"You don’t have to provide your names, ma’am,” Thales said, marking the drop-off check boxes titled "Good Samaritan” and "Anonymous,” which were misleading. He wasn’t going to point out that since the Commons was partially government funded, the lobby was a public place. Because of that, the admittance area was noded and this event would probably be indexed in the public domain.
"Will you be making a donation?” Thales asked hopefully. Then, when the Terrans looked at him quizzically, he added, "It might make her stay more comfortable.” And boost my quarterly bonus. His mother had warned him away from civil service and now he knew why. The salary was pathetic.
"I don’t think we’ll pay anything for this woman’s comfort,” the male said stiffly. The female nodded in agreement.
Thales shrugged, but he pressed his lips together in irritation as he marked "Unfunded.”
He displayed a map on the wall and pointed to it. "We’ll need you to identify where you found this woman, while I call medical support.”
The Terrans pointed out a well-known alley near Karaborsi Canal, and Thales was surprised that they’d only seen one insensate drunk sleeping it off beside a popular bar and brothel. Once the on-call medic arrived with a stretcher trailing behind him, the Terrans displayed their misapprehensions about CAW privacy law.
"What do you mean, you can’t analyze for alcohol and drugs?” The Terran male sputtered with outrage and looked as though he was personally affronted. The female made a fluid gesture with her hand and he immediately quieted after giving her a vicious look. Thales figured the woman was in charge and the man resented her.
"She’s in good shape. If her vitals indicated some sort of distress, then we’d be authorized to take measurements for medical purposes,” Thales said. "Otherwise, we’ll log her name and rank, since it’s public information. We’ll get more data after she sobers up.”
If she sobers up. Thales watched the Terrans lean the slight woman—he never remembered the names—against the stretcher. The constraint netting squirmed and tightened as the medic rotated the stretcher to horizontal and onto its expensive antigrav. Thales usually didn’t bother to look at the future residents, but this time the woman’s face caught his eye. It had been bruised from a beating, possibly a couple of days ago. Just what I need: another trouble-maker .
"Hey, she’s a reservist,” said the medic, pointing his slate at the wall. "Are we still required to send a message to AFCAW?”
Thales turned to look at the display, and the Terran female rotated smoothly and immediately, but her curiousity seemed feigned. The Terran male looked at the wall almost as an afterthought. They know this woman.
Thales read the unusual information on the wall. The woman’s public record listed her as an AFCAW Reserve officer, but also as a civilian N-space pilot. She actually had to take drugs to make her living. In Thales’s experience, he’d expect this woman to exhibit what they called "supercontroller behavior.” She had to regulate her doses of strange substances so tightly that she’d probably only let loose in safe environments, in places she knew, not in Karaborsi Canal bars.
Everything was suspicious about this admittance, but Thales had no guidance on what to do, and he was tired. He noted the woman was currently on active duty, but she seemed to have two supervisors. In that section of the AFF-5290, it read: "Lieutenant Colonel Jacinthe Voyage (Liaison Assignment); Colonel Owen Edones (Directorate of Intelligence).” What did that mean?
"I’ll have to check the regulations to see if we’re supposed to notify her supervisors.” Thales sighed. It was his bad luck to get a problem child tonight.
"In the meantime, where does she go?” asked the medic.
"Induction Three.”
When the medic’s eyebrows rose, Thales jerked his head resentfully to emphasize his decision. This woman would cost Thales extra research and time, so why not throw her into the harshest tank with the hard-core addicts? It’d teach her a lesson.
"Anything more you need from us?” The Terran woman was already drifting back toward the doors.
"No, ma’am,” Thales said.
As she turned and walked through the doors, her companion walked casually close to the admittance counter. He glared at her back, and then at Thales, who resisted backing up a step or two. The Terran then touched a switch under his skin near his wrist and laid his hand on the counter. At this universal gesture for transferring data from an implant, Thales looked down on the counter.
Not surprisingly, it was a bribe. He was offering Thales a credit of five hundred thousand Hellas drachmas, or five hundred HKD. This amount wasn’t going to change Thales’s life, but it could pay his subsidized rent for two months. It was a provisional transfer, and to qualify, all he had to do was notify the provided contact of Major Kedros’s admittance within the next ten minutes.
Thales recognized the number. It was for a black market provider of transplant organs, still hot business because less than thirty percent of the population had the cellular biology capable of accepting their own vat-grown organs. Thales looked up and saw the female Terran getting into the car, apparently unconcerned with her companion’s tardiness.
Looking into the male Terran’s eyes, Thales nearly flinched at the anger he saw in the gray-green depths. Without dropping his gaze, Thales tapped his fingers and moved the provisional deposit into his account.
Ariane tried to move away from the hard hands pushing, pulling, but she couldn’t. Leave me alone.
Hands went through her pockets, pulled at her uniform. Ripping off parts of her jacket.
"Any jewelry?” A male voice.
"Just on the uniform. Don’t know if there’s a market for it, though.” A younger male voice.
She tried to open her eyelids, but they were just too heavy. She couldn’t raise her head, feeling weightless, yet helpless. Did she feel good? Did she feel?
More hands, roughly pushing her hair around, examining her ears and her neck. She couldn’t protest. Someone was taking off her boots.
"Too small for me.” A female voice.
"Sell ’em over the wall.” The same male voice.
Questing fingers opened her collar and moved downward, exploring her undergear and her breasts.
"She’s not stacked, but she’s firm.” The younger male voice.
"No,” Ariane said. That one word exhausted her.
"Wait till we find what credit she has, Smith.” Authoritative woman’s voice. Same as before? How many people were crowded around her? If she could only open her eyes—
"Yeah, you horny bastard.”
"You want some smooth, don’t you?”
"This might be better.”
Fingers fumbling at her belt. She kicked out wildly, but someone lay across her legs and held her down. She felt dizzy, as if she were circling a great whirl-pool.
Did she pass out? Voices above her rose in argument. The weight was gone, and then somebody kicked her in the ribs. She curled in pain and got another kick in her kidney area.
"Ain’t worth nothing.”
"Wait till her relatives or CO arrives, and squeeze them.”
Then they were gone. She was alone, as she wanted.
This time the probing was different, like the military medical exam she had every year. Her eyelids almost worked, opening a slit, but the dim light was painful. There were two people looming over her and they had slates. Neither of them had white coats and her vision was too blurry to see any military rank.
Leave me alone.
"Excellent kidneys and liver—almost like she never abused. Lots of alcohol and smooth in her bloodstream. It’ll take a while to flush the organs.” The voice was puzzled. "Still waiting for full typing.”
"What’s at the top of the list? Might as well fill the most expensive requests.”
These people were different. Where was the first rabble?
Someone was pulling down her pants, but this time she didn’t think sex was the objective. A fog smeared her eyesight and she c
ould barely make out the figures, one starting to undress her and the other near her hips and holding a slate. Now she could aim.
"Hey!”
She had connected her right foot with the figure trying to pull down her pants, and then twisted to hit the wrist or forearm of the other with her left foot. She heard a slate skitter across the floor.
"Help.” The word came out of her dry mouth as an unintelligible croak. She tried to get up, but only managed to roll and fall on the floor. She must have been on a bed or stretcher.
"Strap her down.”
A weight pressed her down as she tried to sit up. Suddenly there was tape over her mouth and around her wrists. She tried to keep kicking.
"Give her something! She’s coming up.”
"On top of what’s already in her bloodstream? It’ll ruin the liver for sure. Don’t know how she’s even moving—”
Pain exploded on the side of her head. She heard other voices. Arguing with raised voices.
"Stop that.”
"Who the hell are you? You’re not the LEF.”
"Leave her alone.”
"We got here first.”
"Yeah, unless you want to pay—”
Sizzle-whack! Shock baton or stunner set on high power. She knew that noise. Screams. Shouting. Sizzle-whack.
Quiet. She felt as if she were floating to the top of a pool. Somebody was putting her on a stretcher, but it felt as if it were happening to someone else. A cool hand touched her forehead.
"Don’t worry, Ari. You can sleep now.”
Did she know that voice? It was tantalizingly familiar, but more than anything she wanted to go back to the darkness. Please leave me alone.
CHAPTER 19
Before the Assumption of Holy Avatars back to Gaia’s Heart, a young man named Darius entered the Kristos Order of the Three Crosses. Brother Darius was given the mission to serve the Order on the new colony on Titan. In this harsh environment, Darius learned he had a gift for ministering to those who must trade their lifetimes for passage to the stars. Darius chose to leave Titan, beginning his faith-challenging travels on the . . .
—The Chronicles of Saint Darius, approximately 2052 UT, reindexed in 2066 by Heraclitus 5 under Flux Imperative
"You shouldn’t accompany us, Mr. Journey.” "I got the necessary shots,” Matt said. "And if you want AFCAW’s fingers in G-145, then you’d better let me go along.”
"Your threats are wearing thin,” Edones said.
As if my threats worked on you anyway, you manipulative bastard. When they docked at Alexandria Port, Matt wanted Edones to march over to the Terran ship and confront them about kidnapping Ari. Of course, that didn’t happen. Edones was convinced his blessed treaty was at stake and no amount of pressure from Matt could sway him.
Then two messages arrived, almost simultaneously, announcing Ari’s admission into the Alexandria Addict Commons: An official notification came to Edones and Nestor’s Muse 3 sent Matt a similar report. That AI of Nestor’s was becoming damned useful, and Matt hoped he’d be able to keep it. Edones hadn’t voiced much interest in the package Nestor had sent Matt, at least not the kind of interest the LEF had shown.
Captain Sanna and the Athens Point LEF were making pests of themselves. As soon as the Bright Crescent had arrived at Alexandria Port with Matt, they’d wanted to have a long discussion with him regarding Nestor. He’d begged off with an excuse that he had an emergency, which was true. Then he’d caught up with Edones and the faithful Joyce as they were leaving the ship, intending to depart the orbital port for Hellas Prime. They were impatient to go, but Matt demanded that he accompany them. Edones and Joyce, of course, resisted.
"You haven’t had enough time to build up resistance to the allergens.” Joyce was referring to the planet-specific shots that Matt recently received.
"I’ll tough it out,” Matt said.
"When did you last go planet-side?” Joyce asked.
"Doesn’t matter.”
Joyce looked doubtful. "There’s going to be a lot of open sky.”
"I can handle it,” Matt said firmly. He hadn’t been on a sucking gravity lump for—well, for more than a decade. He’d have problems, but he’d adapt. Eventually.
"We’re riding down on a rock. Have you been medically cleared?”
"Of course.” Matt’s heart sank, but how else did he figure they’d get to Alexandria proper with minimal delay?
Edones and Joyce exchanged a glance. Edones shrugged and said, "Fine. You get to take care of him.”
The words were directed to Joyce, not Matt. Joyce gave Matt a hard look, causing the man’s face to flame up again. Now I’m a babysitting job?
Matt had previously ridden a reusable reentry vehicle, fondly called a "rock,” but it wasn’t his favorite way to get planet-side. He stoically followed Edones and Joyce through preflight briefings and signed all his waivers. Afterward, he paid careful attention to the fit of the equipment he was renting: helmet, mouth-guard, pads, g-suit, ear protection, and gloves.
He didn’t panic until the three of them started climbing into the cramped vehicle.
"Where’s the pilot?” He looked wildly around. At some point, a rock became aerodynamic and entered planetary air traffic; hence, the nondestructive landing that made them reusable.
Edones turned to look at him. Joyce rolled his eyes.
"I’ll be piloting,” Edones said. "Any problem with that?”
Yeah, lots of problems. Matt wanted to demand to see Edones’s license, last qualification date, aero and glider scores, but instead he quietly said, "No.” Subdued, he climbed in behind them and webbed into the seat. The egg-shaped interior of the rock held four people; couldn’t they have hired a commercial aeropilot?
Matt tried to quell his quivering stomach. Almost anyone could get an aeropilot license, he reminded himself. But his crèche-begotten instincts said that moving through space was safer than moving through atmosphere. Air tore a vehicle up and there were so many things to slam into, namely the surface. There were also all sorts of orbital objects about Hellas Prime and tons of air traffic—
He was building his worry into panic. He’d soon be hyperventilating if he didn’t stop this. He opened his eyes to see Joyce watching him with a stern expression, which sobered him.
"Besides, these things practically fly themselves,” Edones said cheerfully, looking over the instrumentation. "Let’s see. Where’s that autopilot switch?”
Matt gulped, but when Joyce gave a gruff bark of laughter, he stiffened. They were having fun at his expense. Matt felt his face flush with anger, but that was better than fear. He was going to deal with his contrary instincts as rationally as he could.
When the time came to disconnect from Alexandria Port, Edones became all cold efficiency, much to Matt’s relief. The professional discourse that helped the rock fire its small thrusters and head it into safe ballistic reentry was almost soothing. It didn’t seem as though there’d be any problems until it came time to deploy glide surfaces and dodge the ground, which he’d white-knuckle his way through, like before.
He checked his webbing, put in his mouth-guard, let his gloves and boots strap in, and closed his eyes, if only to avoid looking out the front windows. Why did aerodynamic vehicles have to have windows? They were distractions and radiation hazards. N-space-capable ships couldn’t have them and they got along fine with instrumentation. However, when the shaking and g-forces intensified, he snapped his eyes open.
"Alexandria Control, this is RRV-9236. First attempt to deploy G-S.” Edones’s voice strained against the forces.
"Acknowledged, RRV-9236.”
The voices were tiny and metallic because the speakers in the helmet were cheap and they couldn’t connect to his implanted ear bug. Matt’s fingers clutched his handholds. Deploying the glide surfaces was the riskiest point in this flight. A small double-finned tail had to pop up and fins would have to extend from the sides, without getting ripped off or damaged. This was where one had to have
faith in the engineers and maintainers, but just to be safe, Matt prayed to St. Darius. There are twenty to thirty successful rockfalls a month to Alexandria—please, please let us be one of them.
Every year or so there was also a failure, and that’s why their ballistic trajectory had them going straight into the New Agean. It was also why he had to sign waivers: Yes, I know I’m stupid to strap into a rock and aim myself at a planet surface, but I accept the risks because of the need for expediency and I agree to release . . . blah, blah, and more legal blah. If the glide surfaces couldn’t deploy, then they’d have to hope that the rock didn’t explode and the emergency chute deployed correctly. If so, they might survive smacking into the ocean.
Net-think said it was safer to fall by rock than fly on an airliner, but that was based upon twisted statistics. Since far fewer people were carried in rocks, Matt knew that rocks weren’t safer on a per-person basis. But then he didn’t like to travel by airliner either.
The RRV jerked and Matt’s helmet slammed into the sloping side. The surface, as seen through the front windows, twirled as Edones played with the instrumentation.
"Alexandria Control, this is RRV-9236. G-S deployed. We have aero.”
"Acknowledged, RRV-9236.”
They’d passed the most difficult hurdle of their flight as Edones changed them slowly into a glider and headed toward the special runway for rocks in the southern hemisphere, right on the edge of Alexandria proper. Matt had to admit, privately, that Edones seemed to be a competent and mature aeropilot. The man followed his checklist steps precisely and exhibited a calm familiarity with the instruments.
Matt stretched surreptitiously and discovered sore muscles from fighting the turbulent ride. His fingers were tight and he tried to stretch them out. Glancing at Joyce, he realized the sergeant had fallen asleep. He’d slept through that?
Joyce woke up, however, as they came closer to landing. He and Edones looked out the windows and pointed out landmarks to each other while Matt closed his eyes and tried to relax. Then he had to keep his eyes open for the actual touchdown, as if being prepared would help him. Gripping his handholds, Matt was silent through the smooth landing and subsequent taxi and cable hookup. He tried to steel himself, because the worst was yet to come.
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