovo said to Zaydi. “Lead on.”
Zaydi took them from the mess hall towards the bow, eschewing the lifts to keep them on the Nautilus’s lowest level. Gregor hadn’t spent all that much non-mess time down here, as the spaces were dedicated more to engineering, cargo storage, and analysis.
Few hammers, and fewer targets to smash than the other levels.
The mess hall bisected the lower level’s central concourse, and leaving the hall put them back in what, up a level or two, would’ve been a packed section. The bow-ward hall should’ve been replete with bots and squaddies running this way and that. Messages should’ve been playing overhead.
Instead, leaving the mess hall through heavy double doors—Gregor noted these were blast shielded, unlike the mess hall’s other exits—brought the trio to a quiet concourse. The sides here, rather than bearing motivational posters and DefenseCorp sayings, were plastered with safety guidelines, reminders about form requirements, and hard red warnings that the work could endanger the whole ship.
