"No worries." MacAdams tapped him on the side of the helmet. "Most likely, we get in there and stroll straight to the loot. If anything gets ornery with us, follow our lead. Remember all the hours you've simmed. And trust your team to get you home safe."
"Got it," Webber said.
They entered the lock. As they waited for it to cycle, Gomes piped up: "Engines down. It's all yours, marines."
"Damn right," Taz said.
Past the shuttle's empty cargo bay, the cockpit was as tight as Webber's helmet. Taz settled in at the controls, MacAdams at copilot. In all likelihood, they wouldn't have to touch a thing. Webber wondered what it must have felt like back in the days when autopilot had been the exception rather than the rule.
The shuttle clunked and eased forward from the Fourth, thrusters pushing it up and away from the mother vessel. A zoomed-in screen showed the Cooper ship drifting at high speed but zero acceleration. Its tail burned wimpily, debris tumbling into the void. The shuttle's computer registered each piece, determined their course, and adjusted its own route accordingly. The shuttle reached safe distance and blasted forward, jamming Webber into his chair.
They looped over the expanding debris field and came at the crippled ship from above. It was prettier than most, a teardrop of smooth curves. The hull even appeared to sport windows—almost certainly fake. The shuttle neared, hosing down the few remaining embers, then clamped tight, jostling them about.
With physical contact made, Webber finally felt the full measure of what he was doing. He was scared—so scared that, although he was strapped down, he had to grip the arms of his chair to stop himself from trying to stand. But even more, he felt a sense of destiny, that his past was a pyramid and this moment was its peak.
A light on the main screen switched from red to green.
Taz punched her fist above her head. "Let's do this."
They were no longer accelerating, and as the Cooper vessel was a drone, it had no artificial gravity. The three of them unbuckled. MacAdams and Taz launched themselves toward the shuttle's hatch. Webber bunched his feet, admonished himself not to screw it up, and leapt after them, grabbing onto one of the rungs around the door.
MacAdams confirmed they were ready, then popped the hatch. The other ship hung not thirty feet beneath them, dark and still. With the skyscape of stars fixed behind it, it was easy to forget they were racing along at thousands of miles per minute.
MacAdams braced himself and fired a line toward the Cooper ship. Its magnetic tip struck the hull and held fast. He pushed off, secured to the line by a strap, and coasted across the gap, reaching the KO'd transport and locking his soles to the hull. He gestured.
Webber's turn. His heart had never beat harder. Nothing to do but to do it. He tied himself to the line, took three deep breaths, and pushed off.
Too fast. Coming at the hull like a meaty rocket. He clamped the hand brake on his strap and slowed with a jerk. He was afraid he'd lost too much, but he continued to slide forward. The ship loomed above/below him. He swung about and landed with a click. The world reoriented itself.
Taz zipped down, flipped over, and stuck. MacAdams consulted the device built into the forearm of his suit and led the way. Rather than attempting to enter the breach opened by the missile, he circumnavigated a quarter of the hull, stopped at a hatch, scanned it, planted a charge, and waved them back. The blast was hardly more than a puff of smoke. The hatch sprung open.
As usual, MacAdams was first inside. Webber followed into an airlock so minuscule that, if it hadn't already been open, would have required two cycles to pass the three of them through. MacAdams lobbed a thumb-sized black object past the lock and into the depths of the ships. The mini-drone scooted into the bay beyond.
Thirty seconds of exploration later, MacAdams gave a bulky thumbs up. "All clear."
Beyond the airlock, a shiny stripe marked a ferrous lane through the cargo hold. MacAdams walked along it into a room that would have felt large if not for the fact it was all but filled with modular cargo cans. The big man was halfway down it when a port in the far wall opened fire.
11
"You think," Rada said, "that the guy who everyone thinks is dead—including his dear, beloved sister, who he cherished above all else—isn't really dead."
"I don't think that," Simm said. "That would imply a level of confidence I'm nowhere near."
"But you think it's possible."
"It would patch a lot of the holes in the fabric. Like who's paying for Dinah's care?"
Rada laughed in disbelief. "I don't know, her mother's estate?"
"Before Jain died. Xixi said that Jain never gave enough. So during the years between when Pip died and now, who was paying for it?"
"His life insurance."
"I've been searching around. He did have life insurance, but the payment was nothing exceptional."
"There's probably a trust. They would have to make sure Dinah would still be cared for in case she outlived them."
"I might see that as further evidence that Pip had no intention of outliving her." Simm pressed his index fingers together and held them against his upper lip. "Regardless, I don't see records of any such thing."
She stared across the darkness of the ship, adjusting her weightless body within the straps. "Let's say your idea is worthy of exploration. How would you start?"
"Financial systems are going to be locked too tight to do much from the ship. I'd go to the Hive."
"Wrong," Rada said. "You'd ask Toman if he's okay with using the Hive to sneak into institutional financial data."
He stared at her. "We should probably do that instead."
He put his theory into a ten-minute-long message complete with sources and links. Just as he was ready to send it, Rada locked down the Needle.
"Are you crazy?" she said. "You're sending a message to Toman Benez. He doesn't have time to plow through ten minutes of your rambling nonsense. Summary first. If that catches his interest, then he can plow into the rest."
Simm bobbed his head, edited down a quick summary, and sent it on its way. They were currently working with about a six-minute lag (and closing), but there was no telling how long it might take Toman to get to the message. He replied within twenty.
"An exciting theory," his prerecorded response said. "If only because it's so outlandish. I suggest you make a cursory run at it. Before you use the Hive as the centerpiece of a criminal hacking spree, however, how about you try some legal methods first?"
In response, Simm sent, "Acknowledged. Do you have a suggestion for an alternate route of investigation?"
This time, Toman's response took fifteen minutes to come back. He opened with an eye-roll of epic proportions. "Oh, I don't know. Why don't you ask Little Pip's financial advisor?"
Rada gawked. "He had a financial advisor?"
"Yes, he had a financial advisor," Toman continued; the message was prerecorded, but he'd anticipated her response. "Why did a backwater wage-slave need a financial advisor? Well, how should I know? Isn't that what I hire you people to find out?" He bugged his eyes at the camera, then clucked his tongue. "Oh, interesting fact number two: Pip only hired said advisor six months before his death. Toman out!"
He signed off. He'd attached a bundle of files to his final response and Rada spent the next several minutes combing through it.
"Okay, back to his life insurance policy," she said. "It looks totally normal. Exactly what you'd expect from a guy like Pip."
Simm shrugged. "Perhaps that's because he didn't want to draw suspicion by taking out a massive policy right before his death. A thorough investigation would turn up his fraud. Dinah would get nothing."
"How much do you think that claim would last her? Five years? With a payoff that modest, why bother faking your death at all?"
"I couldn't possibly know how Pip's mind works."
She inserted her device in the arm of her chair and craned her neck to look him in the eye. "Simm, I know you pride yourself on your unass
ailable objectivity. But sometimes, you have an idea that you think is so great you start skipping past all the hints that you might be wrong."
"Whether or not that's true, do you have a better idea?"
Rada gritted her teeth. "No."
"So would you rather retire to the Hive and pass the case off to someone else? Or go back to Neucali and speak to Peregrine Lawson's financial advisor?"
She stared at her lap, removed her pad from the chair, and punched in a new course. The ship began the process of hooking back in the exact opposite direction. "When Toman sees our fuel bill, he's going to skin us alive."
~
"Mr. Tennymore, please." Rada smiled into her device.
On its screen, a young woman smiled back. "May I ask who is calling?"
"Rada Pence. He doesn't know me, but it's regarding one of his clients."
The woman's smile dimmed fractionally. "Hold, please."
The image switched to a gorgeous scene of dust spewing across a bloodily vivid Martian sunset.
Rada muted her device. "How much time do you need?"
Simm glanced up. "It's already in. His system's got virtually no security at all."
"Stick to the plan?"
"Don't see why not. Maybe he'll make it easy on us and tell us everything."
Two minutes later, the Martian sunset switched to a view of a moon-faced man smiling so warmly his eyes all but disappeared in the folds of his face.
"Swen Tennymore. How can I be of help?"
"It's regarding one of your clients," Rada said. "Peregrine Lawson?"
The man's smile began to fall. His eyes emerged like an unamused hazel sunrise. "You understand I can't release any information regarding clients. Past or present."
"I know Mr. Lawson was a client of yours. What I need to know is whether, after his accident, he remained a client."
His eyes were now completely visible. "I am not required to discuss such matters."
"This is regarding his sister Dinah," Rada said. "I'm just trying to make sure—"
"Anyone working toward Dinah's best interests would not need to speak to me." He smiled with as much politeness as he could muster. "Good afternoon."
He signed off.
Simm chuckled. "How much more suspicious can you be?"
Rada turned to find his eyes. "Is he wrong? He's not required to divulge anything. The weird thing would be if he was ready to spill his guts about Lawson."
"But as soon as you gave him the name, his whole affect changed."
"Since when were you so attuned to the emotions of regular people?"
Simm's face pinched. "I'm not an idiot. Just because I don't feel like a standard-issue person doesn't mean I don't understand these things you humans call 'feelings.'"
"That's not what I meant."
"Really? Because that's what you implied."
"I was trying to question your assessment of the situation," she said. "I stepped over the line. I'm sorry."
"Accepted," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Now do a little dance."
She scowled and flicked her fingers to the left, then to the right, twisting in her straps. "That's the best you get."
"Did you hear me complain?" His grin settled down. "What's the deal, though? Why are you giving me so much pushback on this? I thought you'd jump at the chance to keep going."
"I'd love nothing more," she said. "And that's why I've got to keep your enthusiasm in check."
"Oh. Well. Why didn't you say so?"
"I must have overestimated your intelligence."
Simm laughed. His device pinged. He picked it up and scrolled. "Told you. You bring up Lawson, and as soon as Tennymore clicks off, what does he do? Dives into Lawson's account. Makes sure it's still safe. Convinced I'm right yet?"
"I'd like to be," she smiled. "So Tennymore's handling the money. Where's the money coming from?"
His mirth did another disappearing act. "TransPhere. Security's going to be just a little tighter than Tennymore's. I don't suppose you've any military-grade cracking software?"
"Not on me. But we know someone who does."
~
Toman frowned at Simm's data, scrolling and scrolling. He reached the end, frowned even harder, then set down the device and stared at the flies dancing on the surface of the pond.
"TransPhere," he said at last. "You could work at TransPhere for thirty years without one good opportunity to dip into their data."
Simm shifted his feet, mud squelching beneath him. "I was sure we had a new trail. Are you saying it's impossible?"
"For mortals? Yes." Toman picked up his device and stood. "That's why I'm lending you the Lords of the True Realm."
"No. Fucking. Way!"
Rada examined Toman's face for hints of a joke. "The core team? Why?"
"Breathe, Simm," Toman said. "Breathe, buddy!" He turned to Rada. "As of this moment, I'm a believer. Something's rotten here. To break open the case, all you have to do is track that odor to Mr. Pip."
"And convince him to tell us what it means," Simm corrected.
Toman smiled like a crocodile. "Leave that to me. You will deliver your brief to the Lords at 0330. Do not be late."
He walked toward the dock, heading for the lighthouse/private office he kept on the island in the lake.
"Wow," Simm said. "The Lords of the True Realm. I might have to get drunk before I'm ready to hang out with them." His eyebrows shot up. "Sorry. Joking."
"If it helps, get shitfaced." Rada plucked a purple flower from a reed and flicked it at the water. "I've always told you it's fine if you want to drink around me."
"Maybe just one?" He hardened his face. "No. Too risky. If I said something foolish, I'd never forgive myself."
"Why? Don't tell me you want to join them."
"What would be wrong with that?"
"Nothing. They're total warriors. Virtual gods. I just thought you liked flying around in the Tine with me."
"Of course I do," he said. "Someday, though, we might want to settle down. If we do, there's nothing I'd want more than to apply to their ranks."
"Know what? I can see that." Rada reached for his hand. "Stick to the facts. Lay out what we need found. And everything will be fine."
She injected her voice with all the confidence she could dredge up. She checked the time on her device: 4:37 PM, Hive Standard. They had less than twelve hours to prepare.
It seemed like it would take less time than that, yet as with all such projects, it expanded to fill what was available. By the time they were finished, they had reams of reports, pie charts, graphs, video conversations, death certificates, highly incomplete financial records, and bullet-pointed summaries of key findings to date and the methods they hoped might prove Peregrine Lawson was still alive—or that he was, in fact, as dead as reported, and that someone else was paying Dinah's staggering bills.
The hour neared. Rada and Simm packed up their devices, got into a cart, and let it bear them to the other side of the mini-planet. As part of their agreement to live onsite at the Hive, where they could be in immediate contact with each other and Toman rather than on a minutes-long lag that would make multiple-party conversations impossible, the Lords of the True Realm had talked him into letting them reside in Hyrule Castle.
This was an actual, factual castle. A moat. Curtain walls. A keep. Each of its four corners bore a tower made not only of a different stone, but from a different world: cold gray basalt from the Moon; orange-red bricks of Martian clay; warm white limestone from Earth; and the shiny, silver-black pallasite of meteors. At the moment—the middle of the "night," with the dome ceiling devoid of artificial light—the drawbridge was raised.
Simm tipped back his head to take in the towers. "So cool."
"So impractical," Rada said.
"Who goes there?" a deep voice bellowed from above. It had a kooky accent. One that no longer existed, and perhaps never had: the media's stereotype of pre-plague, pre-industrial England. And since there were no silho
uettes on the rampart, this voice was in all likelihood being broadcast through a speaker.
Even so, she gazed up in its direction. "Rada Pence and Simmon Andrels."
"And what is your purpose?"
She frowned up at the merlons. "Didn't Toman tell you?"
"Our purpose," Simm said, balling his fists and holding his arms straight down his sides, "is to entreat the lords of this fortress—and of the virtual plane itself—to assist us in a quest of unknown portent."
The voice considered this. "And you claim you were sent by our friend and ally?"
"Sir Toman Benez," Rada affirmed. "Wealthier than a dragon. And twice as clever."
Beside her, Simm mimed applause.
"I see that this is so," the voice replied. "Then enter Hyrule, and step before the LOTR."
Metal clanked overhead. Rada flinched, but it was just the drawbridge lowering into place, revealing the courtyard beyond.
12
The port in the wall flashed, silent, the noise of its fire lost to the vacuum. MacAdams grunted into his radio, leaping backwards. Check that, he hadn't leapt: he had been propelled backwards by the impact of the shots hitting his chest.
Taz yelled out, grabbing for his arm as he spun past. She snagged him and pulled him behind the crates. Small rounds shredded into the wall behind them. MacAdams appeared to be unconscious. Little spheres of blood floated from the wounds in his chest. The lights on his wrist indicated he was alive but maybe wasn't too happy about it. His suit claimed it had sealed shut where possible and that his oxygen was fine.
"What do we do?" Webber yelled.
Taz didn't look up from her examination. "What do you mean, what do we do? He's been shot, numbnuts! We get him on the shuttle and back to the Fourth."
Webber gazed at the boxes of cargo. "What about the goods?"
"We're too close to the Lane. No way can we get MacAdams out of here, come back for the defenses, and still have time to load up the shuttle."
"Take him home," Webber said. "I'll take out the defenses."
Taz snorted. "Right, asshole. And what if something happens to you?"
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