by M. D. Cooper
“But if someone makes a promise, shouldn’t they keep it?”
Andy looked at his hands, dusty from moving the crates around. The grime outlined small scars he’d forgotten he had.
“Of course they should, sweetheart. Your mother didn’t make any decisions easily, I can promise you that. Do you remember me telling you about circular thinking?”
“You mean when you can’t get a thought out of your head?”
“Yes.”
“You think I can’t stop thinking about mom?”
“I think it’s perfectly reasonable for you to think about your mom, considering everything that’s happened. But sometimes, you have to choose not to dwell on something before it becomes a circular thought.”
“Do you ever get depressed, Dad?”
“Me?” Andy glanced at her. “Did somebody tell you I seem depressed?”
“No. I’ve been reading about it and it sure seems like you could feel depressed if you wanted to.”
Andy laughed. “I think what happens with depression most of the time is that people don’t choose to feel sad, they just do and they don’t know why. I guess we have plenty of reasons to feel sad, but we’ve got each other right?”
“Do you think Tim’s depressed?”
“I think we have to keep watching Tim so we can figure out how to help him.”
“He smiles at Em but not at me.”
“That’s something, isn’t it?”
“I guess. I miss Lyssa too. She’s been so busy.”
“You could spend time with Fugia or May. Fran likes it when you talk to her.”
Cara finished her juice pack and flicked it in the air so it spun in front of her. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to talk to Fran.”
“Talk to her like you would anybody.”
“Yeah,” Cara said, voice trailing off. “Kindel is sure weird. She asked me why I was bothering with the plants in the garden before we came down here. She acted like plants are stupid.”
“She’s an AI.”
“She has creepy eyes. They all do. Once you start really looking at them, they don’t look human at all.”
“It took you a month to figure that out?”
“No, I figured it out right away. I haven’t been able to talk to you about it. You’ve been busy too.” She set her juice pack spinning the opposite direction. “Do you trust them?”
“I wish I could say yes,” Andy said. “Keep paying attention and let me know if anything strange happens.”
“They just stay in their rooms all day for the most part. Kindel surprised me when she came in the garden. I think she might have actually been looking for the safe room.”
“That’s interesting,” Andy said, frowning. “If it happens again, you tell me sooner, okay?”
“I will. You have an alarm on that room though, don’t you?”
Andy nodded, thinking. Cara was right that the AIs had kept to themselves for the most part. Xander liked to wander the habitat, striking up conversations. He liked May Walton best, and they’d been having long talks in her rooms. Sometimes he wished Xander, Kindel and Jeremiah would just move over to the Resolute Charity, but he also knew it was better to keep them close. Lyssa had control of both ships, but she’d been preoccupied.
Andy slapped her knee. “Come on, let’s do another round. This time I’m going to throw the boxes and you’re going to keep them moving. Bonus points if you can knock them into each other.”
“Can you use a pulse pistol as propellant in zero-g?” Cara asked, sliding her empty juice pack in a shipsuit pocket.
“You saw how it knocked you back when you were close to your target? You could use a pistol, but you better be ready for the hammer if your target is too close. It’s no different than using anything as propellant in zero-g. Of course, pulse pistols only work in atmosphere.”
Cara nodded as she inspected the pistol.
“You can’t hack everything, Cara,” Andy said. “The pistol is one thing you’re going to use as intended.”
She laughed. “Why not, Dad? You’re boring.”
“You’re too slow,” he shouted, and threw the metal box into the middle of the cargo bay. Cara’s boots clicked as she locked down, took aim, and started to fire.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
STELLAR DATE: 11.07.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: TSS Furious Leap
REGION: Near Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony
Kraft slumped in a metal chair with his arms and legs restrained. His chin nearly touched his chest. Small twitches cascading periodically through his body, reminded Brit he was awake but hadn’t reached full consciousness yet. She debated how long he should be allowed to either recover or pretend he was recovering.
The chair was maglocked to the deck of a small storage room off the crew section of the TSS Furious Leap, the light frigate Colonel Yarnes and Jirl Galagher had brought from High Terra. The room had a series of plas windows where people outside could watch Kraft shudder and seize, an activity that ultimately bored Petral.
The ship had a small crew of five, a weapons complement of missiles, point defense cannons and a rail gun, as well as an improved communications array. Brit suspected the ship’s true purpose was long-range surveillance. It also had several nicely appointed cabins in addition to the crew quarters, situated in a drum-shaped ring section providing internal gravity, which made it seem an ideal vessel for smuggling high-ranking people. Those cabins now provided space for her, Petral and Ngoba Starl, who had insisted on joining.
Four privateer multi-use ships followed the Furious Leap in a loose formation. The TSS captain, a woman named Kendra Smirt, didn’t like the fact that her ship was being followed by what were blatantly pirate vessels, but she masked the irritation behind a worshipful allegiance to Yarnes.
In less than a day they would rendezvous with the Marsian contingent. Jirl had provided a map of Heartbridge locations but they were still depending on Kraft to provide details on which clinic they should raid first.
It was a terrible plan, but it was the best they had at the moment. While Brit wanted to simply find the closest facility and raze it from space, she acknowledged the benefit in using whatever information Kraft might provide. If they destroyed one clinic, that facility might alert others with more valuable information—or more terrible research—and they would lose their advantage.
What Brit couldn’t stand anymore was waiting for Kraft to wake up.
Brit gritted her teeth.
Petral said.
Brit snorted.
Brit stood up from where she had been leaning against the corridor bulkhead. Inside the room, it looked as though Kraft had raised his head.
Brit crossed her arms, studying Kraft. He opened his eyes wide in an unfocused stare, then blinked, working his jaw from side to side. After a minute of face contortions, he craned his neck toward window, squinting, and shouted, “Is that you, Sykes?”
He tried to lift an arm and realized he was restrained. Looking down at his wrists, Kraft’s brows knit with confusion.
“Where am I?” he shouted.
Brit crossed the corridor and tapped the door’s control panel. The door slid open and she stood on the threshold, watching Kraft.
“Why do I feel drugged?” he demanded. “What did you do to me?”
“What did I do to you? I saved your life, Kraft. You’d be dead back on the Cho if not for me.”
“Dead? I was in a club having a drink. You walk in. A couple weak mercs start shooting at us.” He looked down at his hand, still encased in a light bandage. “My hand doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Apparently they fixed that too.”
“Who’s they?”
“A JSF lieutenant named Sendi. You owe your good health to a nice young man who didn’t know who you were, fortunately.”
Kraft shook his head as though he was still trying to clear it. “The JSF? We’re on the Cho?”
“We’re somewhere between Cruithne and Mars. You’re alive because you’re going to help me with a new mission, Kraft.”
“Why would I help you with anything?”
“You want to live?”
“If that’s your bargaining chip, you can go fuck yourself.”
Brit sighed. “I thought you would say that.”
“Wouldn’t you say the same thing? You’ve got no reason to help me. Why should I help you?”
Brit checked the corridor behind her. It was still clear. “I’m probably not going to get time alone with you again, so here’s all I want to say. There are things I hate more than you. That’s where I’m coming from. If there’s a time when we can make a deal, I don’t really care what happens to you once all this is done. You’re not worth my contempt.”
“Don’t try to butter me up or anything.”
Brit shrugged. “That’s the truth. You can use that to your advantage if you want. It’s up to you.”
Kraft closed his mouth, working his jaw again. He didn’t answer.
Petral appeared in the corridor and Brit stepped back to let her enter.
“Cal Kraft!” she said brightly, sounding overly eager. “I’m very excited to see you’re awake.” She was wearing a tight red shipsuit with a black utility harness. Pistols hung from her hips, with a collection of other tools circling her waist. The gear reminded Brit of Fran back on Sunny Skies, although she had never seen Fran wearing anything without grease stains or scorch marks.
The sitting man squinted at her. “Which one are you now, Dulan or Kylan Carthage?”
“Is it fair to use that dead boy’s name?” Petral asked. “I think I know him better than anyone now, thanks to you. He isn’t what he started out as. Not by a long shot.”
Kraft shrugged. “So I guess you’re Dulan. Fine. Are you here to kill me?”
“We’re here for information.” She stopped a meter away Kraft, outside biting range, and pulled a data terminal from her belt.
“What’s that?” Kraft asked.
“This is just a typical portable terminal,” Petral said, tapping the device. “What you should be worried about is the bio-interface I implanted on the outside of your stomach.”
Kraft leaned forward to look at his belly button. “I don’t see anything on my stomach.”
“It’s on the inside of that hide of yours. We were going to use it to track you if events didn’t go as we’d planned. But now it has some other uses.”
“You implanted me with a slave collar.”
“I’ve been monitoring your endocrine system and I think we’ve got the mix correct,” Petral said. “Here, let’s try this.”
She looked up from the terminal and gave Kraft a cold smile. His neck strained at he stared at her, until his face went abruptly slack and he relaxed against the restraints.
Kraft raised his eyebrows as he looked around the room, centering his gaze on Brit in the doorway.
“I feel good,” he said.
“Those are your pleasure receptors,” Petral explained. “The wonderful thing about this device in particular is that I can influence a neuro response, or I can send signals to individual nerve receptors. Like in your broken hand, for instance.”
Kraft shrieked in pain. “It’s on fire!” He stared at the hand, face going red. “It’s on fire. What are you doing to me?”
“This should feel like your skin is being peeled off, but unlike reality, you won’t go numb.”
Kraft grimaced, turning his face away from the hand. His brow glistened with sweat.
“Those are simple things,” Petral said. “The basics. I can fine tune you into major depression, suicidal ideation, or maybe some hallucinations. What scares you the most, Kraft?”
“Stop it,” he said, breathing heavily. “Stop it. She already told me she didn’t care if she killed me or not. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’m not going to waste my life over this.”
“She? Oh, you mean Brit. She has other people to worry about. I don’t have the same long-range plans. You belong to me now.”
“She said you want information. What do you want to know?”
“We aren’t talking about that yet. We’re going to talk about how you invaded my mind.”
Kraft threw his head back, grunting with pain. Veins at his temples bulged and he spread his hands and then clenched them into white-knuckled fists.
Petral turned her head to study Brit, lips pursed. She looked torn.
Petral’s face went dark as she stared at Kraft, watching his reactions as she manipulated the bio-interface controls.
Kraft grunted again, a deeply pained sound.
A noise down the corridor drew Brit’s attention to the bulkhead door. The hatch slid open to reveal Ngoba Starl, Colonel Yarnes and Captain Smirt walking toward her. Jirl Gallagher came through last. Smirt was carrying a ruggedized
case that—as they got closer—Brit recognized as a holodisplay.
“Mr. Kraft is awake, yeah?” Ngoba asked, voice booming in the bare corridor. “I haven’t seen him since Cruithne when he nearly killed me. I hope he’s still in one piece so I can get my pound of flesh.”
“We need him to talk,” Yarnes said.
Apparently, they had been having the same argument as she and Petral, although Ngoba’s wolfish grin made it sound less personal.
Petral had relaxed her control of Kraft and he slumped in the chair again as the others walked into the room. Smirt immediately knelt to open the case and set up the display. When the unit was active, a model of the Furious Leap hung in the space in front of Kraft, then zoomed out to show the standard layout of bodies and locations around Sol.
From her place in the doorway, Brit looked through the semi-transparent display to watch Kraft’s gaze move between points. He seemed clear-headed enough to be thinking about what they would want to know. Then he stared through the cloud of floating icons and looked at Jirl.
Kraft frowned again. He seemed to recognize Jirl but not understand why she was there.
“Jirl,” he said, voice croaking. “Is that you?”
She moved out from behind the swarm of points and stood to his side. “It’s me.”
Kraft tried to sit up straighter in the chair. “If you’re here, then is this a Heartbridge thing? Is that where I am?” He jerked his chin toward Petral. “What’s she doing working for Heartbridge?”
“It’s not,” Jirl said quietly.
Ngoba Starl released a laugh, which Brit thought might sound terrifying to someone he was about kill. “You’re here to help us do great things, Cal Kraft. Let’s not pretend you don’t know what’s been happening. The AI you were tracking? They’re gone now, my friend. You’re on a different side of the board and it’s time to play the game again.”
Kraft released a heavy breath. “I’m not interested in listening to you gloat, Starl. What is it you want to know?”
