Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure

by A. C. Hadfield

  Greta grabbed the contraband and joined Bella at the door.

  The remaining bodyguard had come to. He grabbed her leg from his prone position. “Not… that way…” he said, his voice slurring from Greta’s attack. “Ex-Marine corps… coming.”

  “Like we can trust you,” Bella said, but then, as she regarded him closer, she could see sincerity in the man’s face, not to mention fear when he had spoken of the corps. She helped him up and looked him directly in the eye. “Why would you help us?”

  “We don’t have time for this, Captain,” Greta warned. The sound of marching, heavy-armored feet, came from beyond the door.

  The tall man looked down at Lizbeth’s body and shrugged. “I’m out of her debt now… and I want to leave. Take me with you and I promise I’ll get you to your ship.”

  Bella had to decide, there and then, whether to trust this man. She and the crew depended on her making the right choice. Greta fidgeted, her attention turning from the door to the bodyguard and, finally, back to Bella.

  “My name is Bashir, I can help you with your data, too. Please, you can trust me.”

  The footsteps were echoing louder now. They were only a few seconds away. Wilbur was panicking on the other end of the comm line, asking why they hadn’t moved.

  “Fine,” Bella said. “Get us out of here, and then we’ll talk.”

  15

  Bella followed Bashir out the secret door to the rear of Lizbeth’s office.

  Behind them, beyond the front secure door, sounds of metal on metal boomed. The ex-Marines were slowly but surely smashing their way through. Bella took point, the q-bit core over her shoulder. Bashir guided from behind her. Greta was covering their six. The group shuffled through a dark corridor that twisted and turned. Bashir continued to lead them through the labyrinth of Galilei’s off-grid spaces.

  “Wilbur, are you tracking us?” Bella asked.

  Through the crackly line, he affirmed that he was following them.

  “We’re nearly there,” Bashir said. “We’ll come to an access tunnel mostly used by the engineers. If we follow that, we’ll come to the interior of the O’Neill cylinder.”

  Greta cast a glance sideways. “You’re taking us into zero g?”

  “It’s the only way I can get you guys across to the other side and safe from Lizbeth’s death squad. Besides, I assumed you wanted to find another dealer for your core?”

  “You have someone in mind?” Bella asked.

  “Yes. He’s an unusual guy, a hermit. But Lizbeth used to buy information from him. He’s a top-class hacker and would likely be interested in your merchandise.”

  Greta glanced to Bella, her eyes asking a silent question: Should we trust this guy?

  Bella saw no reason not to. They couldn’t go back, and if he was leading them into trouble, they’d still be no better or worse off than their current situation. If, however, he was to be trusted, then they could sell the contraband.

  “I trust him,” Bella said. And then to Bashir, “But if you screw with us, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes.”

  “That’s fair enough. Hurry now—the quicker I can get you to the hermit, the quicker you can do your deal, and we can all get off this station.”

  Bashir continued to lead them through the rat run of access tunnels. After a few more minutes, they came to a maintenance door that took both Bella and Greta’s full efforts to open. Before they’d even reached it, Bella knew they were approaching the center of the O’Neill cylinder.

  Each step was just a little lighter as the artificial gravity became weaker. With being this close to the center, they didn’t experience the same kind of centrifugal force. Once the door was open, Bella stared across the five-hundred-meter-wide section of zero gravity.

  “There used to be a tether here,” Bashir said. “Smugglers used the cylinder to bring hot goods through before the station was completely taken over by the syndicates.”

  They looked around and found no tether. The access tunnel looked as though it hadn’t been used for many years. The sound of heavy, booted footsteps was not far behind them.

  Greta grimaced. “What do we do now? We can’t stand around waiting.”

  “We jump,” Bashir said. He holstered his pistol and climbed out of the access tunnel, gripping on to a set of steel handholds. He pressed his legs against the wall and squatted into a vertical crouch, turning his head to look directly opposite the span of zero gravity. “If we all jump across, one after the other, we can create a kind of human chain. Me and my buddies used to do this when we were younger. As long as we don’t leave the gaps too large, we should all make it across in one piece together.”

  “Fine,” Bella said. “Let’s do this.”

  Greta ran a hand over her shaved head. “This feels like a terrible idea.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Bashir promised. “Just keep looking forward.”

  He kicked off, launching himself forward like an arrow with his arms outstretched. Bella waited a few seconds and followed. Then Greta, who still complained even as she kicked off from the side of the wall and floated across the expanse. As they drifted across, Bella saw people looking down at them from the windows overlooking the center. She noticed some people looking at her extend their gaze beyond them. She dared a look over her shoulder. Shadows filled the access tunnel.

  “Shit, they’re here,” she said.

  Bashir had already reached three-quarters of the way across, his trajectory straight and true. He twisted his body slightly to stay on target. Bella was already drifting a little too far to the left, her look over her shoulder altering her vector.

  Bashir hit the other side and grabbed a hold of a section of piping. He hooked his feet around it and extended his arms outward to grab Bella.

  Holding on to his ankles, Bella turned to reach for Greta. A bullet flashed past her fingers and ricocheted off the wall of the cylinder interior.

  “Bastards,” Greta swore, and fired an extended burst from her rifle.

  Bella was nudged forward violently as Greta slammed into her, the push of the rifle accelerating her trajectory. The pair of them hit the wall. Bella scrambled to get a handhold and felt a tight grip around her wrist.

  “Got you, Ms. Mazzari. Greta, cover us. There’s an exit point up here.”

  Bella wrapped her legs around Greta’s body as the bulky woman twisted to face the other way and lifted her rifle once more.

  “My fucking pleasure,” Greta said. She emptied her magazine. An armored Marine at the other exit tried to launch himself out, but Greta’s aim was good, and a dozen rounds slammed him back into the tunnel, collapsing him against the rest of his squad.

  That bought them time. Bashir and Bella forced their way into another access tunnel and hauled Greta in, slamming the door shut behind them. They pulled themselves forward using pipework running along the ceiling until they were far enough into the station that the centrifugal force generated sufficient artificial gravity to allow them to walk normally.

  Bashir stopped and bent over, breathing heavily. “I need a few seconds,” he said. “I’ve a sharp pain in my chest.” He glared up at Greta, who just winked and smiled back at him.

  “I bet your head’s still hurting too, eh, big guy?” she said.

  “Don’t antagonize our new guide,” Bella warned. “Is everyone else okay?”

  They all confirmed their good health.

  “Okay, Bash, keep going and get us to your contact while we’ve got the time,” Bella said.

  Bashir groaned as he stood up straight, but nodded and beckoned them on.

  16

  Harlan and Irena walked through the opulent gardens of Turing Station. To Harlan, it seemed like he and Irena were the only humans aboard. All around them, abbots were tending the gardens or managing the drones that were responsible for repairs and upgrades.

  It only took them a further ten minutes to get to the business district where Fizon had his office. A glowing green icon on Har
lan’s wrist terminal guided their way. A colleague of Fizon’s back at the QCA work center had given them the directions and the security codes for Fizon’s apartment.

  After some brief questioning, following the request from Hugo to speak with Fizon’s colleagues, Harlan soon realized that their QCA contact knew very little or perhaps just didn’t want to tell him anything. If an abbot didn’t want to talk, there was very little Harlan could do to change that.

  Abbots didn’t respond to persuasion or torture.

  Harlan and Irena turned down a brightly lit corridor, all glass walls and embedded LED lighting, and pulled up at the location given to him.

  “This it?” Irena asked.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Fairly low-key for an elite member of the abbot community.”

  “We don’t know for sure if he’s still functioning,” Irena said. “For all we know, he might have been scrapped for parts by now.”

  “It’s a possibility. Let’s get inside and see what we can find.”

  Harlan entered the security code, and the door eased open with a small hydraulic hiss. He pulled a Taser from inside his jacket as he stepped in ahead of Irena. She brought up the rear, closing the door behind them.

  “He’s a fan of monochrome, I see,” she said.

  The apartment couldn’t have been much larger than three hundred square meters. It featured light gray carpets, dark gray walls, and a single couch, also gray, although closer to an off-white. A door to the right was the only other access point. There was no kitchenette or any kind of entertainment center. But then Harlan supposed an abbot didn’t need those things. In fact, an abbot didn’t really need anything apart from a power source, and even then most of them charged wirelessly these days.

  “Is there a computer or anything here?” Irena asked.

  Harlan reached out with his interface and set it to identify any networks. Other than the main network running on the station, he found nothing. “If there is, it’s a single node and not on a network.”

  Harlan approached the other door, raised his Taser, and tried the handle.

  The door was unlocked, and Harlan eased it open, aiming the Taser through the gap.

  “Looks like a personal charging station and a study,” he said.

  Irena joined him inside.

  Unlike the main living area, this one was much darker and smaller. Barely four square meters, it featured a single office chair and desk up against the east wall. Various ports and sockets were on the wall a few inches above the desk. Overhead LED lights bathed the room in warm off-white light.

  An old model holoscreen was the only other item of interest in the room.

  “Anything you can use?” Irena asked, pointing her chin to the desk and ports.

  “Perhaps,” Harlan said. He took a seat and activated the screen with a switch on its side. A login window popped up. He entered the details provided to the silicon runners.

  “Well, it’s nice to have something work first for once,” he said with a smile.

  Irena joined him and stood by his side. “Hopefully, there’s something interesting.”

  “I’m assuming Fizon’s colleagues and other QCA founders would have already investigated his system and would have mentioned anything useful to us,” Harlan said, “but it doesn’t hurt to find out for ourselves.”

  He spent about five minutes going through the files that he could access, finding nothing of major importance. At least nothing that would explain why Fizon was missing.

  The last entries on the computer were Fizon’s work logs, the date of which indicated that he was working here, in his apartment, up to just two hours before the time he was reported missing. Additionally, there were a series of formal communications from a government representative from Mars indicating that he was due to meet with them the day after. And as Harlan had been informed, Fizon didn’t make the meeting.

  Irena read the information over Harlan’s shoulder.

  “Anything that seems odd to you?” he asked.

  “No, not really. Everything seems to check out compared to what was in the file given to you regarding his disappearance. Timeline adds up. What do we do now? His colleagues didn’t give us anything, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.”

  “Not that we can see,” Harlan said.

  — Do you want me to check for hidden files? Milo asked.

  Harlan ordered Milo to go ahead with an affirmative thought.

  — Okay, I’m scanning Fizon’s system. I’ll let you know if I find anything.

  “I’m just running a trace on the system,” Harlan said. “It’ll take a few minutes; might as well take a rest while it works.” He sat down on the sofa and leaned back into the cushions.

  Irena moved to join him, then suddenly stopped. She turned her head to the entrance.

  “What is it?” Harlan asked, looking over his shoulder.

  The door burst open.

  A figure in a plain dark-gray suit rushed inside and immediately focused on Harlan. The man pulled a gun from within the folds of his suit jacket and fired off two shots.

  17

  It took another ten minutes for Bashir to lead them through the open level, across the engineering district, and finally into a restricted zone where he used a key card to bypass the security. Bella could smell stale incense in the air and a faint hint of spices.

  The restricted zone was a shantytown, with rudimentary buildings made from scrap metal parts salvaged from old ships. She recognized airlocks, cargo bay doors, and detritus from over the last century of shipbuilding. Dozens of people milled about in this dark zone, lighting their way with LEDs strung haphazardly across a network of poles rising out of the single-story dwellings.

  “What is this place?” Greta asked.

  “A home for the disenfranchised,” Bashir said. “When you can’t get work with the syndicate, or when you don’t want to work with the syndicate, you come here and scrape by on the waste from the wealthy.”

  He pointed to a squat building at the far edge of the shantytown. To Bella, it looked like a re-purposed shipping container. Corrugated steel hung from the front, creating a kind of porch. As they approached, the smell of spices grew stronger. She recognized the scent of ginger and curry. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been a while since she’d enjoyed a proper meal. Protein pills and vitamin supplements didn’t quite cut it. Especially after all of their recent exertion.

  They came to the door of the container. Bashir turned and regarded them. “Don’t antagonize him. He doesn’t suffer fools, but is extremely talented and could be of great use to you.” He looked to Greta. “Don’t ruin this opportunity.”

  Greta silently mouthed the words, “Fuck off,” and then smiled sweetly at him.

  “I understand,” Bella said. “I’ll do the talking. Greta, you keep guard out here.”

  Bella nodded at Bashir, and he led her inside.

  The room was surprisingly clean. Bella was expecting it to be filled with rubbish much like the rest of the shantytown, but this was much simpler. Plain white walls and glass surfaces gave the single room a minimalist style.

  The smell of cooking curry wafted in from a narrow doorway to the rear of the room.

  Sitting at a glass desk and waving his hands across a holographic control panel was a small man in a basic set of brown robes. He was bald and wore thick graphene-framed glasses that magnified his dark eyes.

  “Ah, Bashir, it’s good to see you again,” the man said. He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly as he grinned. “Who are your friends?”

  “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, Sanjeet. This is Ms. Mazzari.”

  Bashir introduced Bella and explained their reason for disturbing him.

  Sanjeet bowed toward Bella and excused himself as he finished gesturing over his control panel, then switched off his holographic display. He spun in his chair, crossed his arms, and waited expectantly.

  Bella slid the q-bit core off her shoulder and p
laced it on the floor in front of him. “Bashir said you might be interested in this. We’ve come to trade, seeing as there was a problem with the previous buyer.”

  Bella noticed Sanjeet’s serene calmness slip into humor. “That is a very intriguing item you have there, Ms. Mazzari. And yes, I am most definitely interested. I shall refrain from asking where you procured this. How much are you asking?”

  Bella got a flashback to Lizbeth and hoped this wouldn’t go the same way. “Two thousand bitcreds and some analysis on a video. Bashir tells me you’re a talented peddler of information. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking a look and giving me your opinion on a tampered broadcast.”

  Sanjeet rubbed his chin, looked at the core, then up at Bella. “This is acceptable. Bashir, my boy, why don’t you make yourself busy and get your new friends something from the kitchen while we talk.”

  Bashir headed into the back room as Sanjeet stepped back to regard the core. A grin stretched across his face. “It must be my birthday. I’ve always wanted one of these.”

  He presented his wrist and looked at Bella expectantly. She did the same. With a swipe, he transferred two thousand authorized bitcreds. The chirp of confirmation filled Bella with relief. Her crew would be paid. In addition, they would have enough money for a couple weeks’ worth of fuel and food rations.

  “Now, Ms. Mazzari, let’s look at this broadcast of yours.”

  Sanjeet pulled out a second chair at his desk and patted the seat. Bella sat next to him and handed over the memory stick that included the video she had received from the Rubicon.

  With a couple of swift gestures, Sanjeet connected the data source to his machines and played the audio. The voice froze Bella to the spot, as it had done the first time she listened to it. Although it was definitely Gianni’s voice, it was also so alien to her that she couldn’t help but fear what might have happened to him.

  Sanjeet cocked his head to one side and listened to the audio snippet.

  “It’s most unusual,” he said. “Not any language I’ve ever heard before, although there are parts of the speech pattern that are familiar. It’s been filtered, presumably to disguise what is being said. Do you mind if I run this through my systems to see if I can find a match? I have access to a lot of data.”