by M. D. Cooper
“We weren’t expecting you, Xander,” Andy said. “You should have sent a message ahead of your ship.”
“I understand that, and I do apologize. Sometimes time seems interminable and then other times it blinks by. Something like that just happened to me and a number of decisions had to take place rather rapidly. I prefer it when time moves quickly. It makes life so much more interesting.”
“Who do you have with you?” Andy asked.
“You met them during our dinner. My friends Jeremiah and Kindel.”
“Are they like you?”
“Like me?” Xander said, furrowing his brow. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Andy couldn’t help feeling that everything the AI said was an attempt to trick him. “Are they AIs?”
Xander put his hand on his chest. “Oh, I don’t define people. I let them do that for themselves. Are you still human? What is a hybrid, really? Didn’t they call what you are a cyborg in the distant past? Or are you the opposite of a cyborg, an AI with a meat body?” He waived a thin hand. “I enjoy these kind of philosophical debates immensely, but they’re better pursued during periods when time is moving slowly again.”
The image glitched and Xander’s voice dropped an octave. “Now is not the time for philosophy, Captain Sykes. Will you give me permission to come aboard?”
“We’re going deep into OuterSol and I don’t know you,” Andy said. “Can I trust you to act in good faith and help keep this ship and crew safe?”
Without meaning to, Andy felt as if he were reciting some ancient mariner’s oath.
The holodisplay made it difficult to see the fine changes in Xander’s face. The edge of his mouth twitched but it might have been a shift in the transmission. The AI’s expression grew somber.
“No one has ever asked me what you ask, Captain Sykes. A request among equals, an expression of respect and an offer of trust. You honor me deeply.”
Despite the serious tone of Xander’s voice, Andy couldn’t help sensing theatrics in the response.
“Of course, I will protect your ship, your crew and your family. I promise you that. For now, and always.”
Andy frowned at the mention of family.
Before he could respond, Xander leaned away from the window of the holodisplay and reached for various controls around him. “I have sensor locks on your defense drones. I am within attack range now. If I act in bad faith, please do whatever you need to.”
“That’s up to Lyssa,” Andy said. “I was about to move back to Sunny Skies. You can dock there on the habitat ring. We’ll spend most of the trip on Sunny Skies.”
Andy said.
Andy laughed ruefully.
Andy turned his attention to the holodisplay window. “Do you have the docking instructions?”
“I have them, Captain Sykes. Thank you.”
Checking the nav control where Xander’s shuttle was now connected to the Resolute Charity by an arcing orbital path, Andy synced their relative velocities in the astrogation computer, which would warn him if the other ship failed to slow and became a hazard.
“We’ll see you in about two hours,” Andy said.
“Until then,” Xander answered, and closed the connection.
CHAPTER SIX
STELLAR DATE: 10.05.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: District FQ, Ring 9, Callisto Orbital Habitat (Cho)
REGION: Europa, Jovian Combine, OuterSol
While Brit studied the front of the night club—which sported human security for show, and a host of other sensors built into the glass entrance—she kept running her conversation with Andy in her head.
She had to remember they were strong. Cara was strong. Even Tim had come back from his ordeal on Clinic 46. She had always felt they would overcome any obstacles. At some point, she had convinced herself they were better off without her. The thought had given her comfort until they were abruptly back in her life and she could see how much her absence had hurt.
Unlike Andy, who would let a thought run circles in his mind until he was a mess, Brit closed the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. Still, the memory of his voice echoed in her mind.
She had found the medical kiosk, a filthy thing with dried blood on its interface. There was no direct way to tell that Kraft had used it, which left her frustrated as she navigated the packed corridor to Wandering Fury.
When she found the place, she pulled back to put the flow of people between her and the heavy standing out front. It was middle of the swing shift in a working district, so most people who would have patronized Wandering Fury were probably still on the clock. Brit watched a few people in cheap clothes walk through the front door, nodding to the guard. There was no back entrance that she could see.
Well, Fugia, Brit told herself finally. Let’s put this token to the test.
Brit squared her shoulders and cut through the crowded corridor, walking directly toward the doorman.
“Hi, there,” she said, cutting him off before he could say anything. “My name is Agent Karen Sill. I have specialized authority from the JSF for anti-piracy investigation. What’s your name?”
The guard looked at her, his tough expression turning dumbfounded. “Charles,” he answered quickly.
“Well, Charles. My credentials are available if you want to check them. What I’m concerned about is the disruption I might cause your business if I walk directly through your front door.”
Charles glanced at the door, obviously worried about what she might find inside.
“I’m looking for a specific individual,” Brit said, leaning closer. “There’s no need to walk in there and bring attention to anything else. You understand what I’m saying?”
He took an involuntary step back, nodding. “I appreciate that. Look, it’s only me and the wait staff. The boss isn’t in yet. It’s still early. What if you just took a look at the surveillance feed?”
Brit gave him a thin smile. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”
“Sure. Just a second.”
Charles’ expression grew distant for a second and Brit received the access token. When she accepted, a recreation of the inside of the club appeared in her mind. The space was rectangular with a bar at the far end. A few tired-looking people gyrated to music near the bar, while others sat at a line of tables along one wall. A metal framework full of lights and holo-projectors hung over the dance floor, covering the space in flickering fireflies and virtual dancers. If there had been more people in the room, it might have looked whimsical rather than sad.
Brit’s pulse raced when she spotted Kraft at the farthest table from the door, head drooped over a tumbler. His right hand and wrist were wrapped in a temporary plas cast from the kiosk.
She glanced at Charles. “He’s in there. I’ll keep this as quiet as I can.”
Before the bouncer could finish saying “Wait,” Brit shot through the door. After walking through a short vestibule, she emerged in the dark club,
verifying that the scene matched the security feed. The bartender at the far end of the room looked up at her but Brit didn’t bother returning the smile. Her attention was on Cal Kraft.
When she reached his table, Brit pulled back the second chair and shoved the table so it pinned Kraft against the wall behind him. He gasped, ribs apparently injured as well, and looked up at her in surprise. Brit wedged her thigh against the table, locking him in place. He was wearing the same EV suit from the Resolute Charity, missing the gloves now. He was sweat-stained and greasy. His overall color was off, like he’d been bleeding but she couldn’t find any visible wounds.
“You didn’t run far enough,” she said.
Kraft grunted. He swallowed heavily, adjusting his abdomen against the edge of the table. “You don’t have to hold that thing in so tight,” he said. “I’m bleeding internally. I’m not going anywhere.”
He was pale under the low lights and his hands trembled slightly as he held them spread above his tumbler. Brit supposed he might be showing early symptoms of shock.
“You were just at an autodoc. That’s how I found you.”
He nodded painfully. “I figured that would happen, but I couldn’t take the pain any longer. You would think a company like Heartbridge could get its act together and put functioning medical systems in their escape pods.”
In pain, Kraft lost his arrogance. He looked tired, angry, and a little lost. Brit hung onto the image of him standing behind Tim in the imaging room, leering at them.
Still holding his hands where she could see them, he pointed at his tumbler. “You mind if I finish my whiskey? I’m in the middle of self-medicating.”
“You do anything else and I’ll put a hole in your shoulder.”
“Thank you.”
Kraft lowered his good trembling left hand to the tumbler and lifted the glass to his lips. He tossed the whiskey back and set the glass down heavily. He pressed his lips together and sighed. “That’s probably not going to help much. I think I’m done, Brit. I think this is the end of the line for me.”
Brit scowled, irritated by his use of her name. “You’re not done yet. We’re going to do some talking.”
He let his hands drop on the table. “What about? I’m cut off from Heartbridge systems. I’m broke. That’s the first thing I checked when I got here. They froze my corporate account. I sent a message, but so far, no response. Not even an acknowledgment.”
Brit put her hand on her pistol. She glanced at the bar, where the bartender appeared to be fastidiously ignoring them, while the two couples dancing hadn’t stopped lurching slowly to the music. She wanted a place with privacy where she would have the time and freedom to interrogate Kraft. He might not be lying about being cut off from his Heartbridge resources but that didn’t matter. He still had years of information on the company’s programs. If anything, she might need to protect him from a professional hit. Heartbridge might be sending people after him even now.
“How long ago did you send your message?”
“Two hours,” Kraft said, words slurring at the edges. Either the alcohol was working, or he was slipping into shock.
“What did you use? The medical kiosk?”
“Link. Sent it through their public network.”
“If they cut you off like you said, you know that’s a suicide note, right?”
Kraft’s gaze had drifted to the table top. He smiled slightly. “Probably. Could show up here and kill you first. Win-win either way. But they’re not here yet, so maybe they don’t care.”
“Acting pathetic isn’t going to help you,” Brit said.
In any case, she figured it would be a good idea to warn Charles the doorman that private security might be showing up. She didn’t see any reason for the employees to get hurt. Brit sent a request back across the Link carrying the security feed. There was no answer.
Brit drew her pistol and slid around the side of the table, closer to Kraft but outside his reach, and drew down on the door. In her peripheral vision, one of the dancers noticed the weapon and did a double-take. He shouted “Hey,” as the hit team came through the front door.
“Get down,” Brit yelled. “Everyone.”
Kicking the table over, she ignored Kraft’s squeal of pain as she jerked him to the floor.
There were three of them, dressed in light armor similar to her own, faces hidden behind black faceplates. Brit cursed. They would have the benefit of tactical HUDs. Glancing up, she spotted the connection points on the lighting scaffold hanging over the dance floor and took aim. The assassins scattered as she fired, one firing back as they dropped into a shoulder roll. Holes appeared in the table above Cal Kraft’s head.
With four shots, Brit brought the scaffold down on the dance floor in a shower of sparks and screaming metal. Two of the attackers were caught while another stumbled into one of the tables along the wall. The music grew louder, filling the room like an emergency klaxon. The last member of the group fell back into the vestibule, grabbing at the wall and firing a pair of shots that went wild.
“Hey,” Brit shouted at the bartender. “Is there another way out of here?”
The woman didn’t move from where she was hiding behind the bar, only calling out, “Hallway past the restrooms!”
Brit fired three more times from the cover of the table and squinted at the back corner of the bar on the other side of the room. On the far side of the rest room doors a hallway led into the back. Checking the security feed one more time, she verified the exit and then examined the rest of the bar from the surveillance sensors. Two of the thugs who had come in were still trapped under the light scaffolding, while another was rolling on the floor holding their knee. They would be calling for reinforcements soon, if they weren’t already.
She grabbed Kraft’s upper arm with her free hand and yanked him to his knees.
“We’re going to run,” she said. “If you don’t keep up with me, I’m going to shoot your other hand. You understand me?”
Kraft blinked, frowning slightly. The threat didn’t seem to have much effect. Though he was upright, he was obviously slipping into shock—his cheeks had gone grey.
Thumbing the control on her pistol, Brit set it to area burst and fired three unfocused pulse blasts into the room. They wouldn’t do much but did make the average person duck for cover.
Ears ringing from the blasts, she yanked Kraft behind her and sprinted for the bar. Glassware burst overhead as at least one of the attackers fired on them with an automatic rifle.
At the end of the bar, Brit waited for the rifle to empty its magazine, then fired another two pulse bursts and pulled Kraft with her into the hallway.
“Come on,” she grunted, holding Kraft upright with an arm around his waist. Up close, he stank of sweat and the new plas smell she recognized from Resolute Charity’s escape shuttles. Grabbing the belt of his EV suit, she pulled him down the hallway for the rear emergency door, which opened into a back service corridor littered with empty liquor crates and trash bags.
Brit let Kraft slump against the dirty wall while she turned to figure out how to block the door.
Changing the setting on her pistol back to close-disruption, she fired on the door frame until it looked like a giant had punched the lock mechanism in. Brit holstered her pistol and pulled on the door, satisfied to find it jammed closed. Checking the internal surveillance sensors again, she watched the thug with the rifle working their way up the bar, where they shot the bartender.
“Damn it,” Brit cursed. “That was unnecessary.”
When she went back to Kraft, he was unconscious. Brit considered him for a second as she also watched the thugs work their way to the hallway, which meant they would soon be on the other side of the door.
This is the man who nearly murdered my son, she thought, looking at Kraft’s death-grey face. She could leave him here, let Heartbridge do whatever they were going to do to secure their losses.
But there was also the question of the four Weapon Born se
eds Kraft had imaged from Tim, as well as everything else he knew about Heartbridge’s plans in Sol. She might hate this man, she might want to punish him as Andy had said, but she couldn’t let him die. Not yet.
Dropping to a knee, Brit lifted Kraft in a fireman’s carry so his head and arms dangled against her back. With her non-firing arm wrapped around the back of his thighs, she started a slow jog down the service corridor, heading back in the direction of the shipping docks.
She needed a ship. She needed to decide where she was going next. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she could catch Andy and the kids, but she knew that door was closed for now. Wherever she went next, it would be alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STELLAR DATE: 10.05.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Sunny Skies
REGION: Departing Jupiter, Jovian Combine, OuterSol
“This is incredibly unfortunate,” May Walton complained as they waited outside the hab ring airlock. The senator from the Anderson Collective on Ceres was dressed in the formal grey uniform of her office, with a gold sash over one shoulder that made her iron-grey hair appear blond from certain angles. Her bodyguard, Harl Nines, loomed just behind her. Fugia Wong, wearing her typical grey shipsuit, black hair bobbed at her neck, stood nearby, flipping through screens on a personal data viewer the size of her hand.
They were waiting for Xander’s ship to perform final docking maneuvers before the shuttle door opened. The process was taking longer than expected, which only heightened the obvious frustration of everyone present. Andy was working his way back through the new bridge between the two ships, suited up for EV in case he needed to repair anything. Fran and Petral were monitoring everything from the command deck, ready for trouble.
Despite multiple attempts at contact, Lyssa had ignored Xander since Andy closed their initial communications link. In the meantime, she had focused on tightening down every entry point she could find in the network now bridged between the Resolute Charity and Sunny Skies. She had searched through sensors, firmware, command systems and maintenance protocols, looking for any chink in her armor that might allow an outsider access. It was frustrating work and required her full attention at times, making her miss other conversations and activity among the crew. She didn’t like not knowing what people were talking about, not out of any paranoia but because she wanted to both help and be included. And, interactions built on each other, helping her understand what various people meant at other times.
