by Matt Verish
The pilot nodded, his expression grim. “Consider it done. We’ll protect you. Good luck averting the war.” The window housing the pilot’s face went dark. Cole knew what Emmerich was going to say before she said it.
“You just sent those poor fools to their deaths.”
Predictable, but no less painful. “What do you want, an apology? Lots of ‘fools’ seem to be throwing away their lives for us these days.” He clenched the yoke so hard he thought it might snap from the base. The rush of anger was sudden and violent. “And since when did you start caring about anyone other than yourself?”
The cutting remark caught Emmerich off guard, her response frozen on her tongue.
“This is how it is now,” Cole continued as he guided the ship closer to the jump point. “This is who we are—criminals. The System’s most wanted. We’ve got no friends, and everyone is our enemy. We either live in the shadows, or die in the light.” He blinked back the sudden tears. “There’s no going back to the way things were.”
“Dammit!” Cole punched the console, hoping CAIN suffered some form of pain from the blow. He exhaled until he felt he might pass out. “What’s the ETA on our jump?”
“Shit!” Cole looked up to see the indicators pointing to at least five projectiles quickly closing the gap between them. “Time to go, Cain. Are we clear to jump?”
“Open it anyway.”
“We’re going to be dead in less than fifteen seconds, Cain,” Cole argued, the tension seeping into his voice as he watched the approach of his demise. “Open it.”
“Do it now!” The two second pause for the AI’s answer felt an eternity.
The dark matter processor pierced the whole of spacetime and created the synthesized wormhole directly in front of the ICV-71. The ship shot into the safety of the tunnel toward an unknown destination. The opening’s collapse delayed, allowing the possibility of pursuit.
And that was exactly what happened.
The wormhole closed just as one of the missiles followed them in.
24
VIRUS
The explosion was minimized by the missile’s inability to properly navigate through time and space. As a result, it detonated a short distance from the ICV-71’s stern. The impact damaged one of the main engines and sent the ship fishtailing end over end toward a great blazing light. Even from the secure confines of the infirmary, Lin knew something terrible had happened.
Artificial gravity was the first amenity to go, and she instinctually grabbed hold of the gurney as she lifted off the ground, lighter than a feather. She cast aside her blanket in a panic, noting the flickering fluorescent lights. Her head pounded something fierce, and she had no recollection of how she came to be aboard the ICV-71. She pushed away from the ceiling and caught site of her stolen spacesuit. Seeing the shattered helmet gave her pause, and she wondered how she survived such an impact.
“You’re awake?”
The voice belonged to Rig. Lin landed with barely a sound and gazed at the mechanic. His fearful expression was comparable to the tightening knots in her stomach. She thought, “What has happened?” But nothing was actually spoken.
My Rook! she thought, remembering where she had stored the cube before her jetpack ride. She searched for the pocket in her ruined spacesuit and breathed a contented sigh when she procured the undamaged Rook.
The mechanic shrugged after she verbalized her question. “Been lookin’ after you since Nugget brought you aboard.”
A memory of Cole’s outstretched arms failing to connect with her outside the ship flashed in her mind. Obviously he must have saved her, but at what cost? She nodded at Rig and made her way past him, toward the bridge where her answer would be.
With the mechanic in tow, they slowly, awkwardly, pulled themselves along the walls. Neither had much, if any, experience in zero G. The lights continued to dim and flicker, and an oddity occurred as they traveled. Lin stopped to listen. Rather, she listened to the lack of a familiar sound that accompanied the ship in flight. Her hand could no longer feel the gentle vibration of the engines through the wall. An alarm sounded shortly thereafter.
“Impact must have impeded a portion of the ship’s internal functions,” she reasoned, hoping CAIN was not also affected by whatever calamity had befallen them.
“I’ll check it out,” Rig said, pulling himself back in the other direction.
Lin nodded, uncertain what sort of assistance he could provide. As she advanced toward the bridge, she couldn’t shake the feeling they had lost their AI safety net. Before she could ponder the consequences of losing CAIN’s assistance, she heard two familiar arguing voices up ahead.
“Then why don’t you go out there and give the propeller a spin if it’s so simple!” Cole said, his laughter sounding forced.
“Must you always resort to infantile remarks?” Emmerich said.
“Must I always explain why I resort to infantile remarks?”
“There is no need,” Lin said as she drifted into the bridge. She blushed as they looked upon her as though she were a ghost.
“Doc!” Cole said, elated. “Glad to see you up and doing well. You’re just in time to witness our slow descent toward the Sun. Sorry, but I don’t have any marshmallows for toasting. Or sticks, for that matter....”
Did he just say...? She pushed from the threshold wall and used Cole’s chair to stop herself from an embarrassing crash. “Is CAIN still online?”
the AI replied.
No more “Maker” title, she thought, wondering if CAIN had registered her pondering. “That’s an enormous relief. Damage report.”
“Blowed up, Doc,” Cole said, using his hands to replicate and explosion. “Terracom got one lucky shot to follow us into the wormhole just as we escaped. Cain’s still assessing our fate.”
Still assessing? Lin thought, puzzled. CAIN’s assessment should be instantaneous....
The streaking stars and occasional appearance of a heavily filtered Sun indicated they were spinning out of control. It made her sick, and she had to look away. “I need access to the console.”
Emmerich frowned when she realized that it was to her that Lin had spoken. “Get up and move,” was implied. Her sigh and slow reaction indicated her feelings on being ordered. She stepped away without a word or a glance.
“I really hope you have a plan,” Cole said, clearly frustrated with his inability to help.
Lin did not respond as she took the warmed chair. She tilted her head toward her Rook, and the cube floated over top of the console to where CAIN’s blue light emanated. Just as before when she had first uploaded the company directive to launch the AI program, the Rook began its gyroscopic rotation to establish a connection. This time, however, Lin had other intentions.
“What’re you doing?” Cole asked.
“I’m conducting an investigation,” Lin answered. The truth was, she had no idea what she was doing or what it was she was hoping to find. All she knew was that CAIN was acting...differently. If the AI had sustained any damage during the missile attack, she would need to repair those issues before they compounded and shutdown the entire program. With their present status, they could not afford to lose the ICV-71’s brain.
“Hell of a time for that, Doc,” Cole said. “I hope your investigation bears fruit. You know, the kind of fruit that repairs engines and flies us away from incineration.”
Lin held up a hushing index finger to Cole’s face. She heard him laugh, but then he remained silent. It was then, in the blessed quiet, she established her connection with CAIN. She br
ought up a schematic of the ship on the viewport screen, thankful to be rid of the disturbing scene unfolding outside. The root cause of their turmoil appeared in red.
“The main starboard engine has taken significant damage,” Lin said, pointing at the screen. She frowned, confused by the lack of red areas she expected to see. While the acquired damage was troubling, there was no reason for them to be spinning uncontrollably. She faced Cole. “Have you been able to exert any control over the vessel?”
“None,” Cole said, shaking his head. “Not even when we still had power.”
Just the power to our engines. “CAIN,” Lin called to the AI. She purposely awaited a response. It never came. “CAIN, why have you severed all power to both engines?”
She expected a more in-depth explanation; that also never came. “To what end are you conserving energy?”
A pause.
Lin blinked. “What? CAIN, this ship’s outer hull was designed to endure such excesses should they occur. No energy is required for it to properly perform. Also, our perfect seal is unblemished and showing no sign of permitting any of the Sun’s harmful properties.” She was flabbergasted. “Explain yourself.”
An even longer pause this time.
“That’s the same thing he told me,” Cole said, leaning close to Lin. “Maybe his brain compartment thing below deck sustained some damage.”
Lin’s eyes darted over to Cole, then back toward the screen. “Negative. All of CAIN vitals show as optimal. Which means...” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“He’s purposely withholding information from us,” Cole said, finishing the thought for her.
“What do you mean ‘withholding information’?” Emmerich demanded, though no one supplied her with an answer.
The thought of CAIN going rogue terrified Lin. Stay calm, and use reason. “CAIN, this ship has been compromised, and we need to rectify the situation before we incur any further damage. Please divert energy to thrusters to stabilize our course.”
Nothing.
“Cain,” Cole warned the AI, his voice rising. “Your maker issued you a command. You will listen to her. That’s an order.”
Another bout of silence. Just when it seemed the mutiny would continue, the distant sound of thruster blasts permeated the dense hull. Lin minimized the schematic to witness as the endless streaks of white slowed to become the familiar, recognizable points. The ICV-71 leveled just as the filtered Sun came into full view. Silence returned.
“Thanks, buddy,” Cole said, the tension easing from his voice lessening.
“I wouldn’t offer gratitude yet,” Lin said, discouraged by the spec readouts. “It appears as if CAIN is back to conserving power. Also, we’re still drifting toward our unintended course.” She sighed, wondering at the AI’s game.
“Is he performing any sort of self-repair,” Cole asked her, and Lin knew he was grasping at straws. As impressive as he had been thus far on their doomed journey, not even the infamous Cole Musgrave could anticipate every predicament that crossed their path.
“No,” Lin answered. Nothing is happening, she thought, and that scared her more than anything. Being at the mercy of her creation was her worst nightmare.
Lin flinched when her Rook flashed a bright red and dropped onto the console. She grabbed it before it fell onto the floor. Losing the cube now would be devastating. Fortunately for her, it appeared in working condition. She couldn’t say the same for CAIN.
The whole of the console went dark along with the viewport screen. All the remaining lights followed suit, and the ICV-71 plunged into darkness. There were no sounds other than panicked breathing.
“What? What the hell happened?” Emmerich demanded.
The cool glow of the emergency lights illuminated the whole of the ship’s interior. Lin gazed thoughtfully at her Rook. “CAIN has gone into shutdown.”
“He said something about detecting a virus,” Cole said to Lin, following her gaze to the cube in her hand. “Any idea how that’s possible?”
Nothing gets by him. “I have a theory... One I should have realized much sooner.” She closed her eyes, silently cursing herself for being so stupid. “I have a valid reason to believe Frederich Caliber sabotaged my Rook.”
“What?” Emmerich said. “When did you speak with the CEO of SolEx?”
Lin could not wrest her eyes from her Rook. “After we were taken prisoner on Mars, SolEx placed me in isolation, whereupon I received an unexpected visited from him. He had with him my Rook, which he returned to me so we could speak.”
“What did he talk to you about?” Cole asked.
Lin sighed. “He approached me with an offer which I outright refused.”
“That’s it?” Emmerich asked. “You refused this so-called ‘offer’? Or is it more likely you were swayed into sabotaging this ship?”
“No!” Cole said in Lin’s defense. “Give her a minute to speak. It’s obvious she’s struggling to discuss this. Besides, there would be no point for her to sabotage this ship while aboard. Think, woman!” He tapped his index finger on his temple.
Lin swallowed, pretending not to notice Emmerich’s icy glare. “She’s not entirely wrong. I would never willingly sabotage my life’s work. Unknowingly, however... I was deceived into inadvertently uploading a virus which has led to this desperate situation.” She gestured toward the dark console.
“But that would mean Caliber anticipated your escape from the outset,” Cole pointed out. “I find that hard to believe he ever expected Cain to turn the tables on him.”
“Perhaps,” Lin said, still unconvinced. CAIN had mentioned the virus. “Regardless of how confident he may have been in his company’s security, Caliber is CEO of the System’s largest logistics corporation, and you don’t ascend to that title unless you—”
“What does it matter?” Emmerich blurted out. “Whether or not you did it on purpose, it happened. While you two sit here trying to crack the code of how, we’re slowly suffocating and freezing to death. If we don’t burn up first. What are we going to do about it?”
Lin frowned, embarrassed. Leave it to my biggest detractor to have the most common sense. She let go of her Rook and allowed it to hover again. She would be keeping a close eye on her ever present voice box.
Cole nodded approvingly. “Damn right, C.” He clapped his hands and stood. “It’s like we’re becoming a team, or something.”
“Where are you going?” Emmerich asked.
Cole stared at her, perplexed. “To do something about our plight.”
“Isn’t the problem with the ship’s AI?”
“Yeah, but I’m useless when it comes to fixing robots. That’s what we got Doc for.” He thumbed in her direction. “I’m going to make sure we have enough supplies and equipment to keep us alive.”
Lin swallowed hard, pressured into solving an impossible riddle, their lives in the balance. Of course she was the most qualified person for the task. She knew the ICV-71 and CAIN better than any living person. It was time she contributed something more to their cause. Now, if only she knew where to begin.
~
“That’s odd.”
Cole held up his hand in front of the vent a second time to convince himself he was not losing his mind. Gentle though it was, there was no mistaking the light breeze flowing across his fingers. Oxygen was still circulating, but there was no clear explanation as to the how and why. Was it possible for certain portions of a ship to continue working while the whole was dark?
A question best answered by Lin, Cole thought, though he was currently scavenging through the Bar, the infirmary, and some of the crates for whatever it was he was seeking. A miracle. After locating a flashlight, he had piled up a collection of emergency sp
ace suits—two, in total—a duffel bag of medical supplies through which he had yet to rummage, and a box emergency provisions containing a none-too-appealing bladder of liquid—presumably water—and a handful of mysterious edibles in bar form. Meant to sustain, not satisfy. There were still numerous pallets through which he had yet to scavenge. With CAIN offline, the manifest indicating what was packed inside each storage unit was not accessible, and it would be a slow go with only one flashlight.
Along with the treasure trove of goodies necessary in prolonging the crew’s inevitable end, he came upon a small box filled with coin sized drones. He blew off the dust, admiring the old Military logo design on its lid. Such devices were archaic by today’s technology standards, but some lower income households and businesses still utilized them. That CAIN had brought aboard from SolEx made him wonder what other forgotten toys had been smuggled. He removed one of the “coins” and walked the thin object across his knuckles, a thought occurring to him.
He pressed and held his thumb against the smooth underside, allowing a link to be established with his Ocunet lenses. He let it lie in his palm, watching as it began to spin and tickle his skin. It lifted into the air, hovering just in front of his face. A small menu opened inside his lens displaying several basic options. Cole selected Record and kept the nano camera focused on himself.
“Last will and testament,” he said, smirking. “Just kidding: I don’t have anything to give to anyone anyway. Captain’s log... No, that’s no good either.” He drummed his fingers on the lid of the crate, then a light bulb went off in his head. “Icarus log, number one.”
25
ROGUE
“What the hell was that?”
Cole had heard the noise as well. Felt it, even. He pocketed the drone and ran towards Emmerich’s voice. He shined his flashlight on her as she pounded down the steps into the cargo bay, wide-eyed and ready to fight. Her tenacity never ceased to amaze him.
“Did you hear it, Musgrave?”
