by Tom Julian
The Dacha brothers hadn’t replaced employees at Highland when they died, and only one employee had ever been allowed to leave. When they expired one after the other, their duties were taken up by machines. It wasn’t that machines did the jobs better than the engineers, the security personnel, and the maintenance staff; it was that the Dachas simply didn’t want to deal with people. They didn’t want someone deciding they’d make a fortune and betray the location of Highland to the highest bidder. The last living employee of Highland had died thirty-six years before at the age of 117. It was just about when they’d stopped taking prospective buyers through The Catalog. The products spoke for themselves anyway.
The Infiltration Office was part of the “backstage” of Highland, a war room where dozens of analysts and military types had scanned space for light years around, making sure nothing got close. They monitored the security rings and authorized the coming and going of Highland freighters. When a ship got close, by either intent or accident, they disabled it and hauled it to the bone yard. Sometimes the crews were incapacitated and they’d wake up in lifeboats halfway across the sector. Sometimes they were disposed of. On rare occasions, they became employees.
What there had never been was an infiltration. No visitors had ever set foot on Highland without being brought there through circuitous routes on secure Highland transports. That streak was broken. There were uninvited guests now. On the monitor with the cracked screen, the panic word Sergey had said to Meta blinked.
Eight thousand miles away, a funnel of nano-machines came to life in the cloud layer. Billions of them began spinning in unison, shaping the vapor into a configuration just like The Eye. The funnel extended down towards the surface, clearing the space over a sharply angled mountain. A long crack started at the top of the precipice and reached down as the huge machine inside rumbled to life. Hunks of rock fell away, like crumbling drywall, as the contrivances groaned and shook within.
A shiny black form began to appear underneath, like a gigantic bullet. The vibration of the mechanism pushed the rocks from the mountain away, creating a circular radius of debris. Just a few minutes after it started rumbling, The Bullet went silent and sat there on the barren plain, seemingly inert, puffs of steam and gas escaping through the seams in its cover.
Deep inside The Bullet, an eye the size of a dinner plate opened, then another, then hundreds more. The machine would wait there until a target came into range above.
In The Catalog, Michael still held the weapon to Sergey’s back. They passed through more gardens and Koi ponds, Sergey looking into each one. “Your goddamned fish are fine!” Michael snapped at him.
“The dust clogs their gills,” he said innocently. Michael rolled his eyes. In the instant that he looked away, Sergey saw what he had been looking for. The image of Meta appeared in a pond for just a second, half obscured by a lily pad. She mouthed the word copacetic and winked before disappearing. “You’re right. They’ll be fine!” Sergey said to Michael.
PASSENGER
The last thing Timberwolf remembered were the security gates falling in front of him; transparent, six-inch-thick, glasstisteel barriers. When he looked back again, a series of them thirty feet apart were melted into oozing piles in the hall. His suit was hot. He’d taken his chemical laser way into the red, but he didn’t remember doing it. Jesus, I have to get out of here, he thought. He searched for the presence, for Kizik driving his actions. He hadn’t felt the Arnock coming, but he’d clearly taken control of him.
He stood in front of a non-descript door. Above it the sign read Infiltration Office. He turned to go, but instead found himself entering. He was suddenly a passenger, sitting in the back seat while someone who looked like him drove. In the room a dozen unoccupied chairs sat in a row in front of terminals. He fought his footsteps, but he moved forward; the servos in the rig seeming to whir unbearably loud. He focused on everything at once, seeing every corner of the room and every color and shadow. He waited for Achilles to kill him, certain he was seeing all of this. If he was wavering, he knew Salla was probably angling to push the button.
He heard a repeating ping coming from a terminal at the end of the row, too loud and too clear. It was unbearable and he felt the sound ringing through him like he was a bell. He made his way towards it, unable not to. The word COPACETIC blinked again and again on the screen. He had never experienced anything like this before, at least not consciously. Whenever Kizik had taken control of his survivor instincts, he never remembered anything, just the end, standing over a dozen beaten men with bloodied knuckles. But now he was split in two, half of him doing Kizik’s bidding, the other half desperately trying to resist.
Instead of text on his heads-up, a voice he knew couldn’t be Achilles came to him. “Manually activate it.” The voice sounded like it came from a drainpipe. “There’s a button.”
Timberwolf stared at the blinking red button next to the terminal. His hand wavered over it. He seemed to be standing beside himself and he looked over at his separate person. “Achilles, where are you?” he asked.
It was a long time before “Achilles” responded. When he did, his voice oscillated up and down the octave. “I’m back up on the shuttle.”
“Does Salla miss me?”
“Of course she does. Please hurry,” the voice responded. Timberwolf pulled his hand back from over the button, sure he was talking to the spider now.
He felt his other self shrug. “So things aren’t copacetic, right?” Timberwolf asked.
“No, things are not copacetic,” the voice responded. “Did you press the button?”
He clearly sensed Kizik now. The presence stared at him, seemingly from far away and peering around a corner. The more important thing was that Kizik didn’t know Timberwolf could see him.
“Of course I did,” he responded. “I pressed the button.”
“Good,” the voice came back with ultimate relief. Kizik disappeared, drawing away suddenly. Then something exploded inside Timberwolf’s helmet and he slumped over. It was Jerry shorting out. It was the third time he’d been knocked unconscious that week. That’s a personal best, he thought before passing out.
THE BUMP
D.P.E. Archangel—Twenty-two Hours Out from Highland
Challenger was six thousand miles ahead of Archangel in the sub-light stream. That was bumper-to-bumper and way closer than the typical million-mile distance kept between ships. Challenger still had no idea they were back there and, unless someone on Archangel contacted them, they wouldn’t know they were there. Dr. Tier looked over at Captain Tirani, standing at his station on the bridge. He was out of his chair and flipping through 3-D displays projected in front of him. She could tell he was nervous as hell, and people like him didn’t get nervous.
“Fifty-one-fifty miles,” a crewman called out as they inched closer to Challenger. Tirani and everyone else aboard had every reason to be on edge. What they were about to do was only slightly less dangerous than ramming an enemy ship. Dr. Tier felt the tension as well. She had taken Terecine, one of her special blue pills, a few minutes before but it hadn’t helped. She was high as a kite, but her stress remained. The blackness of sub-light was still absolute in front of them. When they got within a hundred miles, they’d start to see the plasma glow from Challenger’s shield, but there was nothing now, just the flawless void.
“We’re feeling some wake,” Tirani advised. The ship rumbled as it passed through some of the non-visible plasma thrown off from Challenger. He looked back at her and made a face that asked, You really want to do this? She smiled back at him grimly.
Dr. Tier had shut off all sub-light communications an hour before in case someone panicked and tried to warn Challenger. She scanned her smart-device for any attempts getting blocked. Nothing so far. Everyone was behaving. Wait, what the hell is that? Her eyes saw something impossible. Just a second before a message had actually left the ship through a private channel outside of the network.
“Hold our position L
es!” she told Captain Tirani. She was up and out of her chair and off the bridge in an instant. “Capote, meet me on level three. Guest quarters. Bring Gordon and Roberts,” she barked into her smart-device.
Cardinal Jacob’s personal guards stood outside of his quarters. Coming from both ends of the hallway, Capote and his team appeared, rifles raised. “This is not a friendly visit,” Capote said to Cardinal Jacob’s men, taking them by surprise. The two men moved aside and Dr. Tier banged on the door. There was no response from within and she banged again, louder and longer. Looking down at her device, she saw another message leave the ship.
“Cardinal! Open the fucking door!” she demanded. There was a shuffling within and the door slid open a crack. Capote horsed it ajar as Gordon burst in, rifle trained on the cardinal.
“Thea?” Cardinal Jacob said, as Dr. Tier entered. She snatched the smart-device from his hands. He had just pressed send.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she said, her head spinning from the Terecine, but her speech clear.
Cardinal Jacob took a measure of the room and his confusion turned to indignation. He pushed aside the barrel of Gordon’s rifle, hot to the touch and ready to fire. “Do you recall our deal?” Cardinal Jacob said to Dr. Tier, reminding her of his clumsy threat to expose her identity and put her daughter in danger.
“I am prepared to shoot you now.” She pulled a small pistol from her jacket. It was barely the size of her hand, but powerful enough to put a hole in the side of the ship.
“Why, my child? What brings you such distress?” he asked through clenched teeth, his arms open.
“Are you in contact with the Challenger?” she asked.
“I believe you are mistaken. I am in touch with my man on Gray’s foolish crusade.”
“You’re communicating with Jude Izabeck on Highland?” This was perhaps worse than contacting Challenger would have been. Dr. Tier’s anger swelled. “Somehow you’re getting through the blackout there and getting around our block network here.”
“Of course, we can do many things you can’t. My scientists are wealthy with God’s gift of creativity.”
“So you’ve been in touch with someone on Highland, and you have not told me?”
“Why would I? Our deal was about communicating with Timberwolf. You’ve already paid for that.”
“Dearly, Cardinal, dearly.”
She went through the sent messages on his device. All went to Izabeck613. There was nothing to indicate he’d contacted Challenger. She didn’t have time for this. She knew that if they were going to bump Challenger, it had to be done now. If they stayed this close for too long, Challenger’s plasma wake would knock them from the sub-light stream.
She called up to the bridge. “Captain Tirani, do it. Bump them.”
“Got it,” the captain responded, relieved that there was at least some course of action to take.
“Ask them to leave.” The cardinal indicated Gordon and Capote and he sat calmly in a chair. “Please, Thea.” Dr. Tier shooed the men out, but wouldn’t sit when Cardinal Jacob beckoned. “I can make this up to you. Offer a gift.”
“A gift would be you finding a lifeboat.”
“I can do better than that,” he said, tenting his fingers. She asked for more with a raise of her brow. “My dear friend Jude Izabeck carries a message for Bishop Emmanuel Gray.”
“What would that message be?”
He spread out his fingers and puffed out his cheeks, pantomiming an explosion. “Izabeck is a nuke. I hold the trigger.”
She wavered a moment, suddenly wanting nothing but to sleep. “What?” she finally asked.
“Yes, there’s a weapon inside his forearm. Small, but a really lovely design.”
Dr. Tier did take a seat. “I want you to deactivate it. Now.”
“Why, child? Think of this. I assure you I would not use it without your consent. And who is to say that Gray might just succeed enough that we need to cut our losses?”
“This is insanity, Cardinal.” Her eyes swam and she tried to keep her head level.
“The stress of this job gets to you. I can’t imagine it. I understand you’re on formidable medication.” She stared at him icily. He knew. Somehow he knew she used Terecine to stay level. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me for now.”
She realized she was pointing her pistol at Cardinal Jacob again. “This needs to come to an end, right now.”
“No, not really. You see, if this comes to an end, it’s just the beginning. If I die right now, the bomb goes off. And messages go out to all the people that you’ve been discourteous to.”
She was enraged. “I told you not to tread that way!”
He came close to laughing at her. “Since our last discussion, I’ve activated some protective measures. Let’s call it posthumous insurance.”
She wondered if he was lying, if it was some sort of game he was playing. She thought about the possibility of beating him into a coma. Would that trigger his protective measures? There must be some sort of life monitor buried deep within him, she assumed, like his smart-device, and that it would be sophisticated and powerful enough to get a signal out. She considered just blasting his head off and calling his bluff. Before she could consider it further, a call came from the bridge.
“We’re about to do it,” Captain Tirani advised.
“Coming up, Les,” she responded. She stood and backed out of the room. “I keep this.” She slipped his smart-device into her pocket. Outside, she ordered Cardinal Jacob’s men confined and posted Capote in front of the door. “That door is to stay open at all times,” she told him.
“Rest easy, Thea,” Cardinal Jacob said as she backed away, his face glowing with a warm smile.
Back on the bridge, the plasma corona of Challenger filled the view screen. It was like they were trailing a smoke ring. Archangel rumbled, lurching ferociously. They were at seventy-two miles now and inching closer every instant. The pilot was waiting for a moment when they were lined up enough to give the sub-light maneuvering thrusters a boost. They’d shoot past Challenger from this distance in a split second, brush up against their plasma shields, knock them from the stream, and short out their sub-light drive.
The pilot was good, a young woman named Iza, who had a steely focus, but couldn’t have been more than twenty-six years old. Dr. Tier gripped the armrests on her chair. “Thirty-eight miles,” a crewman announced. The ship took three hard bounces through the plasma wake. After a brief pause there were three more. Iza had the pattern and during the next pause, she punched it.
In the view screen, they saw the hulk of Challenger right below them for just a flash as they brushed plasma shields. Then they felt it. A static charge went through Archangel and Captain Tirani threw down his headset from the shock. The starboard sub-light maneuvering thrusters failed and Archangel’s momentum spun them around. “Plasma shield down!” a crewman announced.
Out the view screen, they were seeing where they’d just been. Challenger was gone and instead of the pure blackness of the frontal view, there was a rainbow mishmash of every color that spiraled towards a small white point. They continued to spin and saw the sides of the sub-light stream now, the misty dusk of golden brown that bled into black. “We’re getting sub-light particle damage,” a crewman said. Dr. Tier noticed the tick-tick sound, like a light rain falling on the ship. These were tiny particles of dust and gas impacting directly on Archangel. Without a plasma shield, these impacts would cause a hull breach and kill them in less than a minute.
“Do we drop out of the stream?” Captain Tirani asked.
“Hold!” Iza said. She had the ship stabilized and the maneuvering thrusters working again. Dr. Tier closed her eyes and thought about her daughter, thought about her studying on the lawn at Oxford. The day before, Camille had sent her a picture of her and her boyfriend. She hadn’t had time to respond.
The soft fuzz of the plasma shields came up again without any fanfare and crewmen called out statuses fr
om around the bridge.
“Shields green.”
“Structural integrity green.”
“Armory green.”
“Propulsion green.”
“Readings on Challenger. She’s dropped out of sub-light and life-support systems are green.”
Tirani finally breathed and turned back to Dr. Tier, his face blank and drained of its color. He shifted his eyes to the door and indicated silently that he wanted her off his bridge, and right now. She looked around and a dozen other sets of eyes gave her the same message. Biting her lip, she smoothed her jacket and departed.
RECIEPT
Conrad was waiting for Dr. Tier by her office. She brushed him aside without a word and sat behind closed doors. She knew she should do nothing, collect herself and consider the hand she held now, but she was carrying too much stress to be inactive.
She sat at her desk and wrote a message to Jude Izabeck, using the Cardinal’s device.
Samar1483: I hope all is well.
Izabeck613: A man has died here on Highland.
Samar1483: I’ll pray for him and for you. Please, tell me everything.
Izabeck613: Of course.
Samar1483: And Timberwolf Velez?
Izabeck613: Dead.
Dr. Tier soaked that in for a moment. She’d feel the loss of him later. Now she reconfigured her tactical options. She’d burned him before, but she had been prepared to make it up. She thought about pressing Izabeck and verifying that Timberwolf was in fact dead, but reconsidered as she was playing the part of Cardinal Jacob.
Samar1483: I’ll pray for him as well. Is your message still operational?
Izabeck613: Yes. It’s still primed. I’m waiting for you to activate the trigger.
Samar1483: Thank you. Please stay alert.
She ended the conversation and considered the transactions she’d just made. She’d bought fifteen hours over Highland, but at the expense of Captain Tirani’s trust. She also had Cardinal Jacob’s smart-device, but now the Cardinal, crafty and powerful, surely plotted against her. She’d paid for a lot today and had gotten a lot in return. She wondered if she’d be able to take any of it back.
