by Lee Bond
The super good news was that the hull of the ship was durable inside as well as outside; any explosion or similar detonation inside the walls could be contained, if things were done … properly. The appearance of the damage sustained could be made to seem more catastrophic than it really was, and if someone were to assist that destruction by preparing a specific path for it to follow, it would seem a thousand times worse.
“I think your records are incomplete.”
“Why’s that?” Garth asked blandly, typing equations into his proteus. So long as he kept the screen and the miniature keyboard away from Huey’s cameras, he’d be able to keep the AI in the dark until the last minute. For all the AI’s protestations, it was highly likely that the plan -which was gaining wings- would send Huey into fits regardless.
“Your medical records are missing, for starters.”
It’d been bound to happen sooner or later. Garth stopped and leaned back in his chair, cupping his head with his fingers interlaced at the neck. “How much do you know about where I came from before I joined Special Services?”
“Well…” Huey gave a mental shrug. “There are documents that were sealed and accessible only by Trinity personnel. It wasn’t difficult to defeat the security passwords, especially with me being rogue and all.”
Garth thought he heard a bit of braggadocio in Huey’s voice, but let it pass. “So you know I was found in a spaceship thirty thousand years older than the first recorded manned flight to Pluto.”
“I only know what the documents say, boss, and they do say that, yes.” Huey started loading the illegally obtained files onto the monitors for Garth. He was especially excited by the assumption that the ship was made from alloys or metals stronger than anything in use and by the possibility of a new form of energized fields that stopped time and made things invisible. “Is all of this true?”
The data was very precise and ordered, and completely lacking anything resembling bias. For all of his reprehensible actions, Kant Ingrams had compiled his report with a jeweler’s precision. Nowhere in the documents would you find mention of mental intimidation, threats of a physical nature, suggestion of intentional introduction of deadly biotoxins into the air. Garth knew. He’d looked. Years ago. Ingrams had covered his tracks well, but not well enough; one of the people he’d thusly treated was still alive and could carry a grudge. “If you read through the entire thing, then you know I have amnesia.”
“Yeah, a freakishly bizarre, inexplicable form of memory loss that keeps you from remembering even the simplest thing about home but didn’t prevent you from turning the science of gravity technology upside down or from hacking a supposedly impossible to hack AI, not once, but twice. Oh yeah, and it seems to be fading, boss.” Huey said exuberantly. “Lots of people’d miss it, even if they did have access to all of these effing files, but I got nothing but time on my hands, and I have to say it looks like you’re slowly coming to. Then, there’s the holorecordings of your ship. I compared them to The Box, and they’re really, really similar, so you’re not wrong about that, either.”
Garth held up a hand. “I think we’re getting sidetracked here. You already know why I’m on Hospitalis. I told you that from the start. You wanted to know about my missing medical records.”
“Well, yes, but …”
“There aren’t any.” Garth interrupted Huey again. “I was never wounded on the field seriously enough to require medical aid.”
Huey re-examined the video footage he’d already digested, this time paying particular attention to moments where Garth had fallen under hostile fire or had been in dangerous situations. “I haven’t looked at all the field recordings yet, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t badly hurt.”
“You can do all that later on. All you’ll find is that I’m not lying.”
“Okayyyy,” Huey said, willing to concede the point until he had an opportunity to do exactly that, “but it says here you left SpecSer with a classification of Heavy Elite. I don’t see any modification on you anywhere, and I’m pretty sure Trinity wouldn’t let you wander around the Universe if you were. Heavy Elite, boss. I had to look up what that meant, and it’s insane. I can’t believe Trinity lets that shit fly, even if it is for the ‘common good’. And you not only kept up with teammates like this Zurich monster, you outperformed them on a number of occasions. Tannhauser’s Gate, Shoemacher’s Grave, this place called Goren … I mean …
I’ve seen the detailed medical examinations Kant performed on you. I know his claims. A report with the Trinity government claims you and the others had underwent some kind of radical gene therapy in the 24th century that was probably a precursor to the battle augmentations in use today. He also said that, in his estimation, whatever genetic modifications you had weren’t anywhere near the efficacy of even level one body modification that some random dude can buy and do in his bathroom.
Limited, eyes-only reports from Services medical personnel indicate, at some point following your induction into SpecSer, you underwent some type of rapid physical adjustment. Because of your threats and, I’ve gotta admit, wildly hilarious pranks against them, they were never able to prove it, but they’re all on record as saying you were somehow managing to upgrade yourself.
From what I can tell on these tapes, your other team members, the heavy infantrymen especially, had serious work done. I mean, I’m not even counting those bugnut weirdoes walking around packing alien hardware or anything, man. The phrase ‘adaptive morphology’ pops up here and there, speculative add-ons to files throughout your career … the implications the doctors and other personnel seemed to be trying to make…”
“Make your point, Huey.”
“SpecSer doesn’t hand out Heavy Elite status or let someone who’s incapable of doing the job engage in Deep Strikes across the Cordon. You got both. You are stronger and faster than when you woke up, by a lot, and you don’t have any mods. Basically, I wanna know what the fuck you are.”
Garth made a mental note. When he was finished with Hospitalis and The Box, all copies of those battlefield recordings needed to get gone, even if he needed to break into max security SpecSer installations to make it happen. He’d never been particularly thrilled with the 24-7 recordings to begin with, but he’d never once been in a position to prevent them from being taken; even his solo missions –except Gorensworld, thank God, what a nightmare if anyone outside Trinity Itself knew what’d gone down there- had been recorded ‘to protect Trinity’s interests. It was a horrible breach of personal security, and, as was he seeing with Huey’s reaction, it did him absolutely no good every time someone got a gander.
One, two, even a dozen people might miss the fact that he’d never opted for the body modifications the other Special Services operatives took, but sooner or later someone would notice the same things. The only thing he had going for him was that the doctors on 9-Nova-12 would keep their mouths shut for the rest of their lives. And without opting in for Deep Strikes, he’d’ve never made enough money to begin paying Tynedale/Fujihara off in any serious way.
“First of all,” Garth said, “I didn’t lift the fucking thing. It only looks that way. I sort of … tipped it over. And your question about what I am? Fucked if I know.”
“How can you not know what you are?”
“Pretty sure I’m human, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He felt human, looked human, had dreams that human beings had, and for all intents and purposes, he came from a point in human history where the first meaningful interactions with alien races were still hundreds of years off. There was a possibility he was a clone, or an engineered being like Kant thought, but it didn’t diminish how he felt. He was a human dude. “I mean, I am human. I know it.”
“So what about these supposedly useless body modifications Kant Ingrams found evidence of, and you’re mystery strength?” Huey demanded. “What about them?”
“Only thing I can say is maybe his equipment wasn’t good enough to detect the subtleties of the work.” The
first time he’d done something that should’ve been impossible without heavy-duty body modification that was standard requirement for Special Services field duty he’d almost lost a leg by freaking out. But others had seen it happen, and had accepted it without reservation. No one in the field cared one way or the other how something was done, just so long as it got done. And out in the field all that mattered was that shit gone done quickly so they could then proceed to robbing the hell out of the place.
Later, when other … symptoms … of his inexplicable talents began manifesting, he’d been ‘volunteered’ for point man on every ground assault with a high danger index. In addition to stronger than normal strength and all the requisite modifiers that came with it, he had some kind of sixth sense when it came to danger; even the slightest subconscious hint of danger made it impossible to relax or think about anything other than discovering the source of his unease. During one of those earliest point missions, he’d hunted through an entire village to stop the tingle along his spine, eventually locating and disarming a bomb large enough to turn ten square miles of real estate into smoking glass and carbon ash.
Garth Nickels knew he was a human being, but he didn’t know what kind of human being.
“I mean, look…” He rubbed his face. “The most powerful scanners in the Universe missed the ship, right? It took a kilometer-drill bit slamming into it before anyone even knew the thing was there, so maybe it’s the same with me. Maybe Kant’s scanners were only good enough to recognize that work had been done, but not detailed enough to tell how much. Make sense? For all I know, I could have billions of mini-machines in my body, making me stronger, faster, all that. On missions, I’d get as strong as I’d need to be, and then, a few days after mission end, the strength would diminish.”
Huey reread Kant’s notes, the files pertaining to Tynedale/Fujihara’s initial scans of Pluto, the breakdowns and theories of the ship. The procedures used by T/F to plumb the depths of Pluto’s body were standard and had been in practice for hundreds of years, the machines demilitarized deep space scanners originally used to hunt for pirates very skilled at escaping detection. The graphs and reproductions of the inner planet were high-definition, and showed no sign of a ship anywhere. And yet there it had been, and here Garth was.
The AI cleared his ‘throat’. “All right, assuming this’s true, you have any idea what your upper limits are? I mean, pretending for the time being that the same level of technology that made your ship invisible and let fifteen people sleep unharmed through thirty thousand years went into your implants or augments or whatever they are, what do you think you can do if pushed?”
“Truthfully, I dunno.” The video footage Huey was talking about, where he’d picked up an armored car and turned it upside was the last time he’d ever done something like that, but he still felt the power of that moment coiled under his skin, waiting to be unleashed. “I don’t think I want to know, really.” Tannhauser’s Gate, Shoemacher’s Grave, a few others, all of them had been hairy, hairy pieces of work, each pulling him further and further along an invisible chain of enhancements… instinct howled that there was no upper limit, or at least no limit that would make any sense.
“All right. So you’re freakishly strong and thirty thousand years old and have never been seriously hurt or sick a day in your life.” Huey said, trying to lighten the mood he’d summoned with his prying. “What’ve you done for me lately?”
Garth stifled a laugh. He looked at the output his proteus was providing based on the first series of equations. He liked what he saw. He’d need Huey’s help to iron out some of the more complex portions of the plan, but he was certain it’d work. As long as Huey climbed on board. “I have a plan, but it’s going to take a few more tracks to put down. Before I tell you, you’ve gotta promise to listen with an open mind and understand that this is the kind of thing I used to do for a living…”
It’d taken a surprisingly small amount of coercion on Garth’s part to bring Huey aboard. Leaving Huey to crunch the numbers to work up a far more precise plan of attack gave Garth the opportunity to get on with the rest of his day; there was less than two hours left before he had to be at the weigh-in down at Central City.
Garth wasn’t looking forward to the show because of the expected media presence. He was going to be photographed about a zillion times, and he was undoubtedly expected to speak. His name and his face was going to be plastered all over the media channels, not just on Hospitalis, but throughout the entire system, and the goddamn press kits and collectibles the gameheads were going to buy would put his TV-Q at an unacceptable saturation rate. He’d taken great pains to ensure that only Trinity –who didn’t care at all- knew where he was. If Politoyov caught wind of what he was up to … well, Garth wouldn’t put it past the Old Man to send some Heavies this way ‘just to make sure everything and everyone stayed upright and not on fire’. If Politoyov was especially worried, he might make those visitors Elites, and that would be some crazy shit.
Jimmy pulled the cab up outside the port. When Garth climbed in, he pulled away quickly and headed off towards Central. “Sa, I did all of the things you wanted, but …”
“You feel uncomfortable.” Garth nodded understandingly, catching and holding Jimmy’s eye in the mirror. “I don’t blame you.”
“I mean, industrial strength adhesive tape, a hundred meters of black nylon rope, a thousand titanium climbing pitons? Four hundred meters of duronium wiring? What’s all this for?” Jimmy took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “You’re not asking me to do anything illegal, are you?”
“Not at all.” Garth replied casually. “You were outside the Hotel, you saw all the guys there. All of ‘em are competition.”
“I mean, if all you’re doing is buying stuff to sorta, you know, take some of those guys out of the running, that’s one thing, but I gotta tell you, sa, the person I bought this stuff from … I got some funny looks.”
“That’s because he was trying to figure out what in the world someone could use all of it for in connection with each other. Haven’t you ever gone into a grocery store and bought all the weird little items you forget to pick up on a regular trip? Like toothpaste and underwear and, oh, I dunno, a steak? Same look, I bet.”
Jimmy thought about that for a long while, driving moodily along the freeway. As a gamehead, he wanted to have more information than the next guy. He’d stooped to some pretty interesting lows in order to get the upper hand on betting. He didn’t know a person who wouldn’t. “You gonna kill some of those guys?”
Garth shrugged. “Would it bother you?”
The cabbie burst out laughing. “Not really, no.” He smiled, conscience eased. “I got that storage locker you wanted, too. Big enough for you to train in, just like you asked. I had to put my name on the lease, but you’re listed as a person who can go in and out, so if you’re gonna kill anybody, don’t do it there, okay? Blood and stuff costs extra. I put all the gear in there. Here’s the info.”
“Awesome.” Garth relaxed as the data entered his proteus. For a minute, he’d been certain Jimmy was going the other way on him. That would’ve been a shame.
“You really got your own spaceship.” Jimmy mused after a few minutes of silent driving.
“If you can call it that.” Garth shook his head unhappily. “It’s a hunk of junk, and the AI is going crazy.”
“You got AI on that thing?” Jimmy couldn’t even imagine what it was like to own an AI. Some of the new shows on television were comedies set in Trinityspace, but he doubted a real artificial intelligence was as, well, as stupid as all that.
“Sure do.” Garth laughed, and leaned forward on the seat. “You wanna hear something funny? Your government is trying to drive it crazy so it commits suicide or some damned thing. Isn’t that a laugh?”
Jimmy did indeed think that was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. “Is it working?”
“I really think it is. Tried to fire the engines while I was inside.”
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“Get out!” Jimmy looked sidelong at Garth, who was the picture of deadly serious dismay. “What happened?”
“I managed to stop it in time, but I gotta tell you, Jimmy, I for sure think that son of a bitch is going to try and kill himself any day now.” Garth shook his head. “I’d hate to lose that ship, you know? I spent a lot of money on it. And I’m pretty sure the Chairwoman’d be pissed if the Space Port blew up.”
“Well sure.” Jimmy owned his cab, and he knew just how he’d feel if something happened to it. Losing the cab would be like losing a part of the family. And when his wife found out? He’d probably lose his life as well. “Anything you can do?”
“Not really. I mean, it’s an AI, right? Nothing can stop an AI from going crazy and trying to kill stuff, you know what I mean?” Garth snapped his fingers. “I know what I could do, though!”
“Yeah?”
“Look, my ship’s a big one. It’s crappy, sure, but it’s got some pretty big-ass engines that’d cause a lot of damage if it blows up. I managed to stop the fucking thing today, but only because I got there in time.”
“How big are these engines?” Jimmy asked, worried.
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. Big enough to push a ship through space. Big enough to maybe blow up part of the space port.”
