FountainCorp Security

by Watson Davis

I let myself move backward, stopped by the back door, arms spread, hands open, studying her faceplate, wondering what expression might be beneath it, wondering what the hell tweaked her nose hairs. I thought it might be that I knocked against her in the hatch. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Shut up, Hero,” she sneered.

  The door opened, the round metal door moving away from us, revealing a square-ish tube of corrugated, folded gray, leading straight to the landing bay beyond. Vanessa flung herself through the tube. I kicked against the wall, launching myself forward and trailing after her.

  The end of the tube opened up into a relatively empty cargo hold: a card table and folding chair bumping into each other and floating away, a cup inside a brown cloud of coffee, papers, sticks, bits of wire, a pallet pressing against one wall.

  “Clean the area out.” Kevin’s voice came over my speakers. “Get it traversable.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Vanessa spun around to face me, her hands clenched into fists, and spoke on a comm channel restricted to the two of us. “Thanks so much for making me look like an idiot.”

  “What?” I held my hands up, palms toward her. “I tried to help you.”

  “Help me?” She whipped around, catching the leg of a stool, and hurled it against a wall. One leg broke off and the stool bounced off the wall and back into the middle of the room. “You made us both look like fools. Everyone laughed at us.”

  “You exited your berth before you got the order.” I bit back the retort that she was making herself look like a Nemesis-damned fool without any help from me, but it wasn’t easy. “Seriously? You should be thanking me for trying to help you.”

  “Thank you?” Vanessa put her fists on her hips, her head moving back and forth as she said, “For making me end up on my ass? Oh, sure, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Listen, kid.” I snagged one of the table’s legs, nudging it down, being careful in the zero-G. I folded the table up and settled it in a corner. “You were going to end up on your ass anyway. You popped too soon. At least we both ended up on our asses instead of just you. Imagine the shitstorm you’d be getting if you were the only fuck-up.”

  She stopped moving her arms and legs, hovering in the zero-G, spinning slowly, her breathing roaring in her mic, fast and angry.

  “Just like boot camp.” I grabbed a chair and corralled the coffee, shoving the whole mess out of the way. “They’re going to get in our faces, get in our shit, try to make us feel useless, try to make us feel stupid so we’ll pay attention to them and start doing things their way.”

  Vanessa’s breathing slowed.

  “I screwed up,” I said, granting her a big point. I got most of the coffee trapped by the seat and back of the chair, but some leaked out the sides. I pushed the seat toward the wall, twirling around to trap more of the coffee. I stared back at her and placed the chair up against the table and the pallet. “I’ve got a lot of work to get better in zero-G.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I’ve lived on a planet most of my life.” My heart skipped—an ancient fear. I shook my head, driving away the memory of the horrible time when I wasn’t on Mars, the time I didn’t need to think about not letting myself get distracted by that abyss. I took a deep breath and said, “I reacted wrong, trying to pull you back, but my heart was in the right place. I was trying to help you, to warn you to get back in your compartment.”

  She reached out, snatching sheets of paper out of the air one after another, her breathing returning to normal.

  “Why do you think they’re calling me Hero?” I cupped a dribble of coffee in my hand. “They’re making fun of my time on Mars, of the battles I fought, of blood I’ve shed, of friends I’ve lost. They’re trying to tick me off, trying to get a rise out of me. Fuck ‘em. Chillax. Try not to be the first to do something. Ride with the flow, and you’ll do great. You’ve got the training for it. Unlike me.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Sorry. I was just…”

  “You were eager and excited.” I shrugged, directing the plant into an empty corner in the ceiling. “We’re both going to catch a lot of shit for something, anything, really. That’s how groups like this work to get you integrated. I’ve been in a few military units in my day. It’s the same old shit, and it’s about creating cohesion in the group, figuring out where you belong, putting you in the best place for your unit, your section.”

  Vanessa hooked a broken stool now crossing before the door, the same one she’d thrown up against the wall, and she set it up next to the table I’d stuffed into the corner.

  “There are already political groups, and you and I, we’ve got to figure out how we belong, who we align with.” I glanced around. “I think we’re done here.”

  Vanessa revolved, more accustomed to the gravity, floating in place, surveying the room and then nodding. “Yeah, we can probably head back now.”

  “No.” I held up my hand, shaking my head from side to side. “How about you suggest to Kevin that we work out into the hallway, and clear that, too?”

  “Good idea, Hero,” she said.

  “I’m so glad you had it.” I bowed to her, saying, “Let’s work together as the newbies in this group, okay? Not against each other.”

  She opened the line back to Kevin. “Hey, boss. We think we’re done here, but Hero had the idea that we clean into the hall.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Go ahead.”

  On my solo channel to Vanessa, I said, “I thought that was your idea.”

  “I’m no good with politics or lying. I’m not sharp enough for that, but I know a good play when I see it.” She reached out her hand. “Partners?”

  I took her hand, squeezing a little, the sensors in my glove registering the pressure of a handshake. “Partners.”

  She nodded. “Now let’s clean up that frickin’ corridor.”

  # # #

  “That’s a good idea, Kevin,” Edmund said over his comm link to his exec, kicking off the wall and sending himself flying through a door into a junction of hallways. Right arm swinging his slugthrower around to cover his fire zone, left hand slapping a floating picture frame out of the way, he scanned the area for hostiles even though none could exist in a dead station. He paused to allow a female corpse to float by, long red hair fanning out around her head, her pale fingers contorted and stiff. Edmund signaled for his team to head down the hall to the data center. “When it’s time to leave, I don’t want to be dodging all the crap.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Kevin said. “The recruits need something to do besides twiddling themselves.”

  “Yep.” Edmund grinned at the thought. “Don’t want they should go blind.”

  Kevin clicked his teeth. “But I should let you know Hero came up with the idea, not me.”

  “Dammit.” Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, counting to keep himself from cursing, letting himself drift down the dark corridor a little too fast and closing in on Callus’s back too quick. He fired his epaulet boosters to correct his position. “Maybe I should cancel that order, then. She needs to learn that she’s not in charge here like she was in HART.”

  “Aw, she wasn’t bossy about it,” Kevin said.

  “Say what you want,” Edmund grumbled, “I know she’s after my job.”

  “She’s gotta get in line for that,” Kevin said with a snort. “She’s been out of circulation for a few years, anyway. Her head’s swimming.”

  Callus stopped at a heavy, sealed door, a flat expanse of white polycarbonate, the door so snugly in place not even the seam was visible, the locking mechanism by its side. The security console alongside it, complete with optic and biometric scanners, was dark and dead. Edmund rotated to guard the rear, saying, “I’ll trust you on that, but I’m expecting you to knock the cocky girl down a few pegs.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Moritz and Landry brought the tool chest around, affixed its metal legs to the wall, broke out the first portable generator, and fired it off. Se
rgeant Callus pulled out an industrial cutter from the tool chest, attached it via a cable to the generator, and pressed a tab, a white-hot flame springing to life at the business end.

  Callus’s cutter chewed up the door to the data center, filling the hall with a gray smoke until Edmund couldn’t see Callus at all, only the outline of his shape supplied by the HUD. Moritz rigged a fan to pull the cloud into the vents of the station’s nonfunctional enviro systems, but it fought a losing battle, merely thinning the smoke.

  “Tell me when you’re through, Callus,” Edmund said, toggling his visor to show him infrared and sonar mixed.

  “Not much more,” Callus said. “But this is a thicker door than the specs said should be here.”

  “Another day, another boggle.” Edmund faced down the hallway, his HUD supplementing his vision, showing him the location of walls and debris. He switched to the open comm channel. “How’re things by reverse count?”

  “Unit Three: all quiet, except there seem to be more and more corpses floating about,” Malordo said, her voice thick like she was holding back a yawn. “Kinda creepy.”

  “Unit Two: no one’s headed our way from out-system yet,” Kevin said. “And we haven’t intercepted any tight-beam messages to the mains. The kids are getting antsy with all the bodies.”

  “Unit One: we’re almost in,” Edmund said.

  “Unit Three?” Fine sounded vaguely concerned. “Do we have a problem?”

  Edmund straightened, peering back down the hallway toward Unit Three.

  “None I can see,” Malordo responded. “All quiet here.”

  “Palson’s leaking power.”

  Edmund changed his monitor over to view Palson’s feed, and sure enough, the private’s power indicator read down by half. “We may need a replacement power pack for him. How are the kids doing?”

  “They’ve cleared the entry and started sealing off the corridors outside to keep any more junk from drifting in.”

  “Yeah, that was a good idea,” Edmund said, nodding his head.

  “Can’t take credit for it,” Kevin said. “Hero’s idea.”

  “I know that and you know that, but you don’t have to make a big deal broadcasting it to the whole damned team.” Edmund closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shifted to a private connection. “You know the part about knocking her down a peg or two? This is not the way to do it.”

  “Yeah, boss, but I couldn’t let the team think I was taking credit for her idea,” Kevin pleaded. “They find out I did that, and then I’m the prick. I don’t wanna be the prick until I’m in your job.”

  On the open channel, Malordo said, “I think Palson fell asleep.”

  Edmund pulled up his vitals; Palson’s heart rate was slow, but everything else looked good.

  “I’m okay, guys,” Palson said, his words cutting out with digital interference. “Just bored spitless.”

  “I’m through,” Callus said.

  “Get a new power pack to Palson,” Edmund ordered. “We’ll be out soon enough.”

  “Right, boss,” Kevin said, shifting to his unit line and clipping off the last of his words.

  Edmund motioned First Unit forward. Callus entered the room, arms raised, slugthrower in his left hand, his blaster in his right, swiveling to identify targets but finding none. Moritz went through next, stopping to reach back for the tool chest Landry pushed through to her. Edmund followed Landry through into the data center.

  Edmund floated into a cavernous room, a laboratory instead of the data center he’d expected, with ten rectangular 4m by 2.5m by 7m holding cells in a large bank, five on the bottom, five on the top, with stairs leading up to a catwalk to access the top ones.

  “Boss?” Fine asked. “What the hell?”

  “What the hell, indeed,” Edmund whispered, mind racing to recalculate the mission parameters, pulling up the now obviously incorrect station blueprint.

  Nine of the cells appeared technically empty—though six of them held corpses—but one of the cells had a living occupant, discernable only when the unit’s helmet lights lit her up: a teenage girl from the look of her, huddling in the corner, quivering, arms up to protect her eyes from the light, tears streaming down her haggard face, wearing a soiled hospital gown.

  # # #

  Mercedez Gorovitz opened the door to the First Father’s office, allowing the Second Father and Mother to leave, bobbing her head to them as they passed and slipping through the door after them, easing it shut behind her. Her back against the door, she cleared her throat to announce her existence.

  The First Father, Jarod Gorovitz, reclined in his command chair, legs stretched out and crossing at the ankles, his linen pants crinkled, his brow furrowed. His fingers tapped his lips as he studied an array of shifting numbers floating in the air before him. He stared up at Mercedez with blue eyes, his graying eyebrows arching. “What’s wrong? An issue with one of the operations?”

  “Nothing really, First Father.” Mercedez swallowed, smiling, arranging her blue lace tutu, picking at the frilled edges, then straightening her back, gathering her courage. “Well, there is something, but it’s personal.”

  “Ask Kristy to get you on my agenda.” He returned his attention to those damned figures of his, more concerned about the Family businesses and shipments than about his own daughter.

  Mercedez bit her lip, heart thumping, her instincts insisting she bolt and run and forget about confronting him, but she skittered toward him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s about my position in the Family, sir. My ideas on alternate revenue streams alone would benefit us and bring food to our stores.”

  He sighed, dragging his eyes away from the glowing figures, swiveling his chair to give his attention to his daughter, folding his hands in his lap. “I thought we had dealt with your ambitions, Third Daughter.”

  “Yes, but are you aware the Caisse Family’s Fourth Father has been widowed?” Mercedez gulped and cleared her throat once more. “I hoped their tragic loss might present an opportunity for me, for us.”

  “Mercedez.” The First Father pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, his lips pressing hard together.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Mercedez backed toward the door, raising her left hand in supplication, bowing her head, reaching back with her right hand for the doorknob. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your work.”

  “And yet, you did bring it up, and you did interrupt my work.” He leaned forward, pushing himself up from his seat, lifted his arms to the ceiling, stretched his back with an audible popping of his joints, and ended with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Is this your time of the month, Daughter?”

  “What?” Mercedez stopped, heart sinking, staring down at the stone tiles on the deck—a dark granite from one of their mining holdings. She whispered, “No, sir.”

  “Too bad.” He smacked his lips and ambled toward her, swaying from side to side. “That would give us an excuse, your cramps getting in the way of your better judgment, your emotions in flux along with your hormones. We could give you drugs to take your mind off such musings.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, her trembling fingertips caressing the doorknob. “I won’t bring it up again.”

  “That’s what you said last time.” He raised his finger. “Do you want me to pull up my office recordings?”

  “No. No, sir.”

  “Do you trust me, Daughter?” He put his hand beneath her chin, raising her face up to meet his.

  Not wanting to see the cold depths of his eyes, fearing what she would find there, her eyes veered away from meeting his, seeking refuge in the farthest corners of the room. “Of course, Father.”

  “I cannot tolerate a lack of trust.” His fingers tightened around her jaw, twisting her head to make her witness the cold anger in his eyes. “I told you I will search for a fitting mate for you, and I will, but the needs of the Family come before the needs of a daughter. You must have faith, and trust me to do the right thing by eve
ryone.”

  “I know, Father.” She shrugged. “But I am wasted playing nanny to a bunch of used-up, outsider harlots, feeding them drugs and dicks.”

  His fingertips clamped down on her cheeks, mashing her skin into her teeth and sending pain shooting through her.

  “You do your job, little girl. Leave the running of the Family to your betters.” He shoved her back, slamming her against the door. Then he strode back to his chair, waving his hand in dismissal. “Now, back to your job with you, and don’t darken my door with your whining again.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  SNAFU

  "Kevin? Vanessa? Did you see that?" I asked, my heart pounding so hard I wondered if I'd be able to hear a response.

  "What?" Kevin asked.

  Vanessa moved to my side.

  I pointed to a little girl in a blue, puffy-skirted dress. "She moved."

  Vanessa kicked off and floated past the girl, grabbing her on the way by, touching her pale skin, pressing her fingertips against the girl's forehead. Vanessa peered back at me, shaking her head. "She's cold, dead."

  The girl blinked her eyes.

  I shook my finger at the little girl. "She blinked her fucking eyes!"

  "What?" Vanessa pushed the girl away, turning back toward her, firing the stabilizers in her gauntlets to propel herself back, away from the girl. "She couldn't have. You're imagining things."

  "I did not imagine her damned eyelids opening and shutting."

  "Wait," Kevin said. "Let me run back your helmet cam. Keep clearing the corridor. Give me a second."

  I grabbed a bench hovering in the middle of the hall and tossed it down a side hallway, not worrying about where it hit, keeping my eyes on the little girl.

  Vanessa opened a private channel to me. "Are you okay? You're not going PTSD wonky on me? Having flashbacks to some of your previous battles or something? The FountainCorp drill instructors had a couple of training sessions on that shit."

  "I don't think so." I calmed my breathing, slowed my heart, and shook my head. "I swear, she blinked her eyes."

  Kevin's voice broke in over our link, overriding us. "I studied the recording and, yeah, I can understand how you'd think she moved, but it was an illusion, a piece of something you guys knocked loose brushing against her, or some sort of random electrical impulse, or something."