Lyssa's Flight
Page 4
Cal pulled off his helmet and took a deep breath. The air was cold and metallic-tasting. “Hey,” he said. “Tim. Take off your helmet. The air is back on.”
The kid stopped trying to reach the strap and looked at Cal, then shook his head violently.
Cal smirked. “Whatever, kid. I wouldn’t trust me either.” He pulled himself back to the bench opposite Tim and hooked himself in place, drifting down to the seat. He watched Tim continue to reach for the strap, showing no sign of giving up.
“How old are you?” Cal asked.
“Ten.”
“You small for ten. Are you sick?”
“I’m not sick.”
“But you’ve spent your whole life on that ship, haven’t you? You ever been on a planet?”
“I’ve been to High Terra and the M1R.”
“Those aren’t planets. Those are rings. Planets have gravity. It’s like wearing a suit made of concrete. You’d know if you’d been on a planet.”
“I know what planets are. I know more about planets than you do.”
Cal sat back and hooked his thumbs in his harness.
Andy Sykes hadn’t tried to contact him yet. He was either tearing himself inside out at his son’s death and plotting revenge, or planning an attack. Brit Sykes had already been on the clinic so she would have a good idea of the defensive capabilities, although she hadn’t seen the platoon of mechs in storage outside the command deck. He could pull back the Weapon Born seeds currently in the attack drones and put them in the mechs. He could keep those drones attacking the Worry’s End to limit their options if they tried to leave the ship and have the onstation security control the mechs remotely. Humans weren’t as good as Seeds but they could get the job done. That would provide him with final defenses if the Sykeses did somehow breach the clinic.
His only real task was to hold out until reinforcements arrived. He couldn’t see the Sykes trying to destroy the station if they knew Tim was alive and on board, so a message now would buy him more time. It would also give him a chance to gauge Andy Sykes’ mental state.
Cal thought about what he might say to get under the captain’s skin.
Tim had given up trying to reach the strap and now floated, staring at him.
“What are you looking at?” Cal asked.
“You.”
“I suppose you’re feeling lost and confused right now. Isn’t that how kids feel in these situations?”
“I want my dog.”
Cal raised his eyebrows. “You have a dog?”
“He’s not bad luck.”
“I didn’t say he was bad luck. You should listen when people talk.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“Take your helmet off. I can barely hear you.”
The kid glowered at him.
“I guess you take after your mother,” Cal said.
“I hate my mom.”
“Don’t say that, kid. You’re lucky to have one.”
Tim grunted obstinately.
Cal checked the time to docking. They still had four minutes. “You know, I don’t like kids. I thought humanity had moved past dealing with little shits like you.”
“I’m not a little shit.”
“You’re acting like one.”
“You threw me out an airlock.”
“I just opened the airlock. And you survived, so call it a developmental experience.”
The kid glared at him and Cal gave him a smirk, enjoying the exchange more than he expected. It reminded him too much of the way miners had talked to each other when he was Tim’s age: gruff ribbing that often did end in someone getting thrown out an airlock.
“I didn’t think you were actually going to die, kid,” Cal said.
Tim’s gaze went to the floor, looking sad. “I saw my dad’s face. He thought I was going to die. I thought I was going to die.”
“Did you? What did you think about that?”
“I didn’t like it.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.”
Tim pressed his lips together in a hard line that made his whole face dark. His gaze rose to Cal’s face. “My dad’s going to kill you.”
Cal watched the kid’s face shift through trembling emotions, from what looked like terror to anger and determination.
Cal thought about the last person he’d shot— the crewman on Mortal Chance. A teenager with blond hair. He’d barely come into view and then he was gone, a problem solved. Cal hadn’t given the action a second thought until the other crewmember threw a fit about it. What was her name? He couldn’t remember.
Was Andy Sykes a killer? Cal hadn’t thought of him as anyone dangerous but the former TSF pilot had proved otherwise, first by taking on Riggs Zanda and his crew of Weapon Born, then by decimating Cal’s breaching squad. He’d also escaped half the Mars 1 Guard with a kid and a dog. That kind of luck was too dangerous to last.
“Not if I kill him first, kid.”
Tim released an awkward shriek and kicked toward Cal, arms wind-milling. The strap caught him and he jerked back against the wall, smacking his helmet and shoulder on the bulkhead. When he settled back down, chest trembling with sobs, Tim’s face was covered in tears.
Cal watched him, no longer smiling. He could appreciate the kid’s rage but wasn’t sure how to use it right now.
“You can’t wipe your snotty nose with that helmet on,” Cal said.
Tim slumped in the seat, helmet hanging low so Cal could no longer see his face.
Cal chuckled and crossed his arms, considering options and following-up moves. What Andy Sykes did next would decide much of his future tactics. Cal’s money was on some sort of plea for a trade.
Cal considered telling her to dock in the lower fleet section of the station but at this point the administrative commander would be expecting him. He didn’t want to be seen as avoiding the station rats.
Cal chewed his lip, watching Tim hang motionless against the security strap. The kid was throwing a fit. Cal could practically feel the rage radiating from the little body in the ill-fitting space suit. Cal had no doubt that, given the chance, Tim would shove the muzzle of a pulse pistol in his eye and pull the trigger until Cal’s head exploded. Cal could appreciate the feeling. That kind of anger in a kid could be put to use, shaped even.
Cal hadn’t yet had the chance to meet a Weapon Born Seed before they were ‘scanned’—as the researchers called the procedure—but this kid seemed like a perfect candidate to him.
CHAPTER FOUR
STELLAR DATE: 09.23.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Sunny Skies
REGION: Jovian L1 Hildas Asteroids, Jovian Combine, OuterSol
Though Fugia Wong barely stood at chest-level to Cara’s dad, the small woman seemed to tower above everyone on the command deck as she pointed an angry finger at each of them in turn. Cara couldn’t help thinking Fugia looked like a warrior even without weapons or armor.
Senator Walton and her bodyguard Harl Nines stood just behind Fugia Wong. Nines maintained a protective posture toward the senator, but had a bemused expression as he glanced at Wong, like she was surprising him for the hundredth time.
Fugia Wong’s voice vibrated with anger. “We have a mission, Captain Sykes. This is bigger than any of us. We can’t waste time going back to that clinic. We have an opening n
ow and we need to take it.”
Cara looked from her mom, who had crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, to her dad, whose fingers were digging into the armrests on his pilot’s chair like he was going to split the alloy.
“Are you being serious?” Andy said.
“She thinks she is,” her mom said.
Cara found herself watching her mom, fascinated by all the details that had grown fuzzy with time. With her raven-colored hair cut short and spiky, wearing light armor that resembled a beetle’s iridescent carapace, Cara had to admit her mom looked totally bad ass. She stood with one hip cocked to the side, making the heavy pistol hanging from her belt impossible to ignore. Her mom was a walking threat. Cara looked at her dad again, wondering how they had ever been in ‘love’.
Not that her dad looked weak—it was just that when she thought of feelings of safety, affection, hugs, dependability…. Those feelings came from her dad. Her mom might have meant safety if she had stuck around. But she hadn’t. She reminded Cara of a blade: sharp, precise, brittle, always waiting to serve its purpose, to cut. How had Brit ever wanted to be a mother?
“We’re getting Tim back,” her dad said. “If you want to commandeer one of the other Heartbridge ships, I won’t stop you.”
“You won’t stop me?” Fugia’s black eyebrows worked like she thought she was surrounded by idiots. “I’m not a pilot, Captain Sykes. I don’t have a pilot with me.”
“You’ve got a container full of sentient AI who can probably pilot anything you plug them into,” her dad said. “They’ll get you to Callisto. The situation has changed, Ms. Wong. You can adjust, or you can go your own way.”
“You agreed to transport us to Callisto,” Fugia said.
Her dad rubbed his head. “Honestly, I’m feeling a little foggy right now. I don’t know what I agreed to do. What I do know is that if you stand in my way, it’s not going to end well for you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Fugia asked.
Andy sighed and rubbed the side of face. “How close are we, Fran?” he asked.
“Forty minutes.”
“Where’s the Heartbridge shuttle with Tim?”
“It’s halfway there, they boosted hard.” Fran checked a few other screens on her display. “And we’ve got a docking request. Somebody named Kylan is asking permission to dock at the habitat ring.”
“That’s my shuttle,” Brit said.
“You have another two hundred Seeds?” Fugia asked.
Brit shrugged. “Something like that. I didn’t do a precise inventory.”
Lyssa’s voice came from overhead speakers, “There are two hundred forty-two Weapon Born Seeds aboard the shuttle, counting Kylan Carthage.”
“Who is that? Who are you?” Brit asked, looking about the room. “How many people are there on this ship?”
“Lyssa’s an AI,” Andy said. “She’s with me.”
“With you?” Brit asked.
Cara saw her father lock eyes with her mom and then after a moment Brit nodded. She wondered if her father had told her mom where Lyssa truly resided.
“Just so I’m clear, you have Katherine Carthage’s son on your shuttle,” her dad said after a moment.
Brit nodded.
“That’s a lot of Weapon Born,” Andy said. He looked at Fugia. “How many does Heartbridge have all together?”
Fugia shrugged. “We don’t know exactly. We believe the program has been in operation for ten years at least. They went into production not long after your raid on 8221. There are Weapon Born all throughout Sol.”
“So you’ve got a couple hundred more,” Andy said. “More reason for you to get on a ship and get out of here.”
“You’re forgetting about the AI in your head, Captain Sykes.”
“Are you coming with me, Lyssa?” Andy said.
Cara looked at the speaker in the ceiling as if it were Lyssa’s face.
“I’m coming,” the AI said. “I want to help Tim.”
Andy clapped his hands together. “There it is. Are you going to help us? I’m sure I can find another set of power armor for Mr. Nines there. He looks like he’s operated a mech or two in his life.” Her dad nodded toward the bodyguard. “What do you say?”
Nines stared at him, then glanced at May Walton. She nodded.
“I’m letting Brit’s shuttle dock,” Fran said, “since none of you seem to want to make a decision.”
“I thought we made that decision already?” Andy said.
Fran shot him an arch look. “You got distracted.”
Cara watched Fran enter the release codes in her console. A series of indicators flashed yellow then green as the shuttle docked successfully.
“I’m going to go meet him,” Cara’s mom said. “Cara, you coming with me?”
Cara looked at her dad for permission and he nodded. “Bring him up here,” he said. “I’d like to meet Kylan after all this time.”
“He’s a hoot,” Brit said, voice heavy with sarcasm. She waved for Cara to follow and walked around Harl Nines to go out the command deck door.
“Cara,” her dad called.
Cara glanced back. “Yes?”
“You did good at the airlock. You did the best you could.”
Cara stared at him, not sure what to say.
“We’re going to get Tim back.”
Cara swallowed, nodding. When she stood, Em immediately hopped up from where he had been lying with his chin on his paws. Cara felt irritated at first by the way the dog watched her, then ignored him and focused on following her mother, who was walking so fast she was already out of sight. The puppy sprinted behind her and tripped over the door, nearly rolling between Cara’s feet into the hallway.
“Oh, come on,” Cara said. She bent to pick him up and jogged after her mom.
Em licked Cara’s face as she hurried past the hydroponic garden and the day room.
“Mom!” Cara called. “Wait up.”
“Hurry up, Cara. I’m not walking that fast.”
Cara passed the burnt section of the bulkhead and readied herself for the bodies lying on the floor near the airlock, which she knew were still there.
When she rounded the corner to spot the airlock, she found her mom pulling a dead woman by the arms to lay her next to another of the dead mercenaries.
Brit straightened and shook out her arms. “We’re going to need to get them into the reclaimer before they stiffen up too much.”
“Rigor mortis,” Cara said. She set Em down and he stayed huddled next to her feet, sniffing the air suspiciously.
“That’s what it’s called,” Brit said. “You learn that from the database?”
“I saw other dead people on Cruithne,” Cara said.
Brit looked at her abruptly. She stepped away from the bodies on the floor and faced Cara, spreading her hands. “I guess you did,” she said. “I’d like to give you a hug.”
Cara nodded, but pointed at the corpses. “I’m not walking any closer to them, though.”
Brit gave her a half-smile and walked toward her, pulling Cara into a stiff hug. Cara pressed her cheek against the cool black armor, wishing she could feel her mother on the other side.
Behind them, the airlock hissed and the interior doors slid open. Cara gave her mom another squeeze, then turned her face toward the airlock.
Her mouth fell open as she saw Petral Dulan step into the corridor.
“Petral!” Cara shouted. She let go of her mom and ran toward the tall woman, now wearing a bulky blue shipsuit that seemed like the last thing Cara would have imagined Petral to choose for herself.
“Were you captured?” Cara asked, words running together. “How’d you get off the ring? Did the Guard get you? Are you all right?”
Petral just stared at her, not answering. Something about Petral seemed off. She slouched, arms hanging like dead weights.
As Cara got closer, she realized Petral’s face was slack, her eyes lacking the wit and quick intelligence that made her so intrigu
ing.
“I’m Kylan,” Petral said in a dull voice. “Petral isn’t—she isn’t here right now.”
Cara stopped short. “What?” She frowned. “I don’t understand. Is this a test? Are you acting?”
Petral shook her head. “I’m not acting. I’m Kylan.”
Cara took a step back. “What did you do to Petral? Where is she?”
“She’s here,” Kylan said, looking pained. He tapped the side of his head. “She can’t come out right now.”
Brit put her hand on Cara’s shoulder as she came up from behind. “You know Petral?” she asked.
“Yes!” Cara nearly shouted, frustration and sadness rising inside her. It didn’t make sense that Petral might be saved but not be herself. It seemed like an extra cruelty. It was something an evil man like Cal Kraft would do. She still wasn’t sure that Petral wasn’t testing her somehow, a final check on her ability to become an Operator, to recognize a situation and exploit it, just like Petral had told her to do back on the Ring.
Cara looked closer at Petral-Kylan, trying to recognize all the differences between the woman in front of her and the woman she remembered. She was amazed at how different Petral looked, almost like she had been deflated and then half-filled again. Petral was truly Kylan now, a slouching boy.
“Let her out,” Cara said.
Kylan shrugged. “I can’t,” he said.
Cara surged forward, shoving Kylan against the airlock. “Let her out! You can do it. Lyssa didn’t take over my dad. She’s in there with him. You can let Petral out.”
“It’s not like that,” Kylan said, clutching his ribs. “It’s not the same. It can only be one or the other of us. If I let her out…she’ll…. I don’t know what she’ll do.”
“You’re worried about yourself, not her,” Cara said. “You’re in her body. It doesn’t matter what happens to you.”
He looked at her miserably. “I didn’t ask for this. I deserve to live, too.”
“Cara,” Brit said. “Give him space. He did help me when I was on the clinic.”
“He was probably helping himself. He wanted to get away from Cal Kraft as much as anyone would.”