by M. D. Cooper
Rutha said.
Isa had been about to add ‘can do this’, but she was swept into the jet stream, and her words were drowned out by Rutha’s excited holler.
They were moving so fast, things started to become blurry. The skaters on the outside of the rink seemed to be crawling along, and Isa began to lose track of where they were. The skating was little more than dashing around and around. It was scary but also thrilling. Like Rutha had said, it was a lot of fun.
Then came the crash.
It happened so fast, Isa barely had time to register what had happened. One of the medium-speed skaters, who was taking part in a formation, mistimed a switch-over. He arrived in his position a millisecond too late, and clipped the person who was vacating the spot. He hit just the wrong part of the other skater’s body—the elbow. Their rocket angle altered, the woman spun around, flailing. Her foot slipped. She went down and slid directly in the path of the fast skaters.
Isa and Rutha had no time to slow down, no time to react. Several people had already tripped on the downed skater and were literally flying across the rink. Isa and Rutha weren’t so lucky. The hit the pile of bodies that had begun to form, and went down hard. Very hard.
Isa’s protective suit cushioned her against the impact. Her rocket flares abruptly cut out. More skaters hit the pile, and Isa was slammed free of the jam and propelled across the rink into the medium speed lane.
The rink became chaotic as the accidents continued to spread. From her position—Isa judged it safest to remain right where she was until things calmed down—she saw some skaters stop and get out of the way, but most didn’t seem too fazed. They soon tripped and fell.
She became aware of the sound of laughing, and realized it was Rutha. She looked around and saw the red-suited woman spread-eagled on the ground, struggling to get up. Every time she tried, someone would collide with her and she would be thrown down again.
Isa got up and turned on her rocket flares, set to low, before slowly and gingerly navigating her way through the human wreckage. No one seemed seriously hurt; all the downed skaters were either moving or getting up, and Isa didn’t see any rescue personnel out on the rink. By the time she arrived at the stand, the worst of the danger seemed to be over, on the outer lanes at least. Most everyone had either stopped or been forcibly stopped by a body in their way.
At the burger stand, she unsealed her helmet and took it off, wiping strands of sticky hair from her face. A line had formed, and she joined the end of it. The skating and the ensuing accident had sparked her appetite. She debated whether she was going to have the Rocket Fuel Burger, which came with all the trimmings, or the Lean and Mean Burger, which was simply highly spiced steak.
“Hey,” Rutha said as she joined Isa in the line. “Didn’t I say this would be fun?”
“Fun?” she echoed. “Er, I guess so. Wasn’t that accident just a little dangerous?”
“Oh no,” Rutha said. “They’re pretty safe. I don’t think anyone’s ever done more than broken a collarbone while rocket skating. The pile-ups are part of the fun. If there isn’t one for a while, someone deliberately clips another skater.”
They’d reached the front of the line. They each bought burgers and carried the hot, steaming packages to the edge of the rink, where they could sit down and eat.
Isa asked Rutha about what she did and where she came from. It turned out her date was a pet technologist. She created pets to order for a living. When Isa asked her what kind of pets, she replied, “Whatever the client wants: size, number of legs, fur, skin or feathers, carnivorous or herbivore, land-dwelling or aquatic, I create the animal from a list of selections. Of course, it has to be able to live healthily. We have ethical standards to adhere to, but apart from that, it’s really the customer’s choice.”
“That’s fascinating. And have you created many pets here on Carthage?” Isa asked.
“I’m working on my fifty-third right now. This one’s a little tricky. The client wants an amphibian pet that’s also furry. Kinda hard. It wouldn’t be a problem if it were a mammal, but inserting genes for fur into amphibian genomes is surprisingly complicated. Though it’s easy to give an amphibian the ability to regenerate limbs, which is a bonus.”
“Is there a lot of demand?” Isa was trying to imagine a furry amphibian and having trouble.
“More demand than I can keep up with,” Rutha said. “Business is booming. Makes it hard to have a social life, so…”
Isa nodded and took a bite of her Lean and Mean burger, which had cooled down. “So you asked Murry to match you up with someone, like I did. It’s weird isn’t it? Millions of people are looking to start their new lives and settle down, yet it’s hard to meet someone.”
They talked on. It was a very general conversation, the usual topics, like where they were each from, what they thought of life on Carthage, what their plans were for the future. After the two women finished their burgers, Rutha suggested they go back out onto the rink. Isa wasn’t so sure. It was fun, but it felt like kind of an empty activity. The thrill and excitement came from speed and fake danger, which didn’t appeal to Isa. She preferred the hot springs on Athens, even though she hadn’t done much more than sit and listen to the Marines’ conversations.
On the other hand, it seemed rude to refuse Rutha’s suggestion. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to endure another session just to be polite. Rutha certainly seemed to be having fun.
She was just about to agree when Rutha said, “Well, would you look at that!”
She was pointing to the gas plumes on the horizon. The plumes shouldn’t have been visible because it was nighttime, but a patch of them was brightly lit. Military shuttles were speeding toward the area, and the flare from their engines was illuminating the streaming gaseous clouds.
“Wow,” Isa said. “I wonder what they’re doing? Maybe it’s an exercise.”
“At night?” said Rutha. “Near a civilian area? Seems a bit strange.”
“Yeah, it does,” she agreed.
They watched the shuttles in silence until they disappeared a couple of minutes later.
“Oh, well,” Rutha said. “I guess we’ll never know. Come on. Let’s get back out there. The rink’s filling up. There’s going to be another pile-up soon, I can tell.”
Reluctantly, Isa put on her helmet and followed Rutha out.
Her date seemed nice, and Isa could see why Murry had matched them. She was fascinated by Rutha’s line of work and she enjoyed the woman’s madcap sense of humor. But something wasn’t right. She knew she didn’t have a future with Rutha beyond that evening. After another round or two of speeding at crazy velocities and crashing into falling skaters, Isa would make an excuse, perhaps citing her long journey back to Landfall, and she would leave.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Rutha. She was a good person.
Her only problem was that she wasn’t Erin.
HART
STELLAR DATE: 12.07.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Thracian elevator site, Island of Cyprus
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
Erin watched the wreckage of the armored vehicle Hart had used to try to steal the picotech as it smoldered. He’d almost made it to the picotech module, but he would never have managed to steal it and get out alive. The traitor’s attempt had been madness.
“Wait here,” Major Usef said to Erin. He climbed the stairs out of
the basement.
She was annoyed. The major had no seniority over her, and she was wearing armor and armed. If she wanted to go out and take a look at what had happened to Hart, that was up to her. She followed the major up the stairs and out into the construction site.
The Marine officer was standing just outside the doorway. When he saw Erin arrive he put out a hand to hold her back.
In the shadowy corners of the site, Marines were emerging from cover. They began to converge on the wrecked vehicle, their weapons aimed at the smoking ruin. Major Usef also approached, leaving Erin behind. This time she hung back, realizing she would only be in the way. She had to let the men and women do their job.
It all seemed to be over, yet the weird feeling she’d had persisted. Back at the SATC, the security team leader, Cullen, had said that Hart was a professional. She’d been expecting a more effective attempt at the theft. Sacrificing his life, or trying to blow up the picotech and take out a hundred or so Marines, wouldn’t achieve his purpose.
She shifted her weapon as she tried to figure out the conundrum. The major and the other Marines were close to the vehicle now. There’d been no movement or sound from the wreck since the firing had stopped. The construction site lights lit it up, but from her admittedly poor vantage point, Erin couldn’t see any sign of Hart’s remains.
Her heart skipped a beat. What if…? What if he isn’t inside? Erin’s gaze flew to the picotech module.
It was gone.
She caught sight of movement. Quickly disappearing at the top of the patch of light above the module site was a pair of oddly large, metallic legs, moving swiftly upward.
Without even thinking about it, Erin aimed and fired. She hit one of the legs, but her shot had no effect. Then the legs were gone, disappeared into the darkness.
He and the other Marines had turned at the sound of Erin’s shot.
The major must have given an instruction, because suddenly, the construction site lights adjusted the direction of their beams to point upward into the night sky. The bulky humanoid figure could be seen, rising swiftly. But it wasn’t wearing an a-grav pack. It seemed to be partly a-grav pack itself. It was clutching the picotech module tightly.
A barrage of weapons fire lit up the night. Many hit their mark, searing and slicing into the automaton. Within a few seconds, one leg broke off at the knee and dropped to the ground, hitting it with a dull clank. The firing was nonstop. The other leg fell, this time breaking off at the hip. But still the metallic figure held onto the module and didn’t stop rising. It was moving out of the range of the lights, and more shots were going wild.
A light flared in the sky—a pinnace had launched. The automaton had seen it, too. A moment later, the figure altered course. Instead of heading straight up, it moved diagonally.
As the automaton disappeared out of the reach of the light beams, Erin calculated its direction. It was heading toward the gas plumes. Was it hoping to evade the pinnaces within the gaseous clouds? That would be a long shot, but a less certain defeat than it would have had on its straight upward course.
A heaviness settled over her. She’d failed at capturing Hart yet again, after Tanis had given her a second chance.
“Sir,” a Marine said. He was walking over toward Erin and the major, carrying the leg that had fallen from the automaton.
It was larger than any human leg Erin had ever seen. The Marine carried it awkwardly, due it its weight, and liquid was dripping from the severed end.
“Yes?” Major Usef answered.
Stars, Erin thought to herself as she realized what the man was about to say. The liquid dripping from the limb was bright red.
“This leg appears to be partly organic, sir,” said the Marine.
“Organic?” said Major Usef. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s got meat inside.”
Erin’s stomach churned.
Major Usef peered at the end of the leg. “Core, yes.” He turned and gave Erin a look before saying to the Marine, “Take it to the labs for DNA analysis.” When the man had left, he said to Erin, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If you’re thinking whether or not we might have found Nathan Hart, then the answer’s yes.”
ESCAPE
STELLAR DATE: 12.07.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Thracian elevator site, Island of Cyprus
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
What was left of Nathan Hart sailed desperately toward the gas plumes. He knew his attempt to escape the pinnaces was hopelessly futile, but he had to try. He was so close. He’d stolen the picotech right from under the noses of all the troops guarding it. The plan had worked so well.
If only that engineer hadn’t seen him at the last minute, he would have gotten away. He would be safely on his way to a hiding place to await the arrival of Myrrdan’s agent, while the stupid Marines scratched their bony skulls and wondered what had happened.
He mustn’t give up hope. All he had to do was to get to the gas plumes. Under their cover, the pursuing pinnaces wouldn’t find him. The device Myrrdan’s agent had planted in him would make him invisible to their scanners, and they would be relying on their visuals, and he would be hidden.
But the pinnaces were close, and the plumes looked so far away. In his night vision, they roiled and swirled, as if tantalizing him.
As what seemed might be the last seconds of his life ticked away, Nathan recalled the long a-grav climb to the Hercules Platform. He’d been forced to go up during daylight and so began his climb from some distance away over uninhabited land. He couldn't risk someone noticing his odd form flying upward into the sky.
Up and up he’d glided. His mechanized components had no problem with the increasing cold and lack of oxygen, but his remaining organic parts—what he dismally clung to as him—began to suffer as his altitude increased. The air became freezing, and though his blood seemed to have been supplemented with some kind of anti-freezing agent, it did not prevent his remaining nerves from sending pain signals to his brain.
Cold, they screamed. Torment. Leave this place. Leave here now.
But Nathan was forced to continue on. The landmass below him shrunk
beneath his ponderous feet. The sky grew paler, and then it began to turn a deeper blue as he flew nearer to space. Finally, even Nathan’s modified body couldn't cope with the lack of oxygen. He began to grow dizzy and faint. He opened the oxygen tank that he’d stolen, and held the mask to his face. His senses returned.
He had to be careful with his oxygen use. He had a limited amount, and it had to last him while he waited on the platform and during his descent. If he used it all up too soon, he would die. Perhaps he would float away into space until Carthage’s gravity drew him in, and he became a brilliant, burning shooting star. Or if he died during his descent, he might tumble gracelessly to the space elevator site, his remains shameful evidence of his defeat.
The theft also had to be timed precisely. After he’d sent the armored vehicle in as a distraction, he would have to wait, hovering high in the air, for the moment when all attention was diverted from the module, then swoop in at top speed to snatch it. If Nathan had still possessed his meat heart, it would have raced, but instead the pump that had replaced it beat steadily on. At that moment, he was grateful for the mechanical heart that kept his oxygen use to a minimum.
The wait on the platform had been tortuous. It dragged on and on, past the time the picotech should have been delivered to the site. Peering down through Carthage’s atmosphere, he knew he should be able to see the device carrying the leading edge of the nanotube strands rising, but he stared in vain. There had been some kind of delay.
Nathan had watched his oxygen gauge and waited. The icy temperatures of space bit deeply into his organic core. His mechanized systems only barely kept him alive. But worse than all the physical discomfort was the terrifying loneliness. Surrounded by the deep black of space, far distant from the jewel-like green and blue of Carthage, fading as night fell, the diamond glint of starlight, and the radioactive glare of Canaan Prime had been the only things to keep him company. Nathan’s solitude had been an aching chasm.
Then, finally, his augmented vision could make out a shuttle setting down near the construction site. The picotech fabricator had arrived, and the process of creating the nanotubes had begun. Though his oxygen was perilously low, Nathan was thankful for the turn of events because it had worked in his favor. It meant he would be acting under the cover of darkness.
