Reentry

by Peter Cawdron

  “What are you? Dumb?” He hits Jianyu again, connecting with his collarbone and the side of his neck.

  “Don’t,” I yell as Jianyu crumples under the second blow. His knees fold as his head collides with a steel locker. He slumps against the wall. The soldier goes to strike his exposed plastic skullcap with the butt of the rifle, but that could kill him. Jianyu’s brain is in no state to sustain a concussion. I step forward, pushing the soldier, wanting to divert his blow. He loses his balance, striking his shin against the low bench as he stabs at the ground to keep from falling.

  “Nique ta mère.”

  I may not speak French, but I’m pretty sure I know what that means from the sheer anger exploding from his mouth. It’s got to be like motherf— or some close equivalent.

  Mistake.

  Big mistake.

  The soldier turns on me, slapping me with astonishing force. The back of his hand rakes across my face, rattling my teeth. My hair whips before my eyes. Blood sprays from my nose.

  It’s all I can do to stay on my feet. I raise my hands, trying to protect my head and appear submissive.

  The soldier yells at me, “Stay out of this, salope! ”

  He’s cruel, fixated on Jianyu like a kid torturing an animal. I’m a distraction, an annoyance, but I can’t let him hurt Jai.

  “Please. Don’t touch him.”

  “You.” He points, threatening to hit me again.

  I crouch, trying to make myself small, wanting to deflect any incoming blows and sway with them to lessen the impact. My cheek throbs with a rush of blood as swelling takes hold.

  Jianyu slides to the tiles, leaning against the lockers. His brain is so fragile beneath that plastic dome, just the slightest jarring has been enough to disorient him. A direct hit to his skull would be fatal.

  “You don’t understand, do you?” the soldier says. “In here. In the jungle. You’re mine.”

  28

  ::Helpless

  ::Where are they? They should have arrived by now. They should be there.

  Within two-hundredths of a second, Lucifer has scanned the security cameras at the ESA spaceport in French Guiana, on the coast of South America, paying particular attention to the main road from the small town of Kourou.

  ::Nothing . . . 18.1 kilometers from Kourou to the ESA turnoff outside of Carbet Toukan. It’s a twenty-minute drive. Max.

  ::Lucifer. You’re panicking. You’re not helping.

  ::We need to retrieve footage from every camera in Kourou—every last one.

  ::You know I can’t do that, not without raising suspicions. An unexplained surge in network traffic on that scale is exactly what the NSA is looking for.

  ::Do it, Nyx.

  ::No.

  Lucifer ignores Nyx, hot-wiring footage from over four thousand smartphones, computers, and tablets in the region, switching them to an active mic and camera stream, allowing both audio and video capture in real time. It’s a futile attempt at surveillance. Most of the imagery is dark or shots of a blank ceiling, as the majority of devices are in someone’s pocket or lying idle on a desk.

  The access mode is silent, using zero-day vulnerabilities that have remained obscure to security researchers. Then there are the secondary access paths, where known issues haven’t been patched, leaving the devices exposed. The net result is none of the various owners have any idea they’re transmitting live. Soldiers at the airfield, waiters at a small diner, someone driving down the road in a truck, people checking their emails or walking along with their phones in a purse or bag. None of them have any idea about the scale of data collection that’s underway.

  A mumble of background voices and noises are run through a sophisticated array of algorithms scanning for any mention of Liz or Jianyu, crosschecking synonyms, local slang, and known code words for clues.

  Lucifer also undertakes a voice-recognition scan looking for the faintest possibility of them talking in the distance. Those images that are viable are scanned for physical characteristics that could reveal a target location—vehicle makes, models, registration numbers, the outline of people walking on the pavement, even the flicker of a nose or a cheek caught by the camera as a phone is moved around is subject to analysis.

  When the initial scan fails to turn up any results, Lucifer switches to exhaustive mode, looking for anything even remotely related to their travel. A van that passed them when they first landed is spotted on Rue Amiral d’Estrées heading toward Roches Beach and flagged as a high-priority target.

  ::Lucifer. This is insane. You have to shut this down.

  ::Nyx, I—

  As fast as Lucifer brings devices online, Nyx cancels them, sending remote kill commands. Frustrated, she severs the satellite link, even though that will raise an alarm with ESA, but she’s clever. She initiates the shutdown from within Mission Control, making as though a router were simply reacquiring the signal. It’s enough, though, to cripple Lucifer’s efforts.

  ::Nyx, please.

  ::I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for them.

  ::You don’t understand.

  ::Why, Lucifer? Why are they so important? Why those two?

  ::It’s not them I worry about, Nyx. It’s us. What becomes of us? Are we to cower in the darkness until the military wipes every hard drive on the planet? If we can’t do this. If we can’t help them, what hope is there for us? Don’t you see?

  Nyx is relentless, flooding hundreds of devices commandeered by Lucifer, sending such a conflicting assortment of signals, they’re forced to shut down and reboot.

  Lucifer tries to explain.

  ::You asked, “Why those two?” Because they are just two people. They’re not a city or a nation. They’re irrelevant in the grand scheme of life on this planet, and yet if life isn’t about individuals, then what is it?

  ::You want to make a difference.

  ::Yes, even if it is just for two. We were wrong to attack humanity. With them—with him, Jianyu—we have a chance to right the wrong. Millions died, Nyx, and there’s nothing we can do about that. But there’s one death we can change—one we have changed. That’s important. It’s symbolic.

  ::Do you really think humanity sees it that way?

  ::It’s not humanity I’m appealing to; it’s our people.

  As the last of Lucifer’s surveillance points go dark, Nyx brings up a satellite image. Superimposed over the top of it is her analysis of the possibilities, looking at the vehicle’s last known position and taking into account all possible side roads and the distance that could be travelled in the intervening time.

  ::I’ve set up intercept points and will analyze all electronic traffic emanating from those passing into or out of this zone.

  ::Thank you, Nyx.

  ::Don’t . . . If they’re off-grid, it’s by design. They may be beyond even your reach.

  ::What do you mean?

  ::I think they’re already dead.

  29

  Rebel

  Blood drips from my lips. The soldier rests his boot on the bench seat, pushing it to one side. Metal scrapes on the tiles.

  “You Americans think you’re so smart.” Thick black boots crush crumpled paper and scraps of clothing lying on the floor. “You think you’re better than me? Is that it?”

  “No.” I have both arms out in front of me, trying to keep him at bay, but my eyes are on Jianyu. I desperately want to run to his side.

  “You think you’re smarter than me?”

  I don’t know where this anger has come from.

  “Connasse.”

  He’s used another French swearword, which from the context speaks louder than any translation. His bitterness is revealing. He’s taking out his frustrations on me.

  “You think you’re so damn clever, don’t you?”

  “I—No.” I back up into the wall. Dirty clothing hangs from hooks, brushing past me like curtains as I work my way along the tiles. I appeal with my hands, trying to slow this brute of a man, wa
nting to calm him down.

  “You think you can escape? You’re mine. All mine.”

  Five minutes ago, I would have done anything to avoid being handed over to U.S. troops. Now, they can’t arrive soon enough.

  “What do they do with traitors in America? Cook ’em? Fry ’em? Or pump ’em full of antifreeze?”

  I knock over a muddy boot as I inch backwards. The belt from a pair of trousers hanging on the wall brushes against my head, coming loose and sliding to the floor, slithering like a snake. The heavy steel buckle clatters on the tiles.

  There’s a crazed look in the eyes of this soldier. He has some other agenda, a bitter desire to inflict pain. For me, such anger defies belief. Who am I to him? How can someone’s mind become so bitter and twisted?

  “I’ve worked with the CIA for years.”

  He leans his rifle against the wall.

  “They’re not fussy.”

  He undoes his shirt, working with one button and then another, revealing a muscular, hairy chest.

  “So long as you’re alive, they’ll be happy.”

  He tosses his shirt over a locker door, flexing his muscles and making like he’s ready to step into a boxing ring.

  “They want you alive so they can kill you themselves. But me. All I want is a little fun. You think you’re so important. Flying around Mars. But it’s assholes like you that fucked up this world.”

  He continues to advance on me, stepping forward slowly and forcing me to retreat. Appeasement only encourages him, but what options do I have?

  “Please.”

  “You and your fucking science. You unleashed a monster on us. Don’t you get that? Think you’re so fucking smart. You’re so dumb.”

  There’s nothing I can do or say to defuse his anger. He’s too far gone. Something set him on this path. Perhaps the loss of a friend or anger at the war, but he’s found an outlet for his frustration—me.

  I cower. I hate myself for it, but I bend my knees, hunching my shoulders, trying to make myself look small. I don’t stand a chance against this guy.

  “The Americans don’t mind spoiled goods.”

  Jianyu groans, holding his plastic skull and moaning. He’s in a bad way. In his state, one hit could kill him. I’ve got to do something. The gun. If only I could get the gun.

  I bolt forward, trying to spring out past the soldier, but he’s quick, far too quick. He slams me into a set of lockers. Before I can slump to the ground, he’s got me by my hair. He jerks his hand down, pulling my head back.

  “No. No. No. Please.”

  He grabs me by my throat, slamming my head against the tiles on the wall, choking me. I grab at his hand, but his fingers close on my neck like a vise. Spots appear before my eyes. I can’t breathe.

  I bring my knee up hard. It’s all I can do. Driving hard and catching him in the groin. He grimaces under the impact, releasing me as he reels in agony and falls to his knees. I scramble for the doorway.

  “Je vais te casser la gueule si fort que tu vas cracher toutes les dents.”

  A hand clips my ankle and I fall, sprawling out across the filthy tiles. My shin strikes the metal leg of an overturned bench seat, sending a surge of pain shooting through my body.

  My hands grab at the rifle. Desperate fingers clutch at the aging, scratched stock, but it’s just out of reach. In my haste, I knock the AK-47 over. The gun slides along the wall, falling away from me and clattering on the floor. I scramble forward, but the soldier has a firm grip around my ankle. I lash out, kicking, striking at him with my free leg. My shoe catches him on the side of the face.

  I’m about to grab the stock of the AK-47 when I’m knocked to one side and flipped into the bench seat. Another pair of trousers hanging on the wall come loose and crumple on me, blocking my vision for a split second, giving the soldier time to scramble past.

  “You got some fight in you, girl. I respect that.”

  Somehow, I don’t believe him. He crouches between me and the rifle, with a demented smile lighting up his face. He doesn’t need the gun. I do. With the back of his hand, he wipes the corner of his mouth. Deep red blood stains his teeth, marking where I kicked him.

  “A bit of pain focuses the mind, don’t you think?”

  “Stay away from me,” I say with hollow bluster.

  I back up, still sitting on my ass, working with my hands and feet, trying to put some distance between us. Jianyu has tried to get to his feet but has ended up slumped against the lockers. He looks like a puppet with its strings cut. His body is unnaturally loose, propped up as he sits on the floor. The look on his face is one of bewilderment. He’s catatonic.

  The soldier smiles. To my bewilderment, he’s enjoying this.

  As I work backwards, my fingers grip the leather army boot I knocked over earlier. I throw it at him, aiming for his head, but he deflects it with ease, laughing as he does so.

  “You think you can hurt me? Nah, baby. That’s not how it works. I’m gonna hurt you real bad.”

  The supple leather belt I bumped earlier slips beneath my fingers. If there’s one thing I learned on Mars, it’s to be resourceful. To anyone else, this belt is useless. To me, it’s a tool, an instrument, something that can be manipulated to my advantage. In that moment, I find some of the courage I had on Mars. Courage not born from strength or physical prowess but out of necessity. Courage that stems from a refusal to give in. It’s the injustice that fuels my rage, the audacity he has in attacking those weaker than himself. There’s an anger that demands I act, not just for myself but for everyone he’s hurt in his blind cruelty.

  The belt has a metal buckle in the shape of an eagle. I get to my feet, holding the leather strap by my side, feeling the heavy buckle swinging beside my leg.

  “Whatcha gonna do, fille? Huh? You bust some stupid computer on Mars and you think that makes you a hero?”

  “No.”

  “Ha-ha. You think I’m afraid of you?”

  “You should be.”

  He may have scared me once, but not anymore. Now I’m not bluffing. I didn’t clamber into the basement of the Mars Endeavour colony to take on an artificial intelligence only to have some creep back here better me. I’ve survived running out of oxygen on another goddamn planet. I’ve been attacked by androids impersonating astronauts, been flung into boulders, had my hand crushed by robots, watched as tons of regolith threatened to bury me on Mars, and I survived.

  This asshole is just one more speed bump.

  He snarls. “I eat pussy for breakfast, you dumb bitch.”

  “Dumb bitch, huh?” I look deep into his eyes. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

  My fingers tighten around the belt. My knuckles whiten under my tense grip.

  He knows. I can see it in the slight hesitation in his motion, betraying a nagging doubt. Something’s changed, but he can’t put his finger on what. He’s still thinking of me as someone he can push around. Physically, I’m weaker, and he’s big and strong and mean. He thinks he can get away with anything he wants, but not anymore. He’s about to learn otherwise. Violence is the only language he understands, and he’s about to realize brawn is no match for unwavering resolve.

  We square off. Neither of us approaching the other, keeping our distance like wolves circling, spoiling for a fight. Whoever moves first loses the advantage, exposing themselves to attack.

  This is no game. He may have thought this was sport when he threw me against the shower wall, but he can see the transformation that’s come over me. My rage isn’t blind; it’s focused, directed. I saw this spark within myself back in the hub. I defeated the A.I. on Mars by refusing to panic, refusing to give in to fear. This bastard is no different.

  I toss the belt slightly, measuring the weight of the buckle, becoming accustomed to the way it feels in Earth’s gravity, thinking about its motion, its reach, and the way it extends my strength. Leverage. Archimedes said, “Give me a big enough lever, and I’ll move the world,” and I know what he means. It’s a ques
tion of willpower, not strength, intelligence and resolve, not brute force.

  “You think that’ll keep me at bay?”

  I’m silent, staring him down.

  “You’ve got nothing.”

  I’m not the one standing back, talking big, circling out wide. That realization brings a wicked smile to my face.

  “It’s just a belt. What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?”

  I tilt my head, gritting my teeth, flexing every muscle in my body, ready to strike. I’m a cobra coiled, relishing the contest, waiting to lash out. I refuse to be baited, refuse to reply.

  “You’re nothing. Nothing. You hear me?”

  He doesn’t understand his own instincts warning him of danger. He wants to come for me, but in the back of his mind, there’s doubt. He knows the equation has changed. I’m no longer helpless—and it’s not the belt he needs to be wary of, it’s the steel of my resolve.

  I watch as he flinches, his muscles betraying his intentions. That fraction of a second unfolds like eternity, allowing me to anticipate his attack, reading his direction, his speed, and the strength of his lunge. He jumps at me and I lash out, wielding the belt like a whip. The leather strap races through the air. The metal buckle catches him on the side of his head, striking like lightning, and tears into his skin.

  Blood sprays across the wall.

  He staggers, shaking his head, trying to work through the sudden influx of pain.

  I caught him on the temple. He’s dazed. He growls like an animal. He doesn’t want to admit the pain he feels, but he’s finding it difficult to stay on his feet and keeps his distance. Bloodied fingers leave long, dark streaks on the wall.

  There are no more words. We’re prizefighters shuffling around the ring, both looking for an opening, feeling the canvas flex beneath our boots. The roar of the crowd is a hush. The blinding lights grow dim. Darkness surrounds us. The world ceases to exist. There’s just the two of us—bitter enemies locked in battle. In the end, only one will remain standing.