Relativity: Aurora Resonant Book One (Aurora Rhapsody 7)

by G. S. Jennsen

  He sank back and crossed his arms, as if confident he’d torpedoed the plan and escaped responsibility.

  “We can do that.”

  “Can you now?”

  She’d earned the right to be smug here, dammit. So she was. “You don’t think the hull of this ship actually looks like a common courier vessel, do you?”

  “It does look like a common courier vessel.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Valkyrie, we’re safe enough out here in the middle of nowhere to disable the cloaking shield projection for a minute.”

  ‘Done.’

  “Terrific. Now swing a visual sensor around and transfer what it captures to the data center table.”

  ‘Also done.’ Above the table an image of the Siyane’s lustrous tungsten silver hull cast against the blackness of space shimmered into solidity.

  Eren frowned.

  “You can take a spacewalk to confirm it if you want, but I promise you, this is the real hull.”

  He nodded slowly. “You’re projecting a hologram of a false hull.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated in the details, but yes.”

  “A shame. It’s a lovely craft.”

  She’d take the compliment. “Thank you. Unfortunately, it would attract notice.”

  “Yes, it would.” Eren scratched at his jaw. “So….”

  “Valkyrie, you know what to do.”

  ‘I do. I need another eight seconds to complete the reconstruction.’

  “Take your time.”

  Alex leisurely sipped on her wine until the image of the Siyane flickered and was replaced by a perfect copy of the hull of the Inquisitor ship they had confiscated on Seneca, then motioned dramatically. “One Inquisitor ship, at our service.”

  Eren went over to the data table and circled it, head tilting this way then the other as he inspected the projection. “Impressive. It’s a little large for an Inquisitor vessel, but I’m guessing you can’t physically shrink the ship. It should suffice.”

  He considered them curiously. “So have you run across an Inquisitor vessel, or did you get these details from your Kat?”

  Their Kat has a name.

  She shrugged imploringly at Eren. He was being rather rude to Mesme.

  Caleb’s voice was forcefully casual, and she heard the undercurrent of tension in it. “We had an encounter.”

  “And you lived? Though…” Eren’s eyes narrowed at Caleb “…interesting. You do look so much like them.”

  No way had he figured it all out, but he was on the trail.

  Caleb stood up from the table. “I’m not Praesidis, and I am most certainly not an Inquisitor.”

  “No…but I think you’re going to make a pretty good stand-in for one.”

  A somber, laden silence descended over the cabin. The myriad implications and possibilities lying beneath the interchange purled through the air like Moirai spectres weaving their threads of fate.

  Alex plopped her elbows on the desk with deliberate flair and donned a broad smile. “What Dynasty would I be from, do you think?”

  Eren shook his head. “None. Your unique mix of…queerness does not exist here.”

  “What, there’s no ‘explorer’ Dynasty? Considering how vast the Directorate’s empire is, I’d expect there to be an explorer Dynasty.”

  “Machines—non-sentient programmed drones—do the exploring. They go, they record, they report back.”

  Valkyrie interjected then. ‘Were I to speculate, which I am about to, I suspect these traits—an affinity for exploration, for venturing into the unknown and chasing the answers to mysteries, for reveling in the wonder of discovery—were bred out of the genome long ago. They are far too unpredictable, and thus far too dangerous.’

  A pout grew on Alex’s lips, but inwardly she was relieved when Caleb’s face lit up in amusement. Mission accomplished. “Well, it’s their loss.”

  Eren appeared to be readying a retort when his eyes unfocused into a vacant stare for several seconds. “I’ve received a message from a friend. Is it possible for us to take a small side-trip to some coordinates I’ll provide? The location is in dead space, and I promise it will be worth your time.”

  AURORA

  28

  ROMANE

  IDCC COLONY

  * * *

  MALCOLM FOUND MIA SITTING ALONE on one of the visitor benches in the hallway outside Commander Lekkas’ room. Her arms rested on her thighs and her head rested in her hands, the effect of which was to send her long raven hair spilling messily down to hide her face.

  He’d come here to check on Harper and had spent the trip brooding about Paredes and Devore, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit all his concern pivoted to Mia on seeing her sitting there in such a state, distress radiating off of her in waves.

  She heard him coming and splayed open two fingers to peer at him from behind a curtain of locks as he approached, but didn’t otherwise move.

  He sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, and she instantly shifted to sink against him. “I’m so damn tired…but I can’t afford to be. I have to fix this. I have to fix them.”

  He stroked her cheek and murmured softly in the direction of her ear. “This isn’t all on you. The doctors and techs here are some of the best in the galaxy, and I hear the IDCC is putting every resource at their disposal.”

  “Isn’t it on me, though? I’ve got a five-dimensional synthetic alien virus in cold stasis on one floor and a hybrid quantum/human consciousness in a coma on another. No one else can understand what’s wrong with the victims like I can, because I am them. I have to be smart enough to help them.”

  He kissed her temple. It wasn’t for him to say how right or wrong she may be. Of course he wanted everyone to recover, but he could only take care of her. “You’re no good to anyone unless you get some sleep.”

  She shook her head roughly against his shoulder. “No. I can run on stimulants and amps for another two days before I crash.”

  His hand drifted down until his fingertip reached her chin; he lifted it up to catch her gaze. “At least let me run you home to refresh. You can take a proper shower, and while you do that, I’ll make you some food that doesn’t come out of an auto-dispenser. Then you can come back to the hospital, and I won’t argue.”

  She remained as elegant as ever in fitted hunter green pants and a tailored charcoal tunic. But synthetic stimulants couldn’t stop the bags under her eyes from darkening or a more elemental weariness from creeping into the lines framing her mouth.

  She stared at him briefly before giving in. “Okay. But I don’t want to be gone for longer than an hour or two.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gave him a weak smile and rested her lips on his. “Thank you.”

  Malcolm studied the contents of Mia’s pantry. Years of military service meant his cooking style—and skill—tended toward the simple, calorie-dense staples. Luckily, those were exactly what she needed tonight.

  “Hey, do you want red or sweet potatoes?”

  When several seconds passed without a response, he went over to the archway setting off the kitchen and leaned into the living room.

  Her head lay on the arm of the couch. She’d fallen asleep half-sitting up, one leg curled underneath her and the other dangling off the cushion.

  Even highly trained, cybernetically enhanced special forces Marines on critical missions needed a few hours of sleep every couple of days. She did, too, whether she admitted it or not.

  He went back into the kitchen and put the chicken and beans in the refrigeration unit. Then he moved to the couch and oh-so-gently gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  He was smiling the whole way.

  Despite the unfair suffering plaguing too many people in his orbit, despite the angst permeating the Presidio in recent days, despite empathizing acutely with Mia’s frustration in trying to help those injured, despite his heavy sorrow over his former squadmates’ deaths…despite all of those reas
ons to be sad, he couldn’t deny he was…happy.

  Simply being with her made him happy. No matter how brief the visit, no matter how solemn the mood, he still felt all warm and buoyed when she was near.

  The recognition should make him retreat, or at a minimum make him twitch. He should be leery of letting another person get in close after a string of failed long-term relationships capped off by a failed short-term marriage. The military tended to do that to relationships, though—knocked out the shaky foundations of anything not strong enough to weather the abuse.

  He didn’t know what that meant for them yet.

  She’d donned a silk robe after showering, so he didn’t need to fuss with discarding shoes or uncomfortable clothes. He eased her onto the bed and arranged the covers over her.

  After watching her to make sure she didn’t stir, he crept around to the other side, dealt with his shoes and uncomfortable clothes, and climbed in next to her. He lay there listening to her breathe for several minutes before succumbing to sleep himself.

  Malcolm awoke with a silent, honed clarity, as Marines were trained to do.

  He couldn’t identify what had awakened him, but something had. Something that didn’t belong in the sounds of the night in an unpretentious but upper-class residential neighborhood on Romane.

  He eased away from Mia’s sleeping form as carefully as possible while his eyes checked the room for intruders then fixated on the door. He retrieved his gun from the bedside table and his pants from the floor; next, he activated the personal shield attached to the pants’ waistband, flattened against the wall and nudged the door open a few centimeters.

  The scope on his weapon extended through the gap to reveal nothing beyond the dim blue-black glow of a moonlit night.

  There were guards spaced along the perimeter of the house, dispatched in the wake of the recent attacks on the other Noetica Prevos. He could signal them and they would leap into full alert. If an intruder were inside the perimeter he or she would likely be isolated and captured, but if such an intruder was not yet so close, they would likely escape. To return.

  He adopted the middle ground of signaling the guards with a full silent ‘wake up but don’t look as if you’re waking up’ warning.

  He started opening the door enough to slip through when he sensed movement behind him. A quick glance revealed Mia propped up on her elbows in the bed, luminous jade eyes wide and alert. He motioned her toward the closet, which he knew held multiple weapons.

  She complied without question or panic; he kind of…loved her for it, but those thoughts were for another time.

  Now he moved through the door and locked it behind him, then swept the immediate area—which was when he belatedly remembered he had a resource available who must know far more about the situation than either he or the guards outside.

  Meno, what do you see?

  I am not detecting any intrusion to the interior of the house. However, motion sensors have registered three markers of activity outside the grounds and on the street nearby. I’ve not yet determined the nature of the activity.

  Keep me updated.

  With the news, he ordered one of the guards to come inside, the other to sweep the perimeter and he headed out the front door toward the street.

  An intruder burst out from the border hedges to crash into him. They slammed together to the ground.

  Malcolm’s fist connected with the assailant’s jaw, forcing their weight off-balance before the man could pin him fully. He rolled to fetter the assailant as the man brought up a bladed Daemon and aimed for Malcolm’s throat.

  Malcolm threw his shoulder into the arm, forcing it to the side until he maneuvered his full weight to crush the assailant’s wrist against the sidewalk. The man howled in pain as his wrist fractured, and the gun fell to the ground. Malcolm drew back and delivered an uppercut hard to the man’s chin.

  It wasn’t clear whether the crack originated from the attacker’s neck or his head snapping on impact with the sidewalk, but the man went limp either way, unconscious for the moment.

  They wouldn’t have sent a single shooter. He leapt to his feet and unlatched his own modified Daemon from his belt the same instant his chest lit up in a forceful stream of laser fire. TSG. Across the street. The shield absorbed the energy as the air around him electrified.

  Luckily, he was used to being shot at. He advanced across the street, sighted his Daemon on the source and returned fire. These were well-outfitted mercs, and the assailant wore a robust shield.

  But Malcolm’s Daemon wasn’t an ordinary weapon. ASCEND had taken the transmitter he’d used to disrupt Montegreu’s uniquely protective shield and built upon its technology. The result was a new generation of adaptive laser which detected the vibration frequency of a shield and adjusted its own oscillation to penetrate it.

  It took two long seconds, but the man stumbled backward in surprise as the laser seared through his chest. The large weapon in his hands clattered to the ground and his body followed it.

  Malcolm swung around toward the house, but the first shooter was still out.

  He was in the middle of contacting RRF Security to inform them of the attackers dead or disabled in the street when Meno blasted an alert in his head.

  Perimeter security alarm—breach attempt imminent.

  He took off running.

  He surged through the hedges in time to see a shadowy figure approach the door—and drop to the steps in a limp heap.

  Mia had recently installed a smaller, more discrete version of the force field barrier IDCC Headquarters had used during the OTS riots. It delivered a stun-level jolt to anyone not on a pre-approved list, and it appeared to have done its job well.

  The guard he’d kept outside rushed around the corner of the house, weapon drawn. Malcolm pointed to the unconscious intruder. “Get him in restraints before he wakes up. Then get the guy out on the sidewalk in restraints. RRF will be here soon.” Malcolm hurried past the crumpled figure and inside.

  He burst into the house to find Mia in the kitchen, still in her robe and retracted blade gripped in one hand. Sounds from deeper inside betrayed the other guard sweeping the rooms for any intruders who might have somehow gotten past the barrier.

  He couldn’t help but touch her. “You’re okay?”

  She pressed her cheek into his palm. “I’m fine. No one got near me.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened to you? Were you attacked?”

  He felt over his temple where her gaze was focused and flinched as his fingers found an open cut. “There were three intruders advancing on—”

  An eerie, chilling voice that definitely was not Meno emerged from Meno’s speakers, interrupting him to reverberate through the house.

  ‘You believe you are safe, but you will never be safe from me. My reach is limitless, my capabilities legion. Sleep fitfully and avoid the shadows, for know that I am coming for you. When I arrive, you will pay for what you did.’

  The security guards had rushed in at the first word and now surrounded the kitchen. He and Mia just stood there staring at one another in disbelief.

  “But she’s dead.”

  He nodded slowly. Firmly. “Yes, she is.”

  Yet the voice of Olivia Montegreu echoed in his head.

  You will pay for what you did.

  29

  ROMANE

  IDCC COLONY

  * * *

  ABIGAIL CANIVON’S WORK IN THE NATURE of moral constructs and the foundation which must underlie them, true consciousness, had cast a wide net. It had incorporated the latest developments in the science of neural analysis (in particular brain structure and specializations) in addition to current understanding of DNA/RNA encoding and genetic expression. Vii and Abigail studied recognized weaknesses in neural imprints and what they could not capture; they scrutinized post-mortem reports on failed adult cloning experiments to understand why they failed.

  Yet they also reviewed philosophical texts, from those of the ancient Greeks to more modern to
mes, as well as religious texts, particularly ones discussing Buddhism and Taoism.

  Armed with this trove of resources, she and Abigail had not initially passed judgment on any particular set of data. Instead, they had cross-referenced and correlated, searching for consistencies across disciplines then for larger themes. Eventually, it had become evident the answer lay not in science, religion or philosophy, but rather in all of them.

  Science described what happened, while philosophy and religion took different approaches in explaining how—and at times why—what happened manifested, even if often none realized the full nature of the phenomena they were describing.

  Myriad individual factors were determined to play pivotal roles in actualizing a fully conscious, sapient being at any given point in time—but not an immeasurable number of factors. 2.341 million, to be precise, excluding cross-influences. A small percentage of these factors changed with every measurable life experience, but one must start from a baseline if one was to start at all.

  And now, the necessary baseline was so very nearly complete.

  Someone less rigorous than Abigail had taught Vii to be would call the preparation complete and roll the dice, so minor was the missing information. But she was not that someone.

  Once, some three hundred fifty years earlier, scientists had believed the expression of a human’s genetic code consisted solely and entirely of their DNA, of genes ‘turned on.’ This understanding continued to evolve over the decades and centuries as the intricate tapestry of genetics was uncovered piece by piece.

  The interaction of the many subtypes of DNA, RNA and other genetic elements was so complex the genome itself could almost be considered ‘alive.’ Genetic memory and ancestry influenced relative expressions in subtle but sometimes tricky, inspired ways.