Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure

by A. C. Hadfield

  “Please, go ahead. There’s nothing sensitive in there; I just want to know what happened to my brother. Any clue to his fate would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Okay, then. Consider it done. But first, bring in your friend and let us all eat. This will take a little while.”

  “Thank you so much, Sanjeet. Your help is just what we needed after a tough day.”

  He smiled and bowed again.

  Bashir brought various bowls of food out from the kitchen. Greta came in and joined the others around a makeshift table. They sat cross-legged on the floor and talked about trivial things while they filled their bellies.

  Bella contacted Wilbur to make sure he was okay and to update him on their status. So far, he said, everything was fine, but Bella could sense he wasn’t happy there on his own. If Bashir worked out, she could bring him onto the crew and give Wilbur some company if they needed to split up again.

  When they finished their food, Sanjeet got to his feet and checked his computers. “We have a match.” He brought up the results on his screen. Two waveforms crossed the expanse; the first was Gianni’s recording, and the second was the match the computer had found.

  “Where’s the second audio feed from?” Bella asked.

  “Let me see…” He opened the metadata stream for the audio sample. “It’s a snippet of some radio chatter I intercepted a few weeks ago. From a cult in the asteroid belt. They’ve got a colony of sorts near the mining company on Ceres.”

  He played the second sound sample, and although there wasn’t the same fearful panic as there was in Gianni’s voice, it was quite clear to Bella that the words they were using were very similar, and in some cases exactly the same.

  “What does this mean?” Greta asked. “That your little bro was in a cult?”

  “It can’t be. He was a company man. A scientist. He was on his way to that new project on Europa, remember? They had strict vetting for the program. If he was involved with a cult, they’d have found out about it and sacked him.”

  Bella sighed. This didn’t help her search or explain why her brother sounded so scared. As she thought about what to do next, Sanjeet leaned closer to the screen and played the video file in ultra-slow motion. He scrubbed back and forth over a section of video that lasted no more than a few seconds.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He magnified a reflection in Gianni’s left eye.

  “What are we looking at?” Greta asked, leaning in closer over Sanjeet’s shoulder.

  The image was of two triangles, one atop of the other, the two points touching. It appeared to be a logo reflecting off Gianni’s eye from another video feed.

  “That,” Sanjeet said, pointing to the triangles, “is the logo for the leadership within the Jovian Group.”

  “And you know this how?” Greta queried.

  Sanjeet tapped the side of his head. “I intercept their communications when they’re not being diligent with their encryption. That’s the thing with people at the top of large organizations—they get comfortable and think they’re safe, but there are always people like me listening in from the shadows.”

  “So this all has something to do with a company?” Bella asked, not quite understanding the ramifications of it just yet. She didn’t have long to ponder on it when she received a panicked transmission from Wilbur. “Bella, things have just got a little tricky here. That death squad that was after you? Well, they’ve just taken the Mule.”

  “Damn it.” Bella slammed a fist into her thigh. “Are you okay?”

  “I snuck out through the cargo hatch. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I have the other q-bit core.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hiding in a port authority office. Military goons have swarmed everywhere else, and we’ve missed the last transporter ship off the station. Won’t be another for three days. They have us trapped here.”

  Bella was about to swear when Sanjeet tapped a bony finger against her shoulder. “I think I can help—for a small price.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I have a small shuttle you can rent from me. It’s out back. I can give you navigation data to get to the dock through old, forgotten tunnels. I use it for trading.”

  “And I bet I know the price you want,” Bella said, knowing she had zero room to negotiate—for the second time today. They couldn’t afford to go on foot, and there was no way in hell they were going to leave Wilbur on his own.

  Sanjeet grinned, exposing two missing molars and crooked canines. He looked like a hungry, grinning dog. “Two thousand bitcreds,” he said, “for the temporary use of the shuttle. But if there’s any damage or loss, then you’ll owe me a favor.”

  Feeling like she’d been had, Bella had no choice but to shake on the deal and pay the man. All the credits they had earned with the sale of the q-bit core had vanished, along with their freighter. This was suddenly, again, not a good day.

  “Wilbur, hold tight, old friend. We’re coming to pick you up. Send me your exact location. We’ve procured access to a ship.”

  “That’s great news. The ex-military goons are heading further into the station to look for me. Hurry.”

  “Stay hidden. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

  “Will do,” he said.

  Bella could hear the fear in his voice, but knew he was smart enough to do as he was told and hang tight. She and Greta prepared to leave. Bashir helped them follow Sanjeet’s directions through the shantytown until they found an old, seemingly abandoned workshop. The shuttle was inside.

  “This is going to be a tight squeeze,” Greta said, looking at the squat, short craft with disdain.

  “Sanjeet says it’s got enough fuel to get to Atlas and back if needed,” Bashir said, and tapped in the security code of the cargo door. With a grating noise, the panel slid open. The stench of cattle and other livestock wafted out.

  Greta gagged. “Great. He’s a meat smuggler, too.” She wafted the air from her face as she stepped inside. “This trip is going to be hell. I hope you’re not a vegan, Bash,” she said, slapping him on the back.

  “Focus,” Bella said. “And arm your weapons in case we run into trouble.”

  “Does this jalopy have a name?” Greta asked.

  Bashir shrugged. “I don’t think so. You want to name it? Is that considered good or bad luck for you people?”

  Greta raised an eyebrow. “Us people?”

  “I just meant you as a crew. Don’t get all sensitive on me.”

  “It’s neither,” Bella said, shutting down the conversation. “But I do prefer to give ships a name. Since the Mule has been impounded—” she looked around the disheveled and low-rent craft, curling her lip in disgust “—we’ll call this the Goat.”

  “Why?” Bashir asked.

  “Because it’s small, and it stinks,” Bella said, before leaving the crew in the main section as she eased her way through the tight corridor and into the equally cramped cockpit. There was only room for one, and that suited her. She was in no mood for conversation. She just wanted to get Wilbur and get back to Atlas now that she had a lead on her brother.

  Bella fired up the engines, set the autopilot to navigate the interior tunnels of the space station, and brought up a communications screen on her terminal. She sent Harlan a message, explaining the lead she had got and also that Lizbeth Adams had her own crew of rogue abbots. It was clear to her that their cases were linked somehow.

  And then there was the issue of Irena. Her mother was not only a House Messenger for Atlas but a former director of the Jovian Group. Perhaps through Irena, she’d get some idea of what they were up to and why their leadership were on Gianni’s shuttle. One way or another, Bella would get answers.

  18

  Harlan’s heart raced, and he instinctively rolled to the side and onto the floor.

  The two shots thudded into the back of the sofa, their exit producing white puffs of material in the spot where Harlan had just been sitting.

&nb
sp; “Get down,” he screamed, as another shot slammed into the furniture.

  He grabbed the Taser from his jacket and snuck a glance round the edge of the sofa.

  It wasn’t a man who’d fired at him; it was an abbot.

  Another rogue abbot.

  The machine must have had a scanning modification installed, as it turned its head and looked Harlan directly in the eye. It shifted its aim.

  Harlan scrambled back behind cover and saw the shadow loom closer. He jumped to his feet but stayed in a squatting position. He thought about dashing across to the other door, but didn’t want to bring the abbot closer to Irena, who was just standing there, trembling and paralyzed with fear.

  “We don’t need to do this,” Harlan said, crab-walking to his left, keeping the furniture between him and his assailant. There was no response. Not that he was expecting one.

  The abbot stepped closer and peered over the sofa. Its cold black eyes reflected the light from the window.

  Harlan launched himself up and toward the abbot, holding out the Taser and aiming for its chest. It bent backward at the waist, clear of Harlan’s outstretched arm, and the Taser jabbed empty space. Harlan counteracted the moment by throwing his weight back on his heels and staying on his feet.

  The abbot thrust out its left arm, catching Harlan square in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

  His head slammed hard against the apartment wall. Pain exploded across the back of his skull. The impact even blurred the vision in his cybernetic eye. A feeling of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, but his adrenaline-regulation valve helped him regain his focus.

  “You bastard,” he drawled as he groped in the air for something to help him stand. His attacker’s shadow stretched across the carpeted floor and crawled up the wall to fully enclose him. The barrel of the gun dominated Harlan’s field of view. He tried to slap it away, but missed.

  “Over here, you bastard,” Irena shouted.

  A plate smashed into the back of the abbot’s head. At first it didn’t react, its glare firmly on Harlan as though it were enjoying his predicament.

  No, he thought, it was recording him.

  The abbot blinked and pulled the trigger at the same time another plate smashed into its back, sending the bullet off course. But it still struck Harlan in the top of his left shoulder.

  He yelled with the burning pain. He knew it had just grazed the muscle, having not felt the impact on his bone. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. He rolled to his side, clutching his shoulder, and dropped the Taser.

  Looking from his fetal position, Harlan saw the abbot turn its attention to Irena, who had suddenly realized what she had done and become paralyzed again as the machine raised its arm, pointing the gun toward her.

  Harlan kicked out, mostly through instinct. He caught the abbot in the back of its knee joint, sending it crashing down. He grabbed for his Taser with his good arm. Using his core to twist around, he pushed off the wall and slid himself across the carpet, where he thrust out with the Taser.

  The abbot was already turning its head, so by the time Harlan struck with the weapon, the pins slammed into the creature’s forehead. It shook violently against the high flow of amps.

  Irena looked on with wide eyes, and then, as though someone had just switched on her power, came to life. She grabbed a large jagged section of broken plate and slammed it into the abbot’s neck, slicing through wires and valves.

  Oil and servo fluid gushed from the wound.

  Smoke peeled away from the charred synthetic skin.

  Its eyelids fluttered and closed. The thing collapsed forward with a thud.

  Harlan let go of the Taser and, breathing heavily, struggled to his feet. He reached down to pick up the gun and fired twice into the back of the machine where its CPU and motherboard were located. Sparks erupted from the second as its electronics shorted.

  “Holy crap,” he said, staggering to lean against the back of the ruined sofa. Then, looking up at a shell-shocked Irena, he added, “You did good. If you hadn’t distracted it, I’d be sprayed up that wall right now.”

  She was trembling and just staring at her own bloodied hand. She must have cut it on the sharp plate fragment.

  “Irena? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  A long moment ticked by. She turned slowly to face Harlan and as equally slowly nodded her head. Her eyes filled with tears, and she bent over the sofa and vomited.

  Harlan leaned over and patted her back, unsure of what else to do. After a few more minutes of dry heaving, Irena stood up straight and took a deep breath. She looked down at the still form of the dead abbot and then back at Harlan.

  “Its eyes,” she said. “Its eyes were just like the other one back on Earth.”

  “It was recording, that’s why. Whoever is controlling these damned things either gets off on seeing people die, or is making sure the job gets done. If that’s the case, we don’t have much time to hang around. Let’s deal with these wounds and get out of here.”

  It was obvious to Harlan that there was nothing here for him to find out about Fizon’s disappearance. He’d been sent here to be the target of this rogue abbot. Only its controller couldn’t have known he had Irena with him. That small distraction had been the difference between life and death.

  He doubted they’d get the same opportunity next time.

  “I was right back there, on Earth,” Irena said. “I couldn’t move; it was like I was stuck in a movie. I’m so sorry. You could have died.”

  “But I didn’t, so there’s no use worrying about that. Focus on what the situation is now, our options, and the best course of action. First things first, let’s get that cut on your hand dealt with.”

  Harlan used another plate fragment to cut a strip of cloth from the abbot’s sweater. He used it to bandage Irena’s wound. It didn’t look that deep, so she’d be okay once they found a medical kit and glued the skin.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling, her trembling reduced to intermittent quivers.

  “No, thank you. If it wasn’t for you, we’d both be dead right now.”

  Irena looked down at the abbot. “Do you know who it is?”

  Harlan thought for a moment and engaged Milo’s expanded facial-recognition algorithm.

  “One of Fizon’s colleagues here on the station. Which means someone’s hacked into the station’s systems and overridden the abbots’ programming. This is not good.”

  “None of this is good,” Irena said, then, looking up at Harlan, added, “Your shoulder is bleeding. Please, let me help.”

  Irena helped him out of his leather jacket and pulled the collar over his left shoulder. It still burned, but his pain compensators were doing a good job at nullifying its effects. He knew all too well, though, that it wouldn’t last. He’d have another fifteen minutes of pain control before it ebbed away.

  Irena inspected his wound. “It’s shallow,” she said. “Looks raw, though.”

  “Help me cut some more bandage. It’ll keep it covered while we get out of here.”

  Irena helped him and was quick and efficient. Giving her tasks to focus on seemed like the best way to help keep her shit together.

  Though he knew Irena was smart and strong willed, he had to help her stay with it until they had time to rest and come to terms with the situation.

  For all he knew, there could be another abbot on its way to finish the job.

  When Irena had finished attending to his wound, Harlan knelt beside the abbot, gripped the skin behind its ear, and tugged back sharply. The face mask slipped over its metallic head.

  “What is that you’re doing?” Irena asked. Her voice had altered from a panicked tone to one of curiosity.

  That’s good. Means she’s engaging her scientific side, which means self-control.

  “Getting the memory chips and its q-drive to analyze later.”

  “You think we can get something off them?”

  “Only one way to find out. But first we need to get out
of here and find a terminal.”

  “Aren’t you going to report this to your boss?”

  Having released the memory chip caddy, Harlan placed the chips, along with the spherical. marble-sized q-drive, into a shielded bag that he kept with him as part of his forensic kit. He then removed the abbot’s holster, put it on himself, and took the gun, checking the ammo: four rounds were left.

  He handed Irena the Taser. “It’s got one charge left, but one is all you need if you get them in the head.”

  She took it with a shaking hand and tucked the handle in the band of her trousers, using her shirt to cover the rest of it. It wasn’t the perfect disguise, but it made her less conspicuous.

  “Come on, follow me,” Harlan said, approaching the door.

  “Harlan, your boss—aren’t you going to report this?”

  He breathed out a long sigh. “I think it’s already too late for that. I think he’s compromised.” He couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but from Harlan’s point of view, it made sense. It was Hugo, after all, who had been so adamant he take this case. The report specifically tasked Harlan with checking out Fizon’s apartment as a matter of urgency.

  It didn’t take a genius to see a connection there.

  Sure, there was a small chance Hugo was innocent in all this and it was just a coincidence, but Harlan had learned to trust his hunches.

  “We’ll discuss it more when we’re off this station,” he said. “Stay close and follow me.”

  Harlan opened the apartment door, checked both directions to make sure they were alone, and stepped into the corridor.

  — I found some hidden files on Fizon’s system, Milo said. I’ve copied them to your internal drive, though they’ve been encrypted with QCA technology. That’s going to be tricky. Perhaps a visit to Nico is in order… if you’re still on good terms with him.

  Harlan resisted the urge to swear as he and Irena headed for the elevator that would take them up to the docking station’s departure lounge. Nico was the best man for this particular job; he had helped develop the latest protocols after the human-abbot war and knew their systems as well as any human.