by J. L. Doty
“Who am I speaking with?” Thoring demanded.
“If I were going to give you that information,” York said patiently, “this call would have a very different flavor.”
Thoring nodded. His access rights were not sufficient to blank his picture. “Very well. What do you want?”
“I’m going to transmit the contents of a recording to you, and some other information. Are you ready to receive and record?”
“One moment.” Thoring leaned out of the view of his pickup, there were a few noises in the background, then he leaned back. “I’m ready.”
York pulled the card Palevi had given him out of a pocket, inserted it into his console and started transmitting it. He gave Thoring the whole thing, the recording of the meeting of the Admiralty Council, the out-takes from his staged court martial. Then, as an afterthought, he added a copy of the special situation map that showed the approaching Kinathin fleet.
“What is it you’ve sent me?” Thoring demanded.
“Look it over. It’s self-explanatory. I’d like you to broadcast it, but don’t waste any time getting to it. I’m going to begin distributing it rather widely. You’re the first, so you’ve got a real scoop on your hands. But if you delay, someone else’ll beat you to it.”
York cut the circuit.
He then addressed a copy of the card to every officer in Fleet, and transmitted it immediately, and again he made sure the origin of the transmission was anonymous.
Sab’ach’ahn stepped into his office. “They’re waiting for you, Captain.”
Bella Tzecharra looked at her screens with a deep sadness. She had served the Empire for so many years, served it faithfully, honorably, but she was at a loss now. She and the other officers of Third Fleet had been forced to betray Ballin and the crew of Cinesstar, and while she had obeyed her orders then, it had been hard to remain loyal. And then Abraxa had in turn betrayed her, and she’d barely escaped with her life, and her ship and her crew. Her fellow officers, the remnants of Third Fleet, no doubt felt the same. Their sense of outrage, of betrayal, united them and they could no longer serve the empire as they once had. But neither could they betray her by going renegade. They’d met long and hard, had argued heatedly, and had finally decided to appeal directly to the emperor.
There were few of them left, only twenty-three ships, several badly mauled, all with some damage. Those that could, a mere sixteen, had driven ahead of the approaching Kinathin fleet, down-transited well outside of heliopause at the edge of the Lunan system. But there was no emperor upon the throne to whom they could appeal, and with a major battle imminent, they’d decided to stand aside, to watch and wait.
Never before had she been faced with such indecision.
York began the briefing to his senior officers by playing the card for them, simultaneously broadcasting it to every station on ship—the meeting of the Admiralty Council, the out-takes from his trial. He then addressed the crew on allship. “I’m going to keep this simple. Our leaders betrayed us. At Sarasan our comrades did not die in battle, they were murdered, and our leaders have betrayed us again and again. And even now they intend to betray us one last time. Our purpose now is not noble, nor honorable, it is merely to escape. I don’t know what we’ll do after that—I’m not going to think about that now. I’m going to think only that I must do whatever is necessary to escape, and that I have the right to do that. I recommend you think the same. You’re a good crew, and you deserved better than this.”
He cut allship, turned to his officers. Certainly some of them were wondering why Tathit was present, leaning against a bulkhead in the back of the group, her complexion pale, her expression distant and detached. He ignored that, continued the briefing by giving them the entire situation, held back only that he had ring-zero access. When he finished he let them think on it for a moment, then he said, “Our biggest problem is the orbital weapons platforms and the weapons stations on the outer hull of Luna Prime, all controlled through Prime’s command center, and dependent upon her for target allocation and fire coordination. With surprise we can shoot our way out of the Yard easily, and there aren’t enough fighting ships near enough to stop us, but those weapons platforms can shoot the hell out of us before we get out of range. So we’re going to take Prime Central and disable her. To do that I’m assembling a small assault team, to be lead by myself and Sergeants Palevi and Yagell. Right now this ship is sealed up tight, since they think we’re still out there somewhere trying to get aboard her. Commander Sierka is going to leave, and we’ll leave with him, wearing AI uniforms, auspiciously as his escort.”
He looked at Tathit. “Corporal, you’re going to be Commander Sierka’s personal bodyguard.”
Suddenly Tathit’s expression focused sharply on York. She stood up straight and grinned, though York saw something in her eyes that made him shudder. “I’ll personally give you your instructions later.”
“Captain.” It was Yagell. “I’m familiar with the security around Prime Central, and the main checkpoint is a blast proof bulkhead that’s constantly sealed and power reinforced. We won’t be able to carry enough explosives to blow through her without being obvious.”
“I have a trick up my sleeve,” York said. “I can open the entrance to that last checkpoint. But as soon as they realize what’s happened they’ll manually override and shut it again. So when I open it you’ll have to be in place, and you’ll have only seconds to shoot your way inside and keep it open long enough for all of you to get in, then shut it, trash the place, shut everything down, and get back to this ship. However, when I use my little trick, that’ll alert Prime’s operating system to my presence, though not my location. So we have to have everything in place then. Jakobee.”
He turned his attention to the former first officer of the hunter-killer they’d rescued. “You’ll be in command of this ship while I’m gone, and if for some reason I don’t get back, then you’ll have to shoot your way out.”
He turned to Palevi. “Sergeant. Assemble the assault team down on Hangar Deck. Use your own discretion as to number, makeup and weaponry. And get Sierka down there. Make sure he looks unruffled.”
They filed out obediently, and only Jakobee and Palevi remained. When the rest were gone Jakobee spoke, “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. But you shouldn’t be leaving the ship. As CO you should command from the bridge, and let the rest of us do the doing.”
Jakobee was right. Palevi stood behind him, expressionless, saying nothing. York owed them some explanation. “I have something personal to take care of. And I won’t discuss it.” To Palevi he said, “I’ll meet you on Hangar Deck in a few minutes. Have Kalee come up here. Tell him to bring me an AI uniform that fits, and also his med kit.”
Once they were gone York started programming. Using ring-zero access he dug into Prime’s security network, set up a special scramble code no one on Prime could monitor. Next he set up high-level access rights for Palevi, under an alias. York had no identity card, but when Palevi used his, the computer would show him as having the highest level of clearance possible—with an AI flag. It was the kind of thing that would open up a lot of doors for them without any questions asked. He did the same for Yagell. The last thing he did was set up the program to open the last checkpoint at Prime Central. He keyed it to his vocal signature, and set it to activate on the words whore’s brat.
Kalee showed up with his AI uniform. While York was putting it on he made Kalee give him an injector loaded with a massive overdose of pain killer, quick, lethal, painless. He shoved it into a pocket and headed for Hangar Deck.
CHAPTER 40: PAYBACK TIME
Palevi and Yagell had ten marines waiting for him on Hangar Deck, all in AI uniforms. York pulled the two sergeants aside, told them about their identity cards. “You now have level-one security access, and you’re flagged as high priority AI. Act like AI assholes, and don’t let them scan anyone else’s card.”
“I’m impressed, Captain,” Yagell said.
“Don’t be,” York growled
at her. “You’re in charge of the squad going for Prime Central. Palevi, I need you to volunteer to help me on a personal matter.”
Palevi had stood there with his usual grin, but now it disappeared. “We going to help Miss Votak?” he asked.
“Ya,” York grumbled. “I know she’s navy, but for me this is no different than leaving a marine behind.”
Both Yagell and Palevi nodded. Palevi asked, “Are we gonna make it back, Cap’em? You and me?”
“Probably not.”
“I’m good with that, sir.”
“Thank you.” York keyed his implants. “McGeahn, get Jakobee, Notay and Hyer in circuit. You four, me, Palevi and Yagell.”
“Here, sir,” McGeahn acknowledged. Jakobee, Notay and Hyer were only a moment behind her.
“I’ve set up a special scramble code that no one can monitor. But it’s tied to Cinesstar’s marine frequency, so stay on that channel for all off-ship communications. Notay, Hyer, I want all actives in full combat kit, full combat armor, heavy assault weapons with the addition of nonlethal anti-personnel gas. Yagell, just as you reach the last checkpoint I’ll give the computer the command to execute whore’s brat. That’ll get that checkpoint open, and that’ll be the signal for all of us to move.
“Notay and Hyer, there’s only about forty AI out there, lightly armed, and no armor. When Yagell hits Prime Central, you and your people take the docks, then send a squad of fifty double-time to pull her and her people out. When they’re back, withdraw into Cinesstar and use her to shoot your way out of here.” York realized he was speaking as if he wouldn’t make it back.
“Don’t kill unless you have to, but if you have to, kill. Remember, when I give the computer the command to execute whore’s brat, we move. Is that clear?”
Each of them acknowledged his instructions in turn, but it was McGeahn who said, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Fuck that shit, McGeahn,” he growled at her, then cut the circuit.
Tathit showed up with Sierka, who moved with his usual arrogance. “What little plot are you hatching now, Ballin?” Sierka didn’t recognize Tathit, and clearly hadn’t looked in her eyes.
“Commander Sierka,” York said calmly, looking from Sierka to Tathit. “Let me introduce Corporal Larwa Tathit. We’re leaving the ship, and you’re going to be our excuse for doing so, and she’ll be your bodyguard.”
Sierka rolled his eyes and turned a bored look on Tathit. Recognition still didn’t come. But then Tathit grinned and carefully unfastened the top button of her tunic, slid one collar down past a shoulder, exposing one of the round, puckered burns.
Sierka gasped, looked from the burn to her face. His eyes widened, and finally he looked into her eyes. What he saw there forced him to take an involuntary step back, but one of Tathit’s comrades standing behind him prevented him from backing away from her.
“Ah!” York said. “I see you do know each other.”
“You can’t do this,” Sierka cried. “She’s not sane.”
“No,” York said. “She probably isn’t. And that’s what you should keep in mind. Right now she has orders not to harm you, and she’ll obey them. But if you don’t do what I say, when I say, how I say, then I’m going to give you to her.”
York looked at a couple of marines behind Sierka and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get him out of here.”
They hustled Sierka away quickly, leaving York alone with Tathit. “You know,” he said to her, “I’m using you. When it’s all done you may not get him.”
She shrugged. “You do what you gotta do, Cap’em. I never had no problem taking orders from you.” With that, she turned and joined her comrades.
With Sierka as their excuse, getting off the ship was actually quite simple. Apparently he had already proved such a nuisance the AI lieutenant in charge of the squad on the docks understood fully when Yagell silently rolled her eyes at him.
They entered a large causeway filled with commercial establishments. Those closest to the docks were primarily bars and whorehouses, while farther down the quality of the shops and clientele rose considerably. There, they split up, Palevi and York heading for the hospital sector, Yagell and the rest for Prime Central.
“You were right, sir,” the young AI lieutenant said. “He and a marine sergeant named Palevi, both wearing AI uniforms, just checked in at the main desk in hospital sector.”
“He swallowed the bait,” Juessik crowed. “I knew he’d come back for the Votak whore. Stay out of his way, and let him in to see her. I’ll be there shortly, and we’ll handle it then.”
“I can’t let you do it.”
Juessik turned slowly, knowing what to expect. Dulell stood there, holding a small grav gun.
“He’s an innocent man. They’re innocent people. All they want to do is escape. Let them go.”
Juessik shook his head scornfully. “No.”
“Then I’ll have to stop you.”
“You can’t.”
Dulell raised the gun higher. “I have this, though you probably think I won’t use it.”
“No, Arkan,” Juessik said. “I know you’ll use it. But I also know you, so I damaged the trigger. It won’t work.”
Dulell frowned, looked at the gun, looked again at Juessik, raised the gun higher and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Arkan, you’ve become quite tiresome,” Juessik said as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun of his own, and without hesitation shot Dulell in the chest.
Dulell staggered backward, fell to the floor, lay there gasping desperately. Juessik stood over him, finished him off with a bullet in the forehead.
York could not put aside the fear that someone would recognize him. His face had been plastered on the vids for days, so he was prepared to fend off any curiosity by acting the arrogant AI officer. But the public had seen a man with a chrome-steel eye, and a shell-burst pattern of scars radiating outward from the eye socket. Few people saw beyond the chrome-eye and the scars, and with those hidden by Kalee’s makeup, no one recognized him.
The AI uniforms and Palevi’s identity card helped. People tended to look away from an AI uniform, and the higher the rank, the greater the desire to be somewhere else. Even other AI grew cautious. AI with that kind of security clearance were probably high-level field operatives. No, it was best to ask no questions and stay out of their way.
A young nurse showed them into Maggie’s room. It was a Spartan room, classic hospital decor: a bed, a stand beside the bed, a chair in one corner with a small table beside it. Maggie sat in the chair, a blanket thrown over her lap. She was whole again, with arms and legs, probably clonal transplants, but still she was whole, and for just an instant York thought she might have recovered, she might be the old Maggie again. But then he saw her sallow complexion, her face expressionless, her eyes lifeless, her mouth open, her lips moving slightly, perhaps saying something—though nothing audible—or perhaps just trembling.
The nurse said, “She’s been like that since she regained consciousness. She’ll walk with us if one of us supports her and leads her around. But the rest of the time she just sits there in silence, though I’d swear she’s trying to say something sometimes.”
With the arrogance typical of AI York said, “Leave us.”
The nurse nodded silently and left.
“I’ll wait outside,” Palevi said.
York heard the door close quietly. He knelt on one knee in front of Maggie’s chair, took her hands in his. “Look what they’ve done to you, girl.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not they, it’s me. I did this to you, and to Frank and Paris and Olin and all the others. I knew there was something wrong with this whole setup, but I didn’t listen to my instincts.”
For a long moment he held her hands, looked into her eyes, and in them he saw what he hoped was some sort of distant recognition. He remembered the good times she and Frank and he had had. There weren’t many things in this universe he would have given his life for, but to see her and
Frank get away from it all, escape to someplace and go make babies—for that he would have given his life a hundred times over.
She was holding on to him now with a strong grip, but he managed to extract his right hand, and reaching into his pocket he retrieved the injector. He looked at it for a moment, then looked at her.
She knew what was in the tanks. She had seen them, just as he had seen them all those years ago, and he knew that troubled her now. They haunted you, awake and asleep they haunted you. He and the survivors of the Andor Vincent had seen them, and now she too had seen them, and like him they haunted her. She had escaped from the tanks briefly when she’d warned him of the assassin in the corridor. He was certain it had been her, not some hallucination dredged up from the depths of a warped psyche, though he would never admit as much to a psych-tech. In appearance she had been like the rest in the tanks, but they’d been screaming and tearing at themselves, struggling to escape the torment and pain.
All he had to do was press the muzzle of the injector against the side of her throat and pull the trigger. There would be a soft puff, she would feel only a slight sting, nothing really unpleasant, and in a few seconds it would all be over, a quick, painless, easy death. And she would be free of them, in much the same way most of the survivors of the Vincent had freed themselves.
He lifted the injector, but as he did so she lifted her hand and rested it carefully on his wrist, as if trying to help him, or trying to stop him, he couldn’t tell. He looked into her face and now he was certain he saw recognition there.
“Why,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.
He said, “Because I can’t leave you like this, Maggie.”
She ignored him, looked right through him. “Why?” she pleaded. “Why did they do it?”
“Do what?” he asked.
Still she ignored him. “Why did they have to take everything from us? They killed us all, Frankie and Paris and you and me, and now that we’re all dead even that’s not enough. They want everything. They want it all.” Suddenly her eyes did focus, though in them York saw nothing close to sanity. “You have to stop them, York. You must.”
