The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

"Bad John?" The voice sounded slightly more awake.

  "It's John. Can I see you?" He was trembling, afraid that someone might come walking along and see him in the corridor, afraid that he had made a terrible mistake coming back here, afraid that he wouldn't have the courage to leave.

  The curtain opened, and Julie stood before him in a thin bathrobe, her hair tousled, her eyes red with sleep. "You left," she said, squinting. "I hate it when men do that."

  He swallowed and nodded. "May I . . . come in?"

  He couldn't read her expression as she stepped aside and closed the door behind him. Then he realized that she was staring at the duffel bag in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked, puzzled. He nodded silently, unable to trust his voice. "Ah," she said and peered at him with those blazing eyes. He felt pinned, like a butterfly to a mount. "You were here last night, weren't you?" she asked suspiciously. He nodded again. "I wasn't imagining that, in some crazy dream?" He shook his head, trying to laugh to break the tension, but he couldn't; he was afraid of what might come out instead. His face felt frozen like a block of ice, unable to convey any expression.

  She nodded. "And it was . . . good. Right?" Her eyes and the corner of her mouth were twitching, as though trying to decide what it was she was feeling.

  He glanced longingly at her bunk, wishing he could climb back into it with her. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It was . . . good. Real good. But I've . . . just been ordered up to Triton Orbital. Today. I might be gone a while. I . . . oh moke, I wish I . . ."

  "Didn't have to go?" she asked.

  He nodded numbly. She was still trying to decide whether to laugh or to be sad or angry, he thought. He didn't know how to help her.

  Julie nodded to herself. "That's the usual line, isn't it? Usually, though, I don't drive men to pack their bags and leave the fucking planet. What about the survey run today? Who'd they give it to?"

  "I don't know. And it's not a planet, anyway, it's a moon," he said, cracking a smile.

  "Oh, excuse me—"

  "And Julie—it's not a line, and I don't usually . . . do this, either. I'm sorry about the survey run. But I'm more sorry about—well—you know." He felt his face burning.

  "No, I don't know." She peered at his blushing face and said in a hurt voice, "What aren't you saying?"

  "I'm sorry about us," he croaked.

  "Us," she echoed. She nodded, as though completing a mental readjustment. "Well, it's not as if we've known each other all that long, when you get right down to it. So we shouldn't have any expectations—right?"

  "No, but I—I really—" As he hesitated, she tugged her robe more snugly around her, which only made him want her all the more. "I really thought we might—I mean, I'd hoped we—"

  "Yeah," she murmured, shrugging. "Me too."

  /// John! ///

  His voice caught. He sighed and changed the subject. "Well, look, I—I really hope you—find something out there. On the plain, I mean. I hope it makes you famous. But I have to get . . . going, and . . ." He swallowed hard, then dropped his bag and opened his arms, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, she moved reluctantly into his embrace. She suddenly surrendered to whatever she was holding back and hugged herself to his chest. They were both trembling, and he squeezed her, as if that would somehow stop it.

  "Who are you leaving me for, really?" she whispered finally, looking up into his eyes.

  The lump in his throat grew larger. "An alien," he whispered back.

  She nodded, and hugged him again. "Figures. Why do men always do this to me?" He felt himself growing hard against her, and knew that she felt it, too.

  "What, leave you for aliens?" he croaked.

  "Yeah."

  Clearing his throat, he muttered, "I, uh—don't know how long I'll be there, I was just told to pack a bag. I don't even know—" he hesitated "—just exactly what I'm going to be doing there." Which wasn't exactly a lie.

  "How like a man," she said, with a hoarse laugh. "Couldn't you have appealed the assignment? Told them you had this hot new love affair?"

  "I wish," he said honestly. "But look—I'll—"

  "Write?"

  He chuckled, trying to break the spell of gloom. "Yeah, I'll write. Guaranteed. I'll send you word when I know—" he swallowed "—when I'll be back."

  "Okay, sure." She squinted, studying him. "You really had no idea, before this? You weren't just . . . holding off telling me? So you could have a little fling?"

  His face burned again as he shook his head. "I . . . knew there was a chance I'd be reassigned. But I didn't know when, and it . . . wasn't posted until today."

  She drew back from him, perhaps sensing the lie. "Does this have anything to do with our find?" she asked suspiciously.

  He shook his head vigorously. "No," he whispered. Not with your finding it, anyway.

  /// John, damn it—we have to go!

  The shuttle! ///

  He didn't answer the quarx. He didn't know what to say to Julie. He only knew that he had blown it totally now, and he wanted somehow to make amends with her before he left. "Julie, it's really true—"

  "I believe you," she sighed. "I guess maybe you should get going, huh?"

  "I—"

  "You're just making it harder, you know. I mean, it's not as if you're going away forever, right?"

  "R-right. Good . . . bye, Julie." He bent to pick up his bag, then dropped it and seized her in another hug before she could back away again. She was shaking as he held her. He felt her body, awkward against him, and her hair in his face. "I . . . really meant it . . . when I said I wished I didn't have to go," he said thickly. "I will send word."

  "Okay," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. She pulled her hand away and smiled. "Bye," she murmured.

  "Bye." He picked up his bag and fled from her room.

  *

  "Bandie, where are you off to?"

  He nearly cried. He was twenty feet from the airlock leading to the shuttle boarding tube. Turning, he saw Georgia Patwell. "New assignment," he called. "Up at Orbital."

  She looked puzzled. "Does Julie know this? And how about Cole Jackson? I thought he was expecting you—"

  "Georgia, I gotta run! I'll see you later!" Cringing, he turned and ran for the shuttle.

  "Bandie?" Her voice trailed off, and he sensed her bewilderment, and could imagine her shrugging and walking away as he entered the lock. He rested his forehead against the bulkhead and prayed that no one else would see him.

  /// You're almost there. ///

  /I'm not even close./

  /// I didn't think you were going to make it . . .

  from Julie's, I mean. ///

  /I'd rather not talk about Julie right now, if you don't mind./

  /// I'm sorry. I really am.

  Let's get on that shuttle. ///

  He nodded and hurried through the passenger tube to the waiting spacecraft.

  *

  Liftoff was abrupt, and momentarily jarring, until the shuttle settled into smooth acceleration into orbit around the moon. He got only the briefest glimpse of the ground complex, and tried but failed to identify the general location of the alien cavern, before the landscape turned out of sight past the edge of the window. He felt himself breathing a little hard under the .7 gee of acceleration, and realized how delinquent he had been in keeping up his exercise program.

  He was the only passenger on the shuttle, and was outnumbered by the crew. He recognized the male copilot by sight from his first arrival at Neptune orbit, but the pilot was a hard-eyed woman, unfamiliar to him. He avoided meeting their eyes; the last thing he wanted was a conversation. He stared out the window, as though he might never see the surface of Triton again, with its cratered plains of nitrogen and methane and its tiny plumes of carbon. He tried to imagine what this moon must have looked like twenty or thirty million years ago, or whenever it was that Charlie had ridden it into orbit around Neptune. He sensed that the thought stirred old, and painful, memories for the quarx.


  /// We have to plan our next move, ///

  Charlie said abruptly.

  /Okay./

  /// I've never stolen a ship before.

  I'm counting on our being able to alter flight orders

  to give us the diversion we need. ///

  Bandicut moved his head, trying unsuccessfully to catch more than a glimpse of Neptune, as the shuttle rolled in a course-change maneuver. /If you're looking to me for advice, you've come to the wrong place. I thought you knew what you were doing in the datanet last night./

  /// Well, I've isolated two ships

  that appear to have the energy capacity

  and life support that we need. ///

  /That's a good start./

  /// And I hope I've figured out

  how to rig the departure control . . . ///

  Bandicut sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. /You don't sound all that confident, partner. I thought you had this planned./

  /// I do.

  Just remember, when you steal the spacesuit—

  transfer the red stone to your outer pocket. ///

  Bandicut swallowed. /Now I'm stealing a spacesuit, too?/ He pressed his hand against his pocket, feeling the small stones. /Why don't I just pick a ship that's hooked up to a boarding tunnel?/

  /// You have to go outside, anyway,

  to throw that stone into the engine exhaust port. ///

  Bandicut took a breath. /Say that again?/

  /// I'll explain when we get there.

  Now, as soon as we dock,

  make a beeline for the closest neurojack input.

  Meanwhile, maybe you should rest up

  while you can. ///

  Eyes closed, Bandicut shook his head in bewilderment. It didn't matter how unreal this felt to him; he was sure it would become even stranger before it was all over.

  Chapter 26

  Triton Orbital

  HE GOT ONLY a momentary glimpse of the station, before a wall came up alongside, blocking the view. Docking took just a few minutes: some thumping and jostling, and a metallic clang, followed by a hiss of air. He unbuckled his seat belt and floated toward the baggage compartment, trying to get his zero-gee legs under him. /I should have brought some spacesickness pills,/ he thought, suddenly intensely aware of his stomach.

  /// If it's vestibular disorientation,

  I may be able to help

  with neural feedback signals. ///

  For an instant, he felt twice as dizzy and nearly threw up. As quickly as it came, the feeling cleared. /Okay, that's good,/ he gasped. /Don't do anything more./ He opened the compartment and gave his duffel bag a tug, then shoved its weightless mass ahead of him toward the exit hatch.

  He drifted down the mating tube into the station, grateful for the lack of passenger amenities, which meant there weren't a lot of people around asking embarrassing questions. Still, he had to ask directions to the nearest comm-center with neurojack inputs. If the loading officer who pointed the way thought his question odd, she didn't say anything; she merely looked puzzled by the frantic urgency that he was undoubtedly radiating. He sailed awkwardly into a booth, wrestling his bag in behind him. Closing the door, he paused to take a few deep breaths, realizing that he had let his adrenaline get away from him. Better to go slow than to create attention.

  It took only a few seconds to connect with the station datanet and locate the traffic schedules. Charlie showed him specs on two ships presently docked which he had identified as possibilities. One was named Orion, a large interplanetary transport. According to the listing, it was scheduled to depart in-system for Mars, twenty-three days from now. The other was a planetary surveyor, Neptune Explorer, which was scheduled to leave in four days on a much shorter run, a series of research orbits around Neptune proper, before returning several weeks later to Triton Orbital.

  /// Which one do you recommend we take? ///

  Bandicut blinked. /Is that a rhetorical question? I don't see how we can get either of them. But if you must dream, then I'd go for the big one. At least it's made for interplanetary flight./

  /// Hm.

  It may be less practical. ///

  /Charlie, the whole damn idea is impractical!/

  /// You know what I mean.

  The problem with Orion is that

  it's not fueled and provisioned yet.

  Also, it'd probably be

  harder to get away with. ///

  /May I point out that the other one isn't even designed for a long voyage? It probably doesn't have the necessary stores, and it certainly doesn't have the fuel range or power!/

  /// All that, I think, we can finesse.

  It's designed for a crew of six,

  and life support supplies are already on board.

  If they allowed a decent reserve,

  that should give us enough. ///

  Bandicut felt his eyebrow twitch. /What about propulsion?/

  /// The least of our problems.

  The red daughter-stone will convert

  the energy of your reaction-rocket

  into translational threading potential. ///

  His eyebrows twitched harder.

  /// Never mind—you'll see.

  But that's why we have to introduce the stone

  into the exhaust outlet.

  All we need is for your powerplant to provide

  a reliable source of high-temperature heat. ///

  /It can do that, all right,/ Bandicut answered numbly. /Listen, if you've already thought of everything, why bother to ask my opinion?/

  /// I'm sure I haven't thought

  of everything. ///

  /Oh. Well, have you planned how we're going to pull off the actual heist?/

  /// I think so, yes.

  Watch. ///

  A schematic appeared, displaying the movements of all spacecraft in the vicinity. The survey craft was highlighted, along with two tugs that had just finished guiding it from the fueling depot to a tether-stop near the station's departure dock, where a boarding tube would soon be attached. Several other vessels were in motion nearby—two shuttles undocking and a third, a supply ship, approaching from higher orbit. As Bandicut studied the array, wondering what Charlie had in mind, he noticed the stream of messages going out from Docking & Traffic Control. He felt a sudden rush of fear. Was Charlie proposing to . . . he wasn't thinking of interfering with the safe movement of local spacecraft traffic, was he?

  Bandicut began to protest, but he felt the quarx's reassurance. Okay, he thought. This must just be a demo simulation. Let it play out and we'll see what he's planning.

  The two local shuttles were moving in accordance with the instructions from DTC. One maneuvered outward, into a higher orbit, while the other dropped down away from the station toward Triton. On the far side of the station, the supply ship was approaching, coming from higher orbit toward dock, closing with the forward part of the station as it matched velocity. The supply ship and the outbound shuttle pilots could not possibly have seen each other through the station; it was the role of DTC to keep them separated. But Charlie was proposing to alter the control instructions. Bandicut felt his stomach turning, and it wasn't the weightlessness.

  /Charlie, you can't do that!/ he yelled, as the two vessels emerged from opposite sides of the station. He must have yelled just as the pilots of the two ships got their first clear view of each other. And at that moment he realized with a shock that this was no simulation.

  /// We need the distraction.

  I've calculated it to keep it gentle. ///

  /Gentle!/ Bandicut watched in horror as the two vessels maneuvered in an effort to avoid a collision. Emergency calls were already flashing out on the voice channels. But it was too late—the ships came together like pieces of driftwood in a glancing blow, clung for a few moments, then parted again—the smaller of the two spinning slowly. In the image, the collision was silent and schematic. But Bandicut could imagine the impact, the grinding of hull upon hull, the whistle of esc
aping air. /What have you done? CHARLIE, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!/

  The neurolink showed him: emergency telemetry, damage reports, voice commands overriding the flawed DTC datastream, tugs changing course and diverting to the aid of the stricken vessels. What about injuries?

  /// We're all set, ///

  Charlie barked.

  /// Get going and

  grab a spacesuit from the EVA dock. ///

  Bandicut exploded. /What do you mean, we're all set? Do you know what you've just done? You son of a bitch, you can't DO that to people! Charlie, you son of a bitch—/

  /// I wanted to run a sim on it first,

  but there was no time.

  We HAD to do it for real. ///

  /You bastard, you can't—/

  /// John, we NEED THAT SHIP!

  There's no time to discuss this— ///

  /No time—?/ he choked, running out of words. He felt sick. It was not just Charlie who had caused the collision; it was John Bandicut who was linked to the datanet. If they tracked the cause, which the system was probably doing right now, it would be John Bandicut who would be named, Bandicut who would be nailed. /Christ, Charlie!/ he whispered.

  /// John—DISCONNECT! ///

  Everything shifted, and he saw another schematic, the datanet searching backward for the source of the altered DTC commands. The lines of the search were leading toward this comm booth, despite Charlie's efforts to misdirect it. /Damn you!/ He broke the connection and yanked the headset off and stared, disbelieving, at the comm board, as though he expected it to erupt with lights and sirens.

  Charlie flashed an image in his head: directions from the comm booth to the Extravehicular Activity suit-up area.

  /// GO! ///

  He went, clutching his duffel bag to his chest as he pushed off from one wall after another, sailing down the intersecting corridors to the suit-up area. /I can't believe it, Charlie. I can't believe you did that!/ He was in despair as he found the EVA room.

  /// It was the only way.

  Now, listen—you need to grab a suit.

  Pretend you're part of the damage control team.

  And be ready to do what I say,

  without hesitation. ///

  /Why the hell should I—?/

  /// You're got to trust me.

  Please, John! ///