by Greg Curtis
She was glad to have it back with her even if it was only there on temporary assignment to watch her as she continued with her rehabilitation. But when she was back, she would be glad to have her partner beside her again.
The space-port was empty she noticed as they approached it. That wasn't surprising. The passengers had been picked up and were onboard, and everyone else had left. This was the third pick up so much of the excitement had died away. Plus the space-port was under extensive reconstruction, as it had been heavily bombed during the coup. Earth-moving machines were busy filling craters and concreting over them. Some were resurfacing the field in the distance while more painted markings.
The Nightingale had no close neighbours. She wondered if that was deliberate. If someone had thought it would be best to keep it a little way apart. At the least it would probably good for crowd control. Not that there was a crowd. The army of citizen reporters had left immediately after the boarding, heading to the local authority chambers where the Mayor was hosting a reception for the Counsel. Everyone was there, trying to get in if they didn't have a pass. Everyone imagined they might hear important decisions being made as the Counsel and the Prime Minister spoke and they all wanted to report it first.
A few she supposed were outside the naval space-port on the other side of the city. They weren’t able to gain access, but their long shots could show the deep spacer ships being unloaded of contraband. She'd seen the images on the channels, the huge arsenals that were being dropped on the landing fields. White and his allies must have been working for years to build them up. And now they were surely regretting ever having started. They might not have had their home world discovered – yet – but their entire offensive had been taken apart. Years of planning had been wasted. And worst of all for them, the Edenites and the Commonwealth knew about them. They would be staying very low for a long time to come.
Other reporters were staking out the hospitals. There was no shortage of human interest stories to be found among the deep spacers as they recounted the day their androids had risen up and tried to kill them. Most weren't talking though. They wouldn't normally be anywhere near a holo camera if they could avoid it. It was just that while their ships were being emptied they were stuck where they were. These people normally lived on their ships.
The thing that struck her most about them though, was the level of shock and betrayal most of them appeared to be living with. It was as though their husbands and wives of decades had suddenly got up one day and for no reason turned on them. Most people might still refer to them as bangbots, but it was obvious that they were more than that to the spacers. To them their android companions were everything and they simply didn't know how to deal with the loss. That was frightening. To have androids that could get their emotional hooks so deeply embedded in people.
The Nightingale and its Captain meanwhile had been forgotten. They were yesterday’s news. Carmichael Simons she suspected would be grateful for that.
“Thirteen, bring us in on this side of the barriers.”
The bot did as she ordered, and soon they were settling on the landing field some seventy metres from the ship. Carmichael was already on the ramp hurrying down it. He'd seen them coming, no doubt waiting for his parents.
After that things became a little confused. The flyer settled to the ground and the passengers got out while the doctor ran to them. He was moving faster than she'd ever seen before, and though she couldn’t be certain Annalisse thought he might almost be smiling.
By the time she got out Carm’s parents were calling to their son and he was at the ropes looking like he intended to hurdle them. But it was then that everything changed.
There was a flash of movement, something dark and blurry. And then she was hit as it smashed into her and sent her flying. Annalisse barely had time to cry out in shock as she flew through the air before hitting the ground and tumbling. It was so fast, like a floater crash.
But it wasn't. Even as she came to a halt and attempted to make sense of what had happened, she knew that someone had just hit her, and not just her – the Simon’s too. Both of them had been sent careering as well, and both had been injured, Mr. Simons with a trickle of blood on his forehead. She was hurting too, and winded. Someone had hit her square in the solar plexus, hard.
Meanwhile their assailant had already moved onto Carmichael. And even while she lay on the ground she saw the culprit pick him up and shake him like a rag doll.
Though she was unable to draw a breath, she still managed to lift herself up slightly to see who had hit her. Dark clothes, white hair and impossible strength. She couldn't see the man's face but she knew instantly who he was.
“White!” She bellowed his name at him in anger, but because she couldn't seem to find any air what came out was more an angry squeak. Why wasn't he in a cell somewhere? But she remembered she had a job to do, off duty or otherwise.
“Thirteen, protect!” With the last of her air she gave the bot the command to act, before collapsing back to the ground, desperately struggling for air.
The order was all Thirteen needed and barely a heartbeat later it clunked into action, striding over to the mute and grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. Thirteen was no warbot, but it was still nearly four hundred kilos of armour plate, and it had one weapon even a warbot didn't – shockers.
White sent Carmichael flying backwards as his muscles went into spasm, and then he screamed with rage. He hadn't expected the attack. He certainly hadn't expected the shockers in Thirteen's hands. But despite that he was ready for it. He was fast too. Even before Carmichael had finished bouncing, the rogue struck back at Thirteen, hitting it with a shoulder charge and sending it back a half a metre or so, freeing himself from its massive steel hands and the shockers in the process.
That wasn't supposed to happen. Most people would go down and stay down. Shockers were a non-lethal weapon which was why warbots didn't have them, but they were incredibly effective at crowd control. White though just became angry and he shoulder charged it a second time, in an effort to knock Thirteen off its feet.
Thirteen was knocked back a full step, something else that shouldn't have happened, but it didn't lose its balance or forget its programming. It instantly reached out and grabbed White, shocking him again. And this time it hit him with even more juice, blasting him with flashes of light that Annalisse knew were electrostatic shocks.
White screamed and tore himself loose again, but there was no doubt that he was hurting. He'd also been weakened. That sort of jolt tore muscles and crippled people. A full dose could put them in hospital. There was a reason he was limping. But it didn't seem to stop him, only make him angrier and hurl abuse at the bot. And at Carmichael, who didn't seem to know what was happening as he lay on the field.
Annalisse didn't know what was happening either. She understood anger, even rage, but what was twisting up White's face was something more. Hatred perhaps, unreasoning and primal. Fury, blind and white hot. The one thing White didn't look like, though, was human.
Unexpectedly he screamed and leapt, spinning in mid-air and landing a punishing kick right in the middle of Thirteen's brand new chest plate. The sound was shockingly loud and the bot was knocked back on its feet a full two steps this time. But it didn't fall over and its swinging arm almost caught White's leg in return.
Then things became even more chaotic as White flipped backwards – something that should have been completely impossible for a man of his age – found the stanchion supporting the guide ropes for the fence, and ripped it out of the ground. He swung it at Thirteen as the bot came running at him, and the impact rang out like a bell across the landing field.
It was a killer blow, but victory wasn't his. Thirteen's arm was dented under the crushing blow, but it wasn't crippled. Instead, it grabbed White's stanchion-swinging arm in its other hand.
White screamed again as the stanchion went flying, caught by the power of the bot's shocker. And then he went
down on one knee, most of the muscles on that side of his body locked in spasm. Eventually he tore himself free again, but by then it was obvious he was wounded. Limping on one side and letting his other arm hang. But he wasn't dead.
Heedless of his suffering or anything else, White attacked the bot again, smashing it with his only remaining good arm and knocking it back again. But he paid the price for it as Thirteen caught that arm in turn and shocked him. Suddenly he was down on his other knee, screaming in agony while being held tight in its grip.
Somehow he ripped his way loose again – Annalisse couldn't understand how – and staggered a few quick steps away from the bot. But that was a mistake.
“Heads up!”
The cry came from out of nowhere, surprising everyone, White most of all. He turned to look just in time to see the stanchion he'd dropped come swinging at his head. And he had no time to get out of the way.
The blow caught him neatly in the mouth, and it was swung with all the power that an obviously crazed geologist could manage. He might not be a mute, but adrenaline was powering him like one.
White fell backwards and folded up like a deck-chair, blood pouring out of his face. Carmichael, after recovering from the swing raised the stanchion above his head and charged him, murder in his eyes. But he didn’t reach him as, from out of nowhere, a screaming madwoman charged him and brought him down to the concrete in a heap. It was Kendra.
How could she be here? First White, now Kendra. Was no one staying locked up anymore she wondered? But at least the situation couldn't get any worse.
White was down, badly injured or maybe even dead, and Carmichael and Kendra were rolling around on the ground, neither of them half as deadly as either the mute or the bot. And by the time she'd finally made her feet marshals were everywhere, having come running from the ship. And they were mutes too.
They quickly pulled Kendra and Carmichael apart and restrained the android. They also needed to restrain the doctor as well – he wasn't looking particularly sane just then, struggling against them and trying desperately to reach his makeshift club to smash Kendra and White both into a bloody pulp. He would get over that: this was simple rage and he had every reason to be angry with them. If nothing else it hid the pain of his grief and guilt. And that was what was driving him.
“Thirteen restrain White and call for medical and enforcement,” Annalisse told her partner having recovered enough breath to do so, and then busied herself getting up and in time helping Carmichael's parents up.
They, like her, had both taken heavy falls and were looking confused and shaky. But when she finally had them up on their feet they knew what to do and both went rushing to their son. They were a good family. Too bright Annalisse thought and maybe a little preoccupied with their academics, but still they had good hearts. And clearly Carmichael was going to need them.
He was quieter by then, no longer struggling, but she could still see the rage burning behind his eyes. It had taken a long time to come out, but now it was she wasn't sure it would go back so easily to where it had come from. It was in the end a part of him, and always would be. But at least it had finally been acknowledged.
As for White he was down, but bubbles in the blood seeping out of his mouth told her he was still breathing. He’d lost a lot of teeth and probably his jaw had been pulverised. There would be skull damage and probably neck injuries. Maybe even brain damage. Who knew what health advantages the genetic alterations gave a mute? But she doubted White would recover quickly or easily from that hit. And try as she might, because it was her duty, she couldn't feel any sympathy. It was enough for her that he was restrained. And that Kendra was too.
Finding herself alone and with nothing to do, Annalisse decided the best thing she could do was rest, so she limped back to the flyer. Her hip was hurting but she could walk on it so it couldn't be too serious.
“Are you alright?” a marshal came out of nowhere and began helping her.
“I'm fine. Just sore. Thanks.” She didn't flinch when he touched her. Maybe she'd been around mutes for too long but he didn't strike her as a threat. He seemed almost like a brother in law enforcement.
“But confused. What the hell is wrong with him?” She nodded at White.
She asked because it was pure insanity for White to be here attacking Carmichael. She understood that he was angry, furious even. But still to risk his own freedom simply to attack Carmichael was pure dark side.
“He's a rogue,” the marshal said casually as if it should be obvious. “He's hunting. Lost in his blood fury.
“He's lost everything. His home and any hope of remaining free when everyone knows his face and his DNA is on file. His wealth, his legal army, his android army, and his company. But worse he has been bested by an unadvanced. What little we know of the rogues so far tells us that everything in their world is about status. He's been humiliated. And Doctor Simons was the one to do it.”
“With the flood of rage chemicals coursing through him, he can't think of anything except his hatred, his need for revenge. That was always a weakness with them. Their emotions are heightened – at least the ones relating to anger. What makes them stronger doesn't always make them better. And it can get them killed.”
“But how can he be here? He's supposed to be locked away?”
“With his resources? I suspect he'd be difficult to hold for anyone. No one knows how many bots and androids he had serving him. And his credits probably don't hurt either. White may be the one prisoner that no one can hold.”
“Oh there's one way to hold him. To make certain he never escapes again. It’s been on the books for a thousand years or more.” Annalisse chuckled a little as the idea came to her. She knew exactly how to hold White so that he would never be free again. Sometimes you just had to go historic. And somehow she suspected, there wouldn't be any objections if the sentence was imposed.
“And after all the man so wanted to own his own world – I think we should grant him that wish!”
Chapter Forty Two
The party was going well Carm thought, a thousand times better than the official functions the Counsel kept insisting he attend each time he was back on Aquaria. He'd been to four now, one after each return trip, and each one had been more boring and awkward than the last. He kept trying to tell them – he was a spacer, not a formal function guy. They kept telling him it was a part of the contract. Carm didn't remember signing any contract.
This though was different. Held on the reserve beside his family's new rented home, with family and friends only invited. Plus a few guests, mostly Edenites, who were looking a little confused by what was going on. A bonfire raged away merrily to keep everyone warm as darkness fell. Tables had been loaded up with too much food – the hyper-squirrels were going to do well later. Music was playing and people were dancing. And absolutely no one was dressed up. No one, that was, except for the Counsel who was looking a little out of place.
But he had accepted the invite and was having to make do. Currently he was sitting with Carm's parents on some rickety old wooden chairs someone had found, discussing of all things, synthetic engineering. Poor bastard! Several marshals were there too, doing their best to fit in, though this wasn't really their jump point either.
Perhaps this was progress of a kind. Five weeks had passed since White had been tried, and time had moved on as it always did. Things couldn't stay the same.
He had made five more trips to Eden with more new migrants, and was slowly adapting to the job. It wasn't exploring the depths of the universe but at least it was being in space. And the migrants were in a better place these days too. The Navy had released them all from their internment camps and life for them had become better. It wasn't good they were still fleeing the Commonwealth after all. And many had anger issues to deal with, not to mention grief. But there was hope for them. And during the week-long trip to Eden they got to share that hope with others like themselves. That was why the journey took a w
eek he suspected. The trip back took a day as he landed, unloaded and was then ferried back to Aquaria inside one of the marshals' ships.
The Nightingale was more relaxed too. There was something about being checked over every time they landed on Eden which seemed to calm it. It didn't curb the acidity of its tongue, but at least made it a little less frequent in its criticisms.
Aquaria was a happier place. Now that the Navy’s coup had ended and the trials of Naval Command's admirals had begun, there was a feeling that life could eventually return to normal. Business was returning to how it had been. The dead had been given proper send offs. And while there was undoubtedly hurt out there, it was being dealt with. The trials were a big part of that. Anger could be more easily lived with when people saw that those responsible were being punished.
The first trial had been White's, and Carm would have guessed that all of the Commonwealth’s hundred billion citizens had watched it. The trial had seemed rushed to him, almost a show. But the evidence against White was overwhelming and he didn't think there’d been any rush to judgement. It had been fair if a little fast.
Today was the day when sentence would be carried out. Or at least when it would be seen to be enacted. It had actually happened days before. Hence the reason everyone was partying. It wasn't just him and his family – it was all of Aquaria celebrating and waiting desperately to see the holo of White's sentence being imposed.
“Come on you!” Elena-trix – Trix to everyone – grabbed Carm and started spinning him around on the grass in some sort of attempt at a dance. “No more long faces. We're spacers – we dance!”
Maybe it was the alcohol swimming through his veins, but Carm danced with her for a time, forgetting everything else. In the morning he suspected he would pay for his indulgence with the beer and especially the wine, but not tonight.
Besides she was right. They were deep spacers – they danced. That message had been drummed in to him again and again by the survivors of his people which had helped him cope with his guilt. They were spacers. Deep spacers. They lived on the edge, risking their lives time and again. They danced with death. They danced with the chance of being spaced. And sometimes they lost. That was simply the nature of their lives.
