by A. R. Knight
Leaving his medically boosted cage didn’t seem like the best idea. Someone else in the comm center could take and trace Kaia’s message as well as Rovo could, without risking Rovo’s own life in the process. He wasn’t sure how many of his surgical fixes had ruptured—if any—but leaving the suit’s comfort cocktail had him nervous.
“You coming?” Gregor said, returning to entry while Lamya delivered a short speech to the crowd in the comm center, declaring precisely who controlled the space. Demanding any agents reveal themselves. None did. “Unless you trust someone else to find Kaia?”
That, Rovo did not.
He spoke the evac key command and the suit did as the suit was supposed to do, popping free its joints and letting Rovo half step, half fall into Gregor’s arms. To say getting caught by Gregor felt a little wrong would’ve been, well, wrong. Way back, when he’d first walked into DefenseCorp, Rovo had been fluffed with the solo hero’s toughness, the idea that he had to be self-sustaining at all times.
After a laser or two to the chest, that opinion had died its final death.
Inside, the comm center splayed out across a flat, oval space dotted with bland details. Everyone in here knew they played secondary roles to everyone on the bridge. Rather than a spectacular view into space, the comm center had a simulated screen coating the back wall, playing out pre-programmed backgrounds. Behind that screen sat some of the thickest hull plating on offer, fortifying the comm center for its real purpose as a crisis command center.
The bridge sat thousands. The comm center had maybe a hundred clustered into pods grouped around a central platform, accessed via a small ramp going up from the comm center’s entry. The admiral or whomever happened to be captain—if the bridge had to be evacuated, odds were solid the command chain had been blown up—would take that spot and try to save the ship.
Rovo didn’t want that kind of attention. A volunteer noticed Rovo’s uncertainty, standing and waving them over to his workstation.
“Need a break anyway,” the man said. “Feel free to do what needs doing.”
“Thanks,” Rovo said as Gregor helped him to the desk.
Settling into the chair, ignoring the growing twinges from his chest as the suit’s painkillers continued on their slow journey towards nothingness, Rovo punched up the Nautilus’s message queue. Filtering by his tag, Rovo found the list stored on the cruiser’s vast drives, and felt his breath catch for a second.
With Dynas, with Wexer and all the garbage that’d been going on since Deepak had sent them on to the swamp planet, Rovo had forgotten about life’s normal cadences. In the lines up there before him, Rovo read headlines from his parents, his sisters, and a few friends still milling away on the space station over his homeworld, locked in those stable lives Rovo should’ve been taking for himself.
The notes, sometimes coming in with videos, called out birthdays and successes. Questions about whether Rovo had seen the latest game or had any thoughts about this or that galaxy-consuming gossip. Before Dynas, Rovo spent downtime aplenty in his cabin, dashing back replies to everyone.
He’d been dark for weeks now, and while it would probably take a few more before anyone really worried—galaxy transmission times made everything uncertain—the pull to tap through several unread notes had Rovo’s hand shaking.
They’d given up so much already. So much.
“Focus,” Gregor said, the man’s hot breath close to Rovo’s ear. The move would’ve been creepy except Rovo knew Gregor had to be quiet, had to keep what they were doing a secret. “There will be time for this later.”
Rovo doubted that.
Kaia’s message sat at the top, the most recent. Her name wasn’t attached to it, the sending tag had been marked as UNKNOWN. The girl didn’t have any official record of her existence, and she wouldn’t be old enough to care for a while. Provided she lived that long.
Rovo tapped the message. Read its contents. A short and simple and sweet paragraph talking about how fun the transport ride had been so far. That her daddy said they were going to Gillane Four. That Kaia would be so happy if Rovo would meet them there, because Kashmal had said they would be getting ice cream when they arrived.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if they could all enjoy it together?
“That’s what we need,” Gregor said, reading the note over Rovo’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Promising himself that he’d send replies as soon as the Nautilus moved on from death trap to a normal cruiser, Rovo again used Gregor to help him up. The two met Lamya’s eyes and said they were ready to get going. Now that they had Kaia’s location, they could bring it to Deepak.
There, Rovo would find out what they wanted with the girl, and how to protect her.
“We’ll go with you,” Lamya said, when Gregor informed her of the plan. “I’m still not sure where this mission of yours is going to end, but I don’t trust it.”
“Don’t trust much, do you?” Rovo said.
“Rookie,” Gregor warned.
“No, I don’t,” Lamya said. “Not when it comes to deserters.”
Rovo would’ve continued flinging fire with Lamya, more out of petulant exhaustion than anything, but Gregor shifted Rovo to the side. Eyes rolling, Rovo looked back over the comm center and the people watching them. A few still handled calls, tapping away at their consoles or speaking into headsets. Others looked ill, watching the squad with wavering looks. Still more wore anger, frustration on their faces, mingling it with fear’s tight lines. Swinging from lockdown to invasion and back again couldn’t make for a stress free work environment.
At the workstation Rovo worked at, the man they’d kicked out returned to business. He tapped away too, as if the interruption hadn’t caused the slightest problem. The man looked so focused. Good on him to . . .
“Hey,” Rovo said, “I think I might’ve forgotten to log out.”
“What?” Gregor asked, catching Rovo’s meaning and looking towards the madly tapping man.
“I’m not all there,” Rovo said as Lamya echoed Gregor’s words without catching the point. “It’s the injuries.”
Gregor shuffled Rovo back towards the workstation. The man whipped his head around as they approached, his hand gliding across the console’s commands and wiping the big screen. Nothing but a starry background waited when Rovo and Gregor made it over the man’s back.
“Need another go?” the man offered.
“Just need to make sure I logged out,” Rovo said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing, boss, sure thing,” the man stood up again, left his chair and gave them some space.
Rovo sat, tapped open the message log program. Sure enough, his name still splashed across the top. His messages sat there, waiting to be read by whomever. Rovo reached for the log out button, ready to send the access into oblivion, when he noticed another program churning away on the console.
A quick tap brought up a correspondence application, meant to beam off any new messages to the galaxy’s satellite. Gregor asked what Rovo was doing, and the rookie ignored him. The man sitting here had been tapping so fast, Rovo had to see, had to eliminate a possibility.
He flipped the correspondence application, had it list out all recent messages sent out. There, top one, had a brief message and a briefer headline.
Asset
Gillane Four. With Kashmal.
Gregor cursed. Rovo’s lungs burned as the shock spliced through the suit’s remaining drugs. He’d done it. Given away the girl’s location. Without that secret, Sever had no bargaining position. Without that secret, they’d—
“Too bad you had to go and look at that, boss,” the man said, behind them. “Never been much for the bloody side, but you know how it goes.”
Rovo didn’t have to look far to see the drawn pistol, to see the sad, set look of an agent ready to earn his keep.
So much for not getting shot again.
Twenty-One
Corporate Objectives
Deepak’s worried
look, a clash with his still-spotless uniform, greeted Aurora when she woke up. A hazy awakening, given the anesthesia. The realization hit and Aurora tried to move her arms, legs, and she could, she could twitch her toes, curl her fingers.
“There’ll be a scar,” Deepak said, an odd tone around the words. “That’s all.”
“Hey,” Aurora said, shaking off the fuzz. “We won, right?”
“You did.”
“So the bonuses are good, yeah?”
Deepak shut his eyes, opened them with a pinched sigh, “The bonuses are good. The mission succeeded.”
“And Sever? The rest?”
“There were losses,” Deepak said. “But that’s not important. What is, is that you’re okay. Or you will be.”
Aurora laid into her pillow. Ran through the names in the squad. Who might’ve been compromised, might’ve been hurt. The sadness, the apprehension clouded in, but the cash tinged its edge. Sever, hell, all of DefenseCorp knew why they did this job. The lump sum would be a start, a damn good start.
“It’s the life we’re living, Deepak,” Aurora gave the man a smile, he looked so worried. “You’re the one putting us into play, and we need to win the game. Then we all get paid. Sometimes, there’s a price.”
Deepak didn’t have a smile to give her, though, and when the nursing bot came in and cleared her for discharge, Aurora couldn’t shake the feeling Deepak wanted her to stay in that hospital bed, safe and secure.
By the third aisle, Aurora had herself all stocked up. She’d slipped goggles over her eyes, a tactical pair providing a simplified version of the power armor’s display and that, more importantly, dulled the glittering tags. All that light served to dazzle in the first minute, served up headaches by the fifth.
The goggles went along with a belt holding flashbangs, thigh holsters stocked with pistols, and a smaller, anti-personnel rifle meant for dumping power packs with explosive light shows in tight quarters. Aurora had spare ammo too, hooked over the armored vest on her chest in classic bandolier fashion.
Vana took Aurora’s crowd control and focused it on single target elimination. She’d chosen a banger set up to empty a whole power pack in two shots, with big red waves that’d roast anything within a few meters. She’d watched Aurora pick and choose with bemusement, choosing to eschew additional weapons for herself in lieu of more ammo.
“If we have to fight as many enemies as you’re gearing up for,” Vana said when Aurora slotted another flash bang on her belt, “then you won’t live long enough to use all those toys.”
“I’d prefer not to use any of them,” Aurora replied. “The goal is surrender, not slaughter.”
“Good luck with that,” Vana said as they returned to the Quartermaster entrance. “Renard’s people? They know what’s at risk here. What they’re fighting for.”
“And what’s that, Vana?”
“A better way to do business. Or so they think.”
“They’re going to fight fanatically over a better way to do business?”
“If that business is running the galaxy, yes.”
Aurora settled into an unseen frown as she followed Vana back into the concourse. The red lights had disappeared, a change that brought back Aurora’s plan and all its urgency. The Sever captain hadn’t been rushing through because she figured Eponi and Sai would have to negotiate for a while, if they received any response at all.
But, if the lights had changed, if the lockdown ended, then they had a chance.
“We must have missed a message,” Vana mused, looking around. “Nothing plays back in the stacks. Meant for bots only.”
Those bots, though, must have heard something. While humans hadn’t yet repopulated the concourse, bots strolled along carrying out their general duties. Floor cleaners whistled past, while supply movers trundles along with loaded carts heading this way and that. Even the Quartermaster’s own machines had their windows open, ready to handle requisitions.
“If I’m guessing right,” Aurora said. “It means I’m late. Let’s go.”
While they’d walked through the stacks, picking up their arms, Vana had divulged her history in the bits and pieces format agents tended to take. As if information were finger nails getting pulled off their hands or hair yanked strand by strand. Nonetheless, Aurora had fallen on her patient interrogator tactics, dipping into a fixed resolve that had Vana giving in before they’d made it through the first stack.
“If you’re going to keep asking me questions,” Vana said. “I guess I have to answer?”
“Good guess.”
“Then I’ll keep it simple,” Vana replied. “DefenseCorp’s giant. Wasn’t always that way. It swallowed up organizations as it went, and most of us didn’t fit in so perfect. Cash worked as a salve for a long time, letting people push aside their complaints and look to retire as an escape. Only not everyone wants to retire, not everyone wants to escape.”
“And Renard’s one of those.”
“Not just him. There’s a bunch of relics in DefenseCorp, some that made their way far enough up the ladder to hold real power. They haven’t forgotten where they came from, and now they’re trying to do what they couldn’t before.”
Vana delivered that last flavored with frustration. Whether that came from her anger at the situation or because she hadn’t been able to do the same, Aurora wasn’t sure. What the agent said next didn’t do much to clarify.
“I’m here to protect what DefenseCorp should be. What the galaxy needs it to be,” Vana said. “Peace and security, bought and paid for. Not a dictatorship, not an empire. A facilitator so worlds can have confidence they’ll go on turning, so children can get their educations without being shot, so someone can fly a ship from system to system without pirates.”
“For a fee.”
“Yes, for a fee.”
Vana’s honest vision still left holes. The same holes that might lead to another Dynas, to another Sever squad seeing their employer going a meter too far.
Back in the concourse, Aurora kept herself a step behind Vana, kept her rifle ready. Regardless of what the agent thought of Renard, Vana still gave DefenseCorp her loyalties, and according to DefenseCorp regulations, Aurora ought to be shot and stuff out an airlock.
Up ahead, as Vana and Aurora, on a moving walkway, neared the comm center, shapes that’d looked like bots from afar resolved themselves into squaddies. The soldiers stood still. Way too still for any usual guard posting. As the walkway pushed Aurora and Vana closer, the agent made the move to get off the advancing treads.
“Something’s not as it should be up there,” Vana said as Aurora followed her into the concourse’s central, static corridor. “Go slow, stay ready.”
Aurora could’ve picked a bone with Vana over who had the right to command who in this situation, but she could set aside her pride. With her own squad scattered and risking their lives, now wasn’t the time to be petulant.
The concourse didn’t offer any cover, and anyone bothering to look their way would’ve seen two vested soldiers approaching at a slight crouch, weapons up and aiming. The squaddies, even when Aurora and Vana closed to straight shooting distance, didn’t look their way. The troopers ahead kept their arms at their sides, weapons on the floor near their feet.
A sure sign someone had given them the order to drop the damn things.
But who? Aurora knew where Sai and Eponi were. On the Prisa, barking demands at Deepak. Rovo and Gregor, though, could be anywhere on board. Last time Sai had seen them, the two had broken for the cafeteria. Could they have gone to the comm center? What would’ve brought them there?
Kaia.
Rovo had the best shot of knowing the girl’s location. The rookie had mentioned the cute goodbye gift he’d handed the child on Wexer. Maybe he thought he could get in contact with her.
Or maybe some agents had wrung that information from him and had brought Rovo here to send out a message.
“Feeling like my squad might have something to do with this,�
�� Aurora said.
“Is there a problem on this ship not tied to your squad?” Vana replied.
“Your attitude?”
Vana gave a fast, low laugh, “Stay tight.”
The comm center’s glass windows overtook the standard metal-and-rock walls combing the Nautilus’s hybrid concourses. Vana moved near the moving walkway’s railing, deciding to use that as cover. Aurora followed, keeping her eyes and weapon trained on the squaddies. Almost a dozen soldiers hung in the intersection ahead, and they had to know Vana and Aurora were coming by now.
And yet, not a soul looked their way. Not a one reached for their floor-bound weapons. Instead, everyone kept their faces set on the comm center. Except, why?
Vana stopped so fast Aurora nearly trampled the agent. Would have, except Vana’s curse gave Aurora a split second preview that their normal forward cadence had come to an end. Looking along Vana’s eyes, Aurora saw a scene through the comm center’s partitioned, glass entrances.
Gregor came through first, his bulk dominating any stage he happened to be on. He appeared past the comm center’s middle, rising over a desk occupied by Rovo, whose hands tapped away on a console Aurora couldn’t see. Behind them, mostly blocked by Gregor, she picked out another man in a classic pose that declared death to anyone who moved in his way.
The situation spilled out from that core, in a spastic recognition that brought Aurora deja vu from the nightmare back on the bridge. As if called to arms, more than half the comm center’s staff looked to be standing with weapons drawn, pointed towards the squaddies and their fiery commander, Lamya, stuck in the middle with her back turned Aurora’s way.
“Looks like we’re a little late,” Aurora said. “If we hadn’t gone through the stacks—”
“Then we’d have been surprised, just like them,” Vana snapped. “This isn’t a crap fest yet, Aurora. We can fix it.”
“Please tell me how.”
“Distract and destroy,” Vana said. “You’re going to take me in. The agents here know I’m one of them. I’ll play hostage till it’s time to switch things up.”
