Survival Strategy

by Anders Raynor

  “I read the expert report on Multan’s shuttle accident and didn’t find anything suspicious. The report seems solid. When experts questioned the personnel of the Jamnagar in charge of shuttle maintenance, they swore they did all the checks. They were fanatically loyal to Multan. I doubt any of them could’ve botched the job or sabotaged the shuttle on purpose. But wait…”

  Kor typed again on his virtual keyboard, as if struck by an epiphany. “Yes, that’s it. One of the shuttle’s plasma injectors was changed just the day before the accident. The report states the injector came from the Hub, which is normal. That’s where spare parts for shuttles are usually produced and stored.”

  “You think someone sabotaged this injector on the Hub?” Talia asked.

  “Precisely. Only one way to find out what happened. Come, the investigation continues on the Hub.”

  They didn’t exchange a word during the trip to the ship. Kor was not the talkative type, and Talia had no desire to socialize with him. He obviously knew why she was shadowing him. While a shuttle was taking them to the Hub, she worked on her portable nanocomputer, catching up on paperwork.

  One case begged for her attention. Riley had asked her to look into the case of a young boy diagnosed with a rare and life-threatening genetic condition. His name was Li Chen. Talia had followed up on that request immediately and found out that the boy had been denied treatment due to DeCourt’s austerity measures. Furious, she’d confronted her colleague who’d made that decision. Exerting her authority as the CMO, she’d ordered him to treat the boy.

  Now she was receiving reports that Li Chen had been admitted to the hospital in Base Alpha. She called the pediatrician. “Dr. Rudra, Dr. Galen speaking. What’s Li Chen’s condition?”

  “The patient is stable,” the pediatrician replied quickly. “I’d be happy to send you the full report—”

  “That’s not why I’m calling,” Talia cut him short. “I thought you gave him the adrenergic stabilizers, as agreed. So why did he relapse?”

  “Forgive me, but we could synthesize only one dose. We don’t have the resources to produce enough adrenergic nanites to satisfy all our needs. As you know, we need enzymes—”

  “I know,” she interrupted Rudra again. “Our lab uses DeCourt’s algorithm to decide which medications must be synthesized in priority, and I’m telling you that children’s health takes absolute priority. No matter what the president says.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t want to lose my job…”

  “You won’t, doctor. I’ll talk to the lab and take care of the political fallout. Just treat the boy, okay?”

  She called the person in charge of the hospital lab. “I see on the last report that you produced and distributed fifty doses of adrenergic cocktails, but you told Dr. Rudra you didn’t have the means to prepare even one dose of adrenergic nanites to save a kid?”

  “Ma’am, we’re following the rules to the letter,” the head of the lab retorted, a middle-aged female with a screeching, nasal voice. “We have to deliver our quota of adrenergics to the administrators.”

  Talia sighed in frustration. She knew all too well that adrenergics were consumed by DeCourt and senior administrators not for medical reasons, but mainly to reduce stress.

  “I don’t care about that ridiculous algorithm,” Talia snapped. “We’re people, not machines. We turned into humans six years ago, but some of us still think like Taar’kuun. How many times do I have to repeat this—we don’t have castes in our society! We must provide the same standard of care to all our patients, irrespective of social status. Our rulers must serve the needs of their constituents, not the other way around. But I don’t want to make this about politics. This is about the welfare of our children.”

  “I understand, Ma’am, but the administrators—”

  “…will have to find another way to relieve stress. I’ll teach them meditation. Works very well. I’ll write a memo to them and explain why they’ll get their adrenergics only on prescription. If they’re not happy, I’ll take the heat. But Li Chen must receive his mediation ASAP. This is not up for debate.”

  Sitting next to Talia, Kor heard the conversation, but didn’t comment. However, something in his expression indicated he approved of Talia’s actions.

  DeCourt must not win this election, Talia thought again. Her resolve to stop him had never been stronger.

  28

  Traitor

  The Hub was as busy as usual. Kor led Talia to the workshop where shuttle components were assembled. His security clearance allowed him to inspect any part of the ship. The workshop greeted them with a dissonant symphony of noises: the whirring of mechanical arms, the buzzing of repair bots, and the hissing of plasma torches.

  Workers glanced at the newcomers, but didn’t stop their work. Taking an extra break was a luxury they probably couldn’t afford. The duration of shifts had been reduced from sixteen to twelve hours since the fleet arrived on Neo, but the worker’s life-balance was still poor. Talia thought that many of them were tempted to vote for DeCourt just because he promised to reduce shifts to ten hours.

  Kor went to the terminal, entered his credentials, and displayed the logs. “Interesting,” he muttered.

  Without any explanation, he strode to one of the technicians and said, “Mr. Mikhailov, I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Mikhailov was a tall, muscular male with a black beard. He switched off his laser drill and turned to Kor, his gaze not particularly amicable.

  “The log in the central database indicates you quality-checked the plasma injector that was installed on Israr Multan’s shuttle before it exploded,” Kor said. “However, the log in your local database tells me you weren’t at work on that day. Can you explain that discrepancy?”

  The technician’s face tensed. “I… I don’t recall. That was a long time ago.”

  “C’mon, you remember the day when Israr Multan’s shuttle exploded, right? It was all over the news. Everyone on the fleet remembers that day. What were you doing the day before?”

  Mikhailov’s think eyebrows formed an interrupted black line as he frowned. “Ahem. Yeah, I remember. I took a day off ‘cuz my wife was sick.”

  “So who checked the plasma injector that killed Israr Multan?” Kor pressed him.

  The technician’s face went pale. He set his drill on a table and shove his hands in the pockets of his coverall, probably to hide that they were shaking. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t kill anyone…”

  “I’m not implying that you killed Multan,” Kor said. “But you covered for the one who did, which makes you an accomplice. Four people died when Multan’s shuttle exploded. Four people, Mr. Mikhailov. Some of them had families and kids. Do you know the penalty for complicity in four counts of murder? It’s a least forty years on the prison ship without parole. If you make it to the trial, that is. When the Earthists learn that you had a hand in their leader’s assassination…”

  Mikhailov glanced back, and for an instant Talia thought he would bolt. “I didn’t know,” he said. “He just asked me to take a day off, that’s all. In exchange, he sent me some energy cells so I could buy a cake and a present for my kid’s birthday.”

  “I want a name,” Kor pressed him.

  Mikhailov shook his head. “I don’t know his name. We never met or even talked. It was all just texts.”

  “Fine, then forward the texts to me.”

  “I… I can’t. Deleted them.”

  “Then maybe I need to ask your wife,” Kor threatened. “Was she part of the conspiracy? Did she pretend to be sick on that day?”

  “Please, sir, she has nothing to do—”

  “I’ll throw you both in jail for obstruction of justice. Just for starters. Then I’ll charge you with criminal facilitation, and maybe complicity. Your son will grow up in an orphanage, Mr. Mikhailov. He’ll live in shame his entire life, ‘cuz his parents are criminals.”

  “Colonel,” Talia intervened. “Don’t you think you’re pushing thi
s too far?”

  He glared at her. “You’re here only as an observer, Dr. Galen. You do not have permission to speak when I interrogate a suspect.”

  “If Mr. Mikhailov here is a suspect, he has the right to a lawyer,” Talia pointed out, confronting bravely Kor’s glare.

  “Do you want me to find Multan’s killer or not?” he snapped. “I’ll do whatever it takes to solve this case. Yes, doctor—whatever it takes.” He turned to the technician again. “So, what will it be? You talk to me, or I’ll tell the Earthists you and your wife conspired to murder their leader. Then I’ll arrest you and put you in the same cell as a certain Mr. Takamori, bionic assassin fanatically devoted to the Earthist cause.”

  Mikhailov crumbled. His broad shoulders sagged, and Talia thought he would weep. He didn’t, but his voice trembled when he said, “I’ll give you his comm frequency. I’ll testify, do whatever you want. Just leave my wife and kid out of this.”

  “See?” Kor said almost cheerfully. Bending people to his will was how he got his kicks. “That wasn’t so hard. I’ll call security and tell them to put you in protective custody for now. For your own good. If the info you provide checks out, I’ll let you walk.”

  The technician nodded, his eyes downcast. Kor waited until security arrived, then left the workshop without another word. Talia followed him.

  When they boarded a shuttle bound to Base Alpha, Kor asked, “Are you satisfied now?”

  “Well, we still don’t know who sabotaged the injector,” Talia said with caution.

  “You mean you still suspect I was behind this. I can’t blame you. But give me a couple of hours, and I’ll bring you the killer on a silver platter. With the resources of the AIS at my disposal, I’ll find who did this.”

  You couldn’t find Sun Jin’s killer even with the resources of the AIS and the ASF combined. Talia didn’t say that out loud. The way Kor treated Mr. Mikhailov made her sick.

  When the shuttle landed, Talia and Kor went their own way. Despite feeling nauseous, she forced herself to have a meal at the hospital’s canteen. She needed to keep her energy level up.

  She ate her meal alone, trying not to think of the investigation or the political situation. She missed Adrian. She felt his absence like a void, a black hole in her soul. She had no way of knowing whether he was even alive. She imagined Ophelia missed him too, and promised herself to check on her as soon as she had a moment.

  A call interrupted her thoughts.

  “Doctor, how are you?” Cordova asked gleefully. “I hope it’s not inappropriate to ask you out for lunch?”

  Talia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Captain? Huh… Well, to be honest I’m very busy and I already had lunch, but… Can I help you?”

  “Dinner then?” Cordova insisted. “Sorry, I know it’s sudden, but I thought we could meet in an informal setting.”

  Under different circumstances, Talia would have felt flattered. Cordova was a charming and attractive male, even though he wasn’t her type. Yet she couldn’t ignore his invitation. Something strange was going on, and she needed to find out what it was. “Captain, I’m sure I can spare half an hour for you. Would you like to have coffee?”

  “Sure, I’d be delighted. There’s a cafeteria on the top level of the hospital, right? I’ll be there in five minutes. I promise I won’t take too much of your valuable time.”

  Talia took the elevator to the top floor. The cafeteria wasn’t big, and it was empty at that hour, as all personnel were at work. She felt guilty; she also had a lot on her plate. Angry messages from the administrators to whom she’d denied adrenergics were piling up in her inbox.

  Cordova arrived even faster than she’d expected, a broad smile lighting his handsome face. The fact that a man with his looks was still single invited interrogation.

  “Doctor!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms, as if they were old friends. “You look fantastic!”

  Talia still wore the elegant white coverall she’d put on that morning, before her visit to Winsley’s office. However, she doubted she looked that well. Sleep deprivation was probably showing on her face. She returned Cordova’s smile nevertheless.

  “What would you like?” He stepped to the coffee machine. “I’m buying, of course.”

  Talia’s cell comm beeped. The screen showed the call came from Kor, and he was using an ASF emergency frequency, not her usual direct number. “Excuse me for a second,” she said to Cordova. I must take this.”

  She was about to accept the call, and her finger was already on the green virtual button, when Cordova dashed to her and snatched the device. He moved too fast for a human. Talia had good reflexes, but she couldn’t contend with a bionic.

  “It would be a shame to blow such a pretty head off,” he hissed into her ear. “Follow me quietly, and maybe we can avoid that.”

  She felt the cold touch of his blaster against her neck.

  Kor’s croaking voice came from the cell comm, “Doctor, Agent S is Cordova. I found out he’s the one who sabotaged Multan’s shuttle. I also suspect he’s the one who killed Jin. Cordova is our spy. I discovered a connection between him and Takamori—they fought together on Vega during the human uprising. Doctor, can you hear me?”

  Cordova snapped in reply, “I hear you loud and clear, murderer. I’ve got your dear Dr. Galen. Time to pay for what you’ve done.”

  “What?” Kor seemed genuinely surprised.

  Cordova pushed Talia toward the cafeteria’s exit. She didn’t resist, as she knew that would be pointless. He led her to the emergency exit, then up the stairs to the roof.

  “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t care about her,” Cordova hissed. “She’s the only being in the universe who tried to help you. And I’m gonna take her away from you. Like you took my fiancée, the love of my life.”

  A Griffin dropship was waiting on the roof, its turbofans whirring. Its wings were half-deployed, like a bird of prey about to take off.

  “You’re totally insane,” Kor shouted. “What the fraggin’ hell are you talking about?”

  Cordova pushed Talia into the craft. The door slid closed, and the dropship lifted with a low growl. She couldn’t see anyone in the pilot seat and concluded the craft was on autopilot.

  “You don’t remember, Bloody Colonel? She was a medic, like Dr. Galen. She volunteered for a humanitarian mission to the planet Ophelia, and she never came back. For years I believed she was killed by the Biozi, but after the attack on Vega, when Winsley put me in charge of ASF intelligence, I discovered the truth in the secret archives. I discovered that she was shot by our own troops. You know whose name was on the execution order?”

  The dropship took off and sped toward Nean wilderness. Cordova was still pointing his gun at Talia’s neck.

  “Ah, yes, I remember,” Kor said. “That doctor. She received what she deserved. Sorry to break it to you, but your sweetheart was a traitor. She fraternized with the enemy, treated their soldiers while refusing to treat mine, and interfered with military operations. She probably provided intel to the cockroaches. Some of my good people died ‘cuz of her.”

  “That’s not what the report says,” Cordova retorted. “She blew the whistle on you, alerted her superiors to the atrocities you were committing. You had her shot for that.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Talia whispered. “But why did you betray the Alliance?”

  In Cordova’s eyes, she saw the same expression she’d seen in Kor’s. It wasn’t anger, it was rage. An animal, irrational rage.

  “Because mankind doesn’t deserve to exist,” he snapped. “We’re a hopeless case. A flawed race, a mistake of nature. Mankind must die.”

  29

  A drop of light

  The dropship carried Talia away from the base toward the unknown. She couldn’t see or hear anything indicating the ASF was trying to rescue her.

  “Killing Dr. Galen won’t change a thing,” Kor croaked through the comm channel. “We’ll track you and put you down like the rabid dog
you are.”

  “We?” Cordova laughed. “No one is gonna help you. I scrambled all ASF comms and infected their cyber-system with a virus. Fleet Security is also busy—I released Takamori, and they’ll spend hours trying to recapture him. And they will fail. AIS? You don’t have any agents in Base Alpha. They’re all deployed somewhere else.”

  “What do you want from me, Cordova?” Kor snapped.

  “Nothing. I want you to know that you failed. Dr. Galen, say farewell to the colonel.”

  “You’re making a mistake, captain,” Talia said. “Kor doesn’t care about me. I blew the whistle on him, like your fiancée did. If you kill me, you’ll do him a favor. But there’s someone else who cares about me the way you cared about your fiancée. Think about what my death will do to him.”

  “None of this matters,” Cordova said. “We’ll all die or be re-assimilated soon. Only then the suffering will end.”

  “Are you betraying the Alliance because you think humanity isn’t worthy of existence?” she asked. “Because of people like Kor? I don’t think so. You’re doing this because you’re weak. You can’t live with the pain, the feeling of loss. You want that pain to end at any cost. Sorrow clouds your judgment. But if you truly loved your fiancée, you would cherish the memory of her, not try to destroy your own species.”

  “Nice try. However, I’m not doing this only because of Kor and the death of my fiancée. Throughout the ages, human societies consistently failed to meet the ethical standards they set for themselves. Even now, when mankind has been given a second chance, human society is corrupt. Kor is just an example of this. He was tried and sentenced for war crimes, yet the president entrusted Fleet Security to him. Then he was relieved of duty for torturing and killing people, yet the president amnestied him and put him in charge of counterintelligence.”

  “Many people agree that our society is corrupt,” Talia pointed out. “But re-assimilation is not a solution. Some people are fighting to get rid of this corruption and build a society we could be proud of.”