The Belt: The Complete Trilogy

by Gerald M. Kilby

  “Yes, exoskeleton. State of the art, I believe.”

  Steph sensed a certain disdain in his voice, as if he didn’t approve of such a brutal physical augmentation. She looked up at the monitor, checking the patient’s vitals. Even from the little she had seen, it was obvious to her that this man was clinging to life. He would probably be dead soon, and as far as Steph was concerned, that wouldn’t be soon enough. One less scumbag sounded good to her.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Her first impulse was to tell Juno exactly what she thought, but then she considered that that might not be such a bright idea. It might be better if she went along with this charade, and then maybe she could learn something useful. Maybe she could find out who these people were and… And what? she thought. She looked down at the patient again, more as a way of buying time to think rather than any attempt to prescribe a medical intervention.

  “So, you’re the doctor around here?” she finally said.

  “Yes and no. I’ve got some general battlefield training. They bring ’em in, and I patch ’em up. But I’m not a doctor.” He looked over at the guard when he said this last statement, like it was something he had tried to explain many times before.

  Steph glanced back at the guard. He had taken a seat beside the door and looked totally uninterested in the exchange. She returned her gaze to Juno. “So why the hell should I help you? These scumbags have just killed four of my people.” She waved an arm at the guard.

  Juno sighed. “Here’s the thing: You don’t have a choice. If you refuse to cooperate, then my friend over there will go back to your lock-up, pick someone out, and bring them back down here. Not somebody important—not someone worth a lot of money. Then he’ll start to inflict pain. Maybe just a little at first, but the longer you hold out, the more that pain will increase. And if they die, then he’ll start on another one.” He looked over at the guard. “Isn’t that right?”

  The guard grinned and nodded.

  “See? They’re all scumbags on this bucket, and they don’t give a shit.”

  “They give a shit about this guy.” Steph gestured at the patient on the table.

  “They sure do. So help me out here, because I really don’t want to be patching up anyone else today.”

  Steph gave him a resigned look and proceeded to remove the thin sheet covering the patient. His body was thin, borderline emaciated. He had a pallid color and his breathing was shallow. But what shocked Stephanie was the spindly exoskeleton he had surgically attached to his body. This was a permanent procedure that involved the grafting of metal to bone. Along the sides of his legs, pins protruded from the skin at either side of joints that were, in turn, attached to the main exterior structure. This arrangement continued up his torso to the back of his neck, and also included both arms and hands. She had heard of these procedures, which were brutally intrusive and could not be undone. However, it would afford the user considerable speed and strength—assuming you didn’t die from the surgery.

  “Jesus.” Steph hadn’t meant to say it—it just slipped out.

  “You’re telling me. Some piece of work, eh?”

  She examined it more closely. It had been done many years ago, judging by the accumulation of skin tissue around the pins. Whatever was the matter with this guy, it didn’t seem to stem from the exoskeleton. “How long has he had this?”

  “Ever since I’ve known him. That’s a few years, at least.”

  “So, what’s your prognosis?”

  “My what?”

  “What do you think is wrong with him?”

  “Hell, if I knew that I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I?”

  “I just need to know if you’ve pumped him full of anything?”

  Juno relaxed a little. He moved in closer to the table and looked down at the stricken man. “I’m just guessing here, okay? So, bear that in mind. Come around here and have a look at this.”

  Steph moved over to the other side and looked at the spot on the man’s ankle where Juno was pointing. A dark red splotch bloomed from the location of one of the pins. The edges of it snaked along the tracks of several veins.

  “Nasty,” said Steph.

  “Any ideas what it might be?”

  Steph took a closer examination. “Is this pin new?”

  “Yeah, he had an upgrade a few weeks back.”

  “Well, looks like a botched job. Whoever did this was using dirty tools.” She looked up at Juno. “He’s got septicemia—really bad.”

  “Septa—?”

  “Blood poisoning. And if he’s not treated correctly, he’ll most likely die. In fact, he could die even if he is treated.”

  Juno looked at the splotch, as if the mere act of looking would effect some miracle cure. “Shit.” He stepped back and looked at Steph. “So, what do we do?”

  “Normally, we’d take a blood sample, run it through an analyzer, and identify the infection biology. From that we could synthesize the precise antibiotic to get the job done without killing the patient in the process.” She looked around the operating theater. “But I doubt you have either of those machines.”

  Juno sighed. “No, but we have some generics.”

  “That’s a bit brutal, and pretty antiquated these days.”

  “It’s all we got.”

  Steph considered her next move. She could help save this man’s life, which as a doctor she was duty-bound to do. But on the other hand, she could make it look like she was being compliant while helping to dispatch this scumbag a little more quickly. Yet it would be a small comfort for what they did to Scott and Cyrus. She had to think.

  “Okay, you better just show me everything you’ve got in stock.”

  “Sure.” Juno seemed to brighten at the prospect of someone with medical knowledge deciphering the labels of whatever supplies this rag-tag group had in their dilapidated medbay. “Come—this way.”

  They left the theater and passed into the outer medbay. The guard stood up and followed them out. “Hey, Juno?”

  He spun around. “What?”

  “You sure it’s wise, you know, having her poking around all that stuff? Maybe she’s figuring to pump the capt—eh, the patient—with a load of poison?”

  “Hey, I’m not completely stupid. I’ve got a vague idea what most of that shit does. We’ll check it out on the data-stack first.”

  The guard gave Steph a long, hard look before nodding at Juno. “You’d better be right.”

  Juno unlocked a door into a small storage area. Small enough that only he and Steph could comfortably fit. The guard was left outside.

  “Suspicious sort, isn’t he?” Steph nodded out the doorway.

  “That’s what happens when both parents are gorillas.” He looked at Steph. “No offense to gorillas.”

  Steph fought back a smile. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she cast her gaze around the shelves and lockers. They seemed to be well-stocked with painkillers and sedatives, all generic. Boxes of bandages and wound sealant were stacked up floor to ceiling. These were battlefield supplies, maybe stolen from some mining base where these sorts of injuries were all too common. But none of this was going to help the guy in the exoskeleton. His war was on the inside and, without some pharmaceutical assistance, he was going to die. She’d also begun to realize that he was probably the captain of this bucket. The guard had let it slip, but he had simply confirmed her own suspicions. That’s why he was so important to them. But this now posed a dilemma for Steph: How would a group like this behave without the leader? Assuming he died. The recent actions must have been sanctioned long before their captain became incapacitated, but who was running the show now, and what was their plan?

  She could answer none of these questions, and in many respects, it didn’t matter. Assuming they were being true to their word, then they would all be released unharmed if and when the ransom was paid. Her head hurt just thinking about it all.

  She picked up a vial of a powerful antibiotic.
“Here, start with this.” She handed it to Juno. “It needs to be intravenous.” She looked at him. “You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Yeah, I think I can manage that.” His reply was tinged with sarcasm.

  “Good. Half of that now, the rest in four hours. Also, get him on a ventilator and oxygen, and for God’s sake don’t sedate him again.”

  Juno gave her a look like a schoolboy that had just been found out. “How did you know?”

  “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  “Okay, but he can be a bit hard to handle.”

  “Just do it.” She cast her gaze around the inventory again. “Got any more?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well find it, because you’ll need to keep pumping it into him for the next 90 hours or so.”

  He nodded and started rummaging through the shelves. As soon as his back was turned, Steph took her chance. She had spotted some cyclophromazine already preloaded in micro syringes. This was a powerful sedative—in small doses. In larger doses, it was deadly. She reached out and palmed several of the packets, shoving them into her pocket just before Juno looked up again.

  “Okay, looks like we have six more vials.”

  “Well then, you don’t need me anymore?”

  “Eh, no. I should be okay from here.” He nodded to the guard outside. “He’ll take you back… and thanks for the help.”

  Steph looked at him for a moment. “Go screw yourself.”

  11

  Scratchers

  Scott’s oxygen-deprived brain began to revive on the journey back to the research station. By sheer blind luck, the base had been occupied, and so they had been saved from an almost certain death. But as his mind cleared, he began to wonder just who these people were. They weren’t scientists, that was for sure. So, what were they doing there? He had no answers, and he couldn’t talk to Cyrus about it for fear of being overheard by Spence and Wolfe. Nonetheless, he and Cyrus were alive—for the moment, at least.

  When they finally arrived back to the base, they were taken to meet Dogg, the leader of this band. He sat behind a long, narrow table, flanked by two others. Food was brought in, comprised of simple ration packs. Both Scott and Cyrus found that they were ravenous, and gladly accepted the food.

  “So,” Dogg started, “your colleague here tells me that your ship—the Hermes, no less—was destroyed?”

  Scott wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, the whole episode is a bit hazy, since we were trying to escape as it was happening. But as far as we can tell, they took the crew and passengers hostage and then set explosives to blow up the Hermes.”

  “Any idea who would want to do that, or what they wanted?”

  “Nope, none. Your guess is as good as ours.”

  Dogg inclined his head like he was considering something. “Who was on board?”

  Scott glanced over at Cyrus, trying to get a clue as to how much the engineer had already told these guys. “We were ferrying some people to a UN special session that’s taking place in Jezero City on Mars. We were stopping off in Ceres’ orbit to pick up a few more when they attacked.”

  Dogg leaned in and gave Scott a hard look. “You didn’t answer the question. Who was on board?”

  Scott wondered what sort of vibe he was getting here. It wasn’t too friendly, but it wasn’t overtly threatening, either. “Regina Goodchild, head of the Council of Europa. Some others I don’t really know, and I think we were supposed to be taking Chancellor Bezzio of Ceres on board, so he might be there, too.”

  Dogg sat back in his chair and let a whistle. “That’s quite a passenger list. Some very high-ranking people there.”

  “You need to get the word out. Get to the authorities in Dantu, let them know what’s happened.”

  Dogg raised a hand. “Woah… just hold up there a minute. Firstly, my guess is whoever needs to know about this incident already knows. Second, we don’t exactly want to be advertising ourselves to those who might not like us using this facility without asking first.” He glanced from Spence to Wolfe, and all three started laughing.

  “I don’t think they would take kindly to that.” He leaned forward again. “Which brings us to what to do with you guys. You see, you’ve put us in a rather awkward position.”

  Scott stopped chewing. “We’re just glad to be alive.”

  “I’m sure you are, but now we have a problem. Somebody might start looking for you. Someone might spot a crashed shuttle out there in the crater and reckon it could be worth investigating.”

  Scott and Cyrus remained silent, waiting for the hammer to fall. Dogg waved a hand around. “Then again, we have to consider that we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, Commander Scott McNabb.”

  Scott wasn’t sure if he was following this; maybe his brain was still oxygen deprived. “Eh, how so?”

  “When you blew up the Dyrell. That was you, wasn’t it? Commander Scott McNabb of the Hermes?”

  Scott inclined his head slightly, as if the action would in some way aid his understanding. “Yeah, that was me.”

  “Well you changed the game, pal. That’s what.”

  Scott was confused, and it showed.

  Dogg looked to Spence and Wolfe. “He hasn’t got a clue.” He waved a hand at Scott. “Where have you been?”

  Scott gave a shrug. “We’ve been on a mission to survey the moons of Saturn these last two years. So, I’m a bit out of touch.”

  Dogg settled back into his seat. “Dyrell Labs are one of the Seven.”

  There’s that name again: the Seven, thought Scott.

  “When you killed their ship and Europa started getting heavy about reparations… well, that opened a gap in the market. You see, up until that point, the Seven controlled all resources coming into Earth from the Belt. Which meant that certain countries and organizations had no direct access, no supplies. They had no choice but to accept whatever deal the Seven gave them. It was a way to keep them down, keep them in line. But your actions created a shortage, and that was filled by, shall we say, some enterprising privateers.”

  “But what about Mars?” said Cyrus. “I thought they controlled the trade routes?”

  “Bah.” Dogg waved an arm. “Mars is only too happy to see the Seven’s monopoly undermined. They turn a blind eye to it—as long as it’s not too blatant.”

  “And the Belt?”

  “More than happy to facilitate an alternative supply chain, even if it’s technically illegal. They’re sick of being controlled by both Earth and Mars.”

  “So that’s what all this is about? Smuggling?”

  Dogg slapped the table. “Damn right. Thanks to you, us scratchers have a future.”

  “Scratchers?”

  Dogg shook his head. “You really do need to get out more. Scratchers, those of us who scratch out a living in the gaps between the great economic currents of the System.”

  Scott looked around the room they were in and realized it was piled high with containers. They must be using this place as a staging post. A place to stash the product before being shipped to Earth, or wherever it was off to next. He was still trying to work it all out in his mind when another of the band entered and whispered something in Dogg’s ear. He looked over at Scott and Cyrus, and then rose from his seat to confer with his colleague in private. Scott and Cyrus gave each other a quick look. Dogg returned, sat down, and considered them. “It seems that a ransom has been issued for the safe return of Goodchild, Bezzio, and the others. It’s also been reported that you both died when the Hermes exploded.”

  “A ransom? By who?”

  Dogg shrugged. “Who knows. But this whole escapade had now made life a little more difficult for me and my crew. Our timelines will have to be moved forward. We have a lot to get ready. In the meantime, Spence here will show you where you can clean up and get some rest.” He rose from his seat, indicating the conversation was coming to an end.

  Scott also rose. “There is one other thing. There’s
an item we salvaged from the Hermes still in the shuttle. I would be very anxious to get it safely back here.”

  Dogg paused. “And what’s that?”

  Scott hesitated. Could he trust this crew? Sure, he and Cyrus owed them their lives, but that only went so far. Yet, he was anxious not to leave Aria out of his sight. “It’s the AI core from the Hermes.”

  Dogg’s eyes widened. “Really? Well, that is interesting.” He screwed up his eyes a little as if he was trying to remember something. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Hermes used a quantum intelligence for its ship-wide operation.”

  “Yes, it’s actually a QI.”

  There was a flurry of furtive murmuring amongst the assembled at the mention of this. Dogg raised himself up a little. “You’re telling me you have a QI core inside that shuttle wreck?”

  “That’s correct. And as you can imagine, it’s not something we would like to just leave… lying around.”

  “Indeed.” Dogg scratched his chin for a second, then gave a dismissive wave. “Well, it’s not going anywhere soon, so don’t concern yourselves with it. We can talk again about it.” He nodded to his colleague. “Spence, can you show them where they can rest up?”

  Spence nodded, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about something.

  “One more thing.” Dogg turned back to them. “Some of my crew would prefer if we locked you guys up. There’s a lot of, shall we say, sensitivity around what we do, and certain individuals would be… uncomfortable with you two free to snoop around. However, I feel that would be, let’s say, ungentlemanly. So, do I have your word that you’ll stay put until my crew and I have finished our preparations?”

  Scott gave Cyrus a quick glance, then extended his hand. “Of course—we understand. You have my word.”

  Dogg accepted the hand and nodded. “Very good, then. Spence will show you the way.”

  Scott felt a deep fatigue wash over him as he followed Spence. His body, sensing it was no longer in imminent danger, had terminated the supply of adrenaline, or whatever it was he had been existing on since the attack on the Hermes. He was coming down with a crash, and all desire to stay alert was leaving him. His surroundings passed by in a blur, and even the room they were brought to barely registered in his consciousness. He collapsed on a ragged bunk and closed his eyes. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Cyrus mumbling, but failed to make out the words. Down he went, into a deep and dreamless sleep.