by Mike Freeman
“Fine.”
“Do you feel guilty about what happened?”
“What happened when? With Marsac?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“But you do feel guilty about something?”
"Sure."
“Would it help you to talk about that?”
“Not really.”
Leveque reviewed the results of the standard assessment in her mind's eye.
“You show some unusual characteristics, John. For example, are you familiar with the distinction between hi-machs and lo-machs?”
“Yes.”
“Could you explain it to me?”
“Lo-mach’s are people who haven’t been fucked by a hi-mach yet.”
She waited.
He tried again.
“Hi-machs believe everyone is out for themselves. Since everyone will take advantage of you, why not take advantage of them first? If you don’t, you’re a loser and you deserve what you get.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I'm living proof.”
“Which, given your experience, is perhaps understandable. But you still display a high degree of conscientiousness and duty in your answers, John, which would normally be inversely correlated with your strongly Machiavellian world view.”
He nodded.
Leveque studied his face.
“So you believe that most people are out for themselves but you can't live that way, despite believing it is the most rational thing to do. That must place a tremendous strain on you, John, to feel a sense of duty to others whilst simultaneously believing that most people will use it to take advantage of you.”
Havoc could feel his teeth grinding together.
Leveque waited.
He said nothing.
“Tell me about your interpersonal relationships.”
He laughed joylessly.
“I don't have any. After Jemlevi, everyone hates me unless they need me. They hate me before they even meet me. I'm not complaining. It's just a fact, given what I did.”
She scanned through his results.
“What is your motivation when you avoid close relationships?”
“What I just said.”
She looked at him.
He sighed.
“My work is violent and people die. Also, I think it depends what you're trying to do. Are you trying to maximize happiness or minimize sadness?”
“You prefer sadness?”
“I prefer stability.”
“Could your work be a cause of dissatisfaction?”
He laughed.
“My disappointments are all from people, not from war.”
“What are your goals in life? What do you want to get out of living?”
“I want to kill someone.”
“What do you think the purpose of living is, in general?”
“There is no purpose.”
She watched him. He squeezed out some more.
“Enjoyment. Love. I don't know. Next question.”
His noticed his entire body was tense. His face had morphed into a grimace. His pathetic existence lay dissected on the operating table and it wasn't much to look at.
“If you close your eyes and let your thoughts drift, what do you see?”
“When I close my eyes, all I see are bodies.”
36.
After the interview, Havoc went back to his cabin. He was wound up and planned to use the sims to de-stress.
Stone stepped out to catch him in the small rec space between the crew cabins in their quad. Stone stared at him with an intense expression.
Havoc frowned.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing, but I've got to tell you something.”
Stone’s demeanor was deadly serious. Havoc thought maybe Stone had stumbled across something that would reveal the identity of Marsac's murderer.
“What is it?”
Stone's face was grim and determined. Havoc knew it was going to be big. Stone took a breath.
“I think I’m in love with Saskia Novosa.”
Havoc cracked up.
37.
The Intrepid hung in orbit, a lonely speck dwarfed by the scale of the enigmatic bronze planet beyond it. Plash was, in turn, an infinitesimal dust mote orbiting the luminous blue hypergiant Jötunn. The massive star, hovering at the limit of physical possibility, hurled out a fierce and unending stream of energy. Yamamoto had positioned the Intrepid in the shadow of the planet, using Plash as a giant parasol, since any exposure to Jötunn's searing glare would immediately damage their hull. The planet loomed over the Intrepid ringed by a brilliant halo.
Long heat sinks hung off the Intrepid like the brace warps of a pelagic trawler, streaming kilometers into space, suspended in the void. The Intrepid's cooling system circulated fluids along the spindle to flush heat to the sinks. The vacuum of space made heat difficult to get rid of – one of the best ways to mission kill a ship was to overload its ability to dissipate thermal energy.
All of the discs except disc six were spinning to provide the centripetal force required for artificial gravity. The modules on the discs, including the habitation units, had been rotated on their chains so their floors faced rimward. Discs one, two and five rotated clockwise and discs three and four rotated counter-clockwise to minimize the undesirable forces that would push the ship off course.
Disc six had not been spun because it provided an autonomous platform that was being prepared for launch into lower orbit. Once operational, the disc six platform would provide a launch site for the shuttles, thus allowing the Intrepid to stand off from Plash and maneuver more freely. The platform was also intended to provide an additional step for containment security for anything recovered from Plash, though all the protocols were under revision given the imminent arrival of the other ships.
In the meantime, the crew was in disc five preparing the two shuttles for their scientific forays. Havoc leaned back against the window, taking in the impressive view.
Stephanie walked toward him in a silver catsuit, her long hair spilling down over her shoulders and curling around her chest. The suit had an integrated harness and she wore a webbed waistcoat over it, currently hanging open. Stephanie’s suit might not stop a kinetic round, but on her it would halt an entire brigade in its tracks.
“You look good.”
“Thank you, John. You look like a killer robot from the future.”
“It's a Belgiarotta.”
“I love what he's done with the shoulders.”
Havoc rotated a micromissile rack.
“Actually, the shoulders are mine.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“How come my ex-fiancée knows designer names now?”
“Fashion is only sex and stitching, or so a girl once told me.”
She smiled in recognition.
“That girl knew what she was talking about.”
Havoc gestured toward the shuttles.
“I was a little surprised when you asked to come out.”
She looked at him coyly.
“And why was that, John?”
“I don't know.”
She pouted a little.
“Am I not meeting your expectations, John?”
He laughed.
“Come on now, I think we both know that I was the one who never met your expectations.”
“I only said you could have made more of yourself if you'd gone Flag instead of Strike.”
“And stayed in Lond.”
“I think you'll find our nation's capital is where most of the diplomatic jobs are. And when I say most, I mean all.”
“Distance relationships.”
“You could write a book.”
“It would be very short.”
They smiled at each other. Stephanie gestured behind her.
“Whittenhorn said the shuttle crews will be more constrained by roles later, so I thought I'd take my cha
nce now. I was a little disappointed to learn that I'm not on the shuttle with the...” – she made inverted comma signs with her fingers – “crazy person.”
He chuckled ruefully.
“Yeah, badged amber.”
Stephanie shook her head.
“And our whole medical team as well.”
“If you combined Chaucer's liveliness with Leveque's depression, you might get an emotionally balanced person.”
Stephanie laughed.
“True, I don't know how he does it. You, on the other hand...”
“I was too honest.”
“You were always too honest.”
“Some people see that as a positive.”
She spread her hands.
“I'm a diplomat.”
He laughed.
She batted her eyelids.
“We have our uses.”
He looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes.
“Abbott has negotiated exclusive access to surface sites for a limited time, in return for the Intrepid's privileged position of arriving first.”
“You mean, for us not mining the shit out of everything?”
“And a two hundred thousand kilometer exclusion zone from the Intrepid to the other capital ships.”
“Yamamoto estimates a seven percent probability of surviving an engagement with the Brilliance if it starts closer than five hundred thousand kilometers away.”
“Oh, you're such a cynic.”
He nearly choked.
“I'm a cynic.”
She laughed and stepped closer. He frowned as she put her hand on his arm.
“I wanted to say that I'm really glad you're here, John. For lots of reasons.”
She looked up at him.
His wheels spun like a fruit machine.
She watched his face intently.
“And at least you can watch my great diplomatic ass while I walk back to my shuttle.”
“Never without permission.”
She spun on her heel and walked away.
“Permission granted, Havoc.”
38.
Havoc watched Stephanie stroll back to her shuttle and stop next to Karch. It was a nice contrast, Stephanie in silver and Karch in her black vampire hunting costume. Together they looked quite a pair. Ekker came over and stood next to them. Havoc turned away.
Weaver walked through the hangar doors. To Havoc's disappointment she'd decided not to join the skin tight catsuit brigade. Instead she wore a close fitting charcoal flight suit that actually had pockets. Her face was studiously neutral as she stopped nearby. Given they were on the same shuttle, she didn't have much choice but to loiter close by.
He nodded acknowledgment.
“Weaver.”
She frowned at his combat suit.
“Are you expecting trouble?”
The motto of the space cadets sprung to mind.
“Be prepared and be honest.”
She shook her head.
“Huh. Honest.”
It irritated him.
“Oh, I'm in the company of a saint?”
“Compared to you, you mean?”
“I'm here aren't I? Or does my ass count for less?”
“I'm sure you are. Just as long as you get paid.”
“That's me. Snapping necks and cashing checks.”
“Now that is honesty.”
“Don't hate me for the fact you hit on me.”
Her face turned red.
“I hit on you?”
He eyed her coolly.
“Like a little steam train.”
She gasped in exasperation.
“Why you... you...”
Novosa appeared in a gray flight suit.
“We all ready to go?”
He raised an eyebrow at Weaver.
Weaver scowled.
“We're ready.”
Novosa looked at Havoc’s suit.
“You expecting trouble?”
“You never know.”
Novosa looked around.
“Where’s Bob?”
Havoc smiled.
“Pulling something from stores. He won’t be long.”
After Stone had declared his undying love for Novosa, he'd gone on to describe the kind of man Novosa would be looking for. In order to win her, Stone explained, a man would have to be tough, strong and resourceful. He would need to be a champion of the underdog, always willing to go the extra mile. In short, Stone had said, that man would have to display all the qualities of Dutch McDaniels on Star Quest. Havoc had never heard of Dutch McDaniels but Stone was adamant that Dutch always got the girl. Stone tapped his nose when he said it. Havoc had laughed and conceded to Stone's impenetrable logic.
While they waited for Stone, Shuttle Two launched with Karch, Hwan, Kemensky and Stephanie aboard. Shuttle Two was going to trace the path of the beam and inspect the gravitational anomaly. Not too close, of course; the attractive force of the anomaly was strong and its existence was completely counter to their understanding of physics. They'd all heard Fournier muttering about it as if he was trying to convince himself that what their instruments showed was real.
Stone's entrance caused quite a stir on the far side of the hangar deck. First into view was the dazzle of Stone’s polished dome as he bobbed along behind some storage crates. Stone swaggered around the corner wearing combat pants, a black waistcoat and a Mark 2 Midar Handcannon holstered from a thick belt worn so loosely that it dropped six inches on the weapon side. The Midar was a full handcannon and half a meter long. The result was the barrel of this ominous weapon swung barely off the floor. It would have scraped along the floor itself had Stone not also been wearing thick soled Trivilium Booster Boots. The pièce de résistance, however, was Stone’s reflective gold wraparound shades. If Havoc hadn't known what Dutch McDaniels wore before, he did now.
Stone came to a halt and spoke from beneath his striking eyewear.
“Hi.”
Havoc fought to keep his face straight.
“Hi.”
Stone seemed to have developed an affinity for rolling his Rs.
“You guys ready to rock and roll?”
Weaver looked bemused as she inspected Stone’s ridiculous outfit.
“What?”
Novosa stood in awed silence. Or at least that was how Stone was interpreting it, Havoc thought. He nodded.
“Sure thing, Skip.”
Stone nodded. More verbal tics followed.
“Great. Let's mount up and move out.”
Weaver eyed Stone’s shades suspiciously.
“Can you see in those?”
Stone gave a dismissive laugh as he turned straight toward the clear composite of the open door. Havoc steered Stone so he didn't hit the window then lifted him into the cabin so he wouldn't trip over his gun.
Novosa found her voice.
“That's a big gun, Bob.”
Havoc thought Novosa sounded more concerned than reassured. Stone waved a hand casually.
“Thanks.”
Havoc pointed as Stone advanced into the middle cabin.
“You gonna rack that handcannon, Skip?”
“Huh? Yeah, of course.”
“Want me to do it?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Havoc stepped into the cabin and took Stone's weapon.
> Sure.
> Great!
Novosa joined them in the cabin. She pointed at the three exploration suits locked against the wall.
“Are those what I think they are?”
Havoc nodded.
“They’re for you.”
He moved through into the cockpit. There were four seat positions in the front row with the center two set forward of the side seats. Havoc had removed the outer right seat so that he could lock in directly. He scraped forward and gestured to the center right seat, traditionally taken by the pilot.
“So, Skip, you
taking her out?”
Stone clambered round.
“Sure am.”
Novosa squeezed after Stone and sat down next to him. Perfect.
Havoc gestured for Weaver to go ahead. Weaver didn’t make any attempt to mask her disapproval as she wriggled past – Havoc’s suit was massive in the confined space.
“That’s not very practical, is it?”
Havoc glanced down at his suit.
“It depends what you’re trying to do.”
“And what are you trying to do?”
He watched her wriggling into her seat.
“Trying to keep your cute butt alive.”
She glared back at him.
“Don’t you talk about my butt.”
Havoc moved to the rear of the cockpit.
“Before we leave, does anyone have an objection to me hard disabling the shuttle’s remote control facility? Given our potential saboteur and what happened to Marsac?”
Weaver and Novosa looked at him warily. Havoc pointed at the cabinet.
“Just the remote control facility. And I'm asking your permission. Take a minute if you’d like.”
Stone twirled a hand above his head without turning.
“Sure, do it.”
The others thought about it and nodded.
Havoc opened the panel and removed the breaker. He held it out as he locked his suit into place behind and right of Stone.
“It's done.”
Weaver frowned at him.
“You really don't trust anyone, do you?”
Havoc tapped Stone’s seat.
“Ok, Skip.”
Stone flexed his hands over the instrumentation like a pianist about to unleash a concerto.
“Ok.”
Havoc waited.
There was a pause.
Novosa turned to Stone.
“Is everything ok, Bob?”
Stone was unflappable under his eyewear. He laughed.
“Sure.”
> I thought you wanted to.
> I don't know how to fly, Havoc!
> Aaahh.
Havoc thought for a moment.
> Ok, first you need to release. Third up, fourth left.
Stone moved his hand up over the dash. Havoc gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Stone moved his hand one button left. Havoc gave a tiny nod.
