System Failure
Page 35
It was a good thing that they hadn’t attempted a full frontal assault on the Jupiterian stronghold that was the Snaggardir space station. The whole sector was packed to the brim with pointy, shiny metal. In a way, it looked a bit like a giant nomad camp, since it had now presumably become the central location for everyone of Jupiterian heritage.
That did not, at all, make it seem harmless. Fighter patrols swerved around their craft, scanning their ship with its sensors and passing by. More than once, Rogers thought he saw weapons fire coming toward them, but it turned out to just be his own paralyzing terror.
“Rogers,” the Viking said from the seat across from him. “Stop looking at the floor.”
Rogers was about to say that he wasn’t looking at the floor when he realized that he was, in fact, bent over and looking at the floor. Very intently. So intently that he felt the blood building up in his head.
Reminding himself to breathe, Rogers stopped looking at the floor and started looking at the Viking instead. She was just so damn beautiful, so damn confident and competent and all of the things that Rogers wasn’t. She even looked good in the red-and-gold utility uniform that Tunger had given them all once they’d gotten aboard. Rogers looked like a holiday ham.
The tension that had been building up in his intestines melted away—in a totally not-diarrhea way—and for a moment he couldn’t think of anything else but the woman in front of him. It may have been the first moment of real peace he’d had in months.
“Thanks,” he said.
The Viking raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
Rogers didn’t answer. The droids—who were not piloting the ship at all, but were plugged in somewhere near the back and were likely relaying commands to the piloting computer automatically—started to interface with the Snaggardir HQ building. Rogers couldn’t really hear the transmissions going to or from the ships, but he could distinctly pick out a recorded human voice during the conversation. The droids had been smart enough to use human voices to talk to Snaggardir’s. The thought made him very uncomfortable.
“Very clever,” Keffoule said. Apparently she had also noticed, though she didn’t seem bothered by it. As expected, everyone else on the ship seemed as cool as cucumbers. Even Tunger, who had become a double agent and was now going back to the people who probably very much wanted to kill him, was looking cheerily out the front of the ship.
Mailn, thank god, looked at least a little bit nervous. She kept fingering the pants of her utility uniform at the place where a pistol would have been, had they been allowed to bring weapons other than utility knives. Tunger had suggested that they go in unarmed, and it had seemed like a good idea to Rogers. Places had security to detect those sorts of things, and the jig would be up pretty quickly if they uncovered a rack of grenades under their shirts.
“You want me to tell you that we’re going to be okay?” Rogers asked Mailn.
Mailn looked at him like he was stupid. “Yeah, Rogers, I want you to treat me like a little girl and tell me lies. That’s what I need right now.” She shook her head and leaned back, trying to relax. “I just want this over with.”
Well, Mailn was about to get her wish. Their ship had been miraculously cleared for docking with the main Snaggardir HQ building, and the vibration of the magnetic clamps as they extended sent rumbles through their feet. Slowly, the blackness of space was replaced by the grayness of the inside of a space station. Why didn’t they ever pick any colors for these things other than a dull gray or metallic silver? It made Rogers feel like he was always inside a pinball machine, except Rogers was awesome at pinball. Rogers was not awesome at spacefaring.
They gathered near the gangplank and waited silently for it to extend down into the hangar. Rogers adjusted his hat. The Viking coughed. It was all very tense and awkward, and Rogers was positive that there would be a platoon of Jupiterian soldiers waiting for them on the other side of that door, ready to turn them back into the cosmic dust from which they’d originated.
But the door opened, and there were no soldiers. There weren’t even any security personnel. It was just one guy with a datapad, dressed in coveralls and loudly chewing gum.
“Hey,” he said.
“Uh, hey,” Rogers said.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I’m Mack,” he said. He pointed to a rectangular name tag that was set just above his right breast pocket. It said MACK.
“Uh, hey, Mack,” Rogers said.
Another long moment of silence. The Viking elbowed him in the ribs, but Rogers didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t the one who had put this plan together. He didn’t even want to do it in the first place.
Keffoule sighed. “We’re here to fix some of the recreational equipment,” she said, thankfully.
“Right, right,” Mack said. “They said that you’d be coming. Kinda funny for a rush job, though, yeah? We’ve got techs on board that can fix all that stuff.”
“They tried already,” Rogers said, feeling his lying juices start to flow. This was what he was good at. It shouldn’t be this hard. “There’s a special component of a couple of the computer boards that they couldn’t fix, so we’re here to take a look.”
Mack nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I getcha. You know, not everyone can be an expert in everything. If you don’t mind, I’ll scan your IDs so we can get you on the station’s logs—you wanna make sure you get paid and all that, right?—and then I’ll take you where you need to go.”
The five of them eagerly handed over their IDs, which were magnetic keycards that each of them had stuffed into their pockets. Rogers’ heart beat a mile a minute; this was the moment they’d find out if Tunger’s hacking skills really had any substance to them.
Five cards. Five scans. Five positive beeping tones coming from Mack’s pad. Rogers was halfway through a sigh of relief when he heard a voice that chilled him to the bone.
“Congratulations on infiltrating the enemy base!” the voice said. “You are entitled to one free repulsor shield, redeemable at any of the Snaggardir’s Sundries locations across the galaxy. Remember, whatever you need, you can Snag It at Snaggardir’s™!”
Oh shit.
The five of them froze. The Viking reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. Keffoule’s foot twitched. Rogers found Jesus.
Mack, on the other hand, looked at them with confusion, then burst out laughing.
“Huh? Oh, that.” The man chuckled again. “Nobody ever pays attention to the stuff she says. Last week I got congratulated for defeating the Persian army. I was just making a sandwich!”
Turning away, Mack motioned for them to follow.
“Alright, let’s get you to work, folks!”
With a last, deep breath, they walked into the den of pure, unrefined evil.
* * *
I. Rogers had never done this.
II. Rogers had also never done this.
Infinite Sandwich Hour
Okay, so maybe Snaggardir’s HQ wasn’t that evil.
Rogers thought, since it was the secret hideout of a villainous CEO who was planning to destroy the entire galaxy, that it would at least have some darker colors. Maybe some people walking around in suits, or nondescript, face-hiding uniforms. Gluten-free cupcakes. Some sort of evil.
But, in truth, this seemed to be a pretty decent place. Since it was a collection of space stations, everything had been adapted to long-term human habitation. The artificial gravity felt as real as the surface of Merida, the lights were all built and adjusted to represent an actual sun cycle, complete with UV rays to prevent seasonal depression and vitamin deficiencies. Whole families walked around together, sporting beach clothing for some synthetic oceanfront.
Yet, as much as Snaggardir’s seemed to care about how much fun their workers had, they didn’t seem to care nearly as much about how convenient it was to get there. Maybe it was to dampen the incentive to wander off and go play games, but it was going to take them almost a mile of walking, and t
wo interchanges between what looked like elevators or Flagship -like cars, before they’d be able to get in. Mack, for his part, didn’t really say anything useful for the entire time he escorted them through the hallways.
But then, at a juncture at which Rogers was pretty sure they were supposed to go left, he turned right.
“Hey, Mack,” Rogers said. “Is this really the way to the rec center?”
Mack stopped and turned, looking at Rogers with a puzzled look. It was funny, Rogers thought. Mack didn’t really look like someone complicit in a plan to annihilate humanity, yet here he was. How much did the Jupiterians know about their own plans? Given that they’d broadcast it all over the galaxy, they had to know everything.
“No, it’s not. Why?” Mack said.
Rogers exchanged glances with Mailn, who had pulled up next to him. “Because that’s where we’re supposed to go to fix the equipment.”
Pausing for a moment, Mack looked at his datapad, then back at Rogers.
“Yeah, I see that here,” he said. “But your IDs say that you’re also here to work on our particle accelerators. I’m taking you down to the quark-gluon plasma storage facility.”
Work on particle accelerators? That was bad.
“Uh,” Rogers said. “I’m not sure what glue has to do with any of this, but we’re clearly not quantum physicists.” He gestured at the group behind him. “None of us are qualified to touch that stuff. I’m not even sure how to spell that stuff. You’ve got it wrong.”
Mack, undaunted by Rogers’ argument, tapped the edge of his datapad. “Well it says here that you’re supposed to go fix the particle accelerators. I guess they need a tune-up or something. Are you telling me you don’t know how to fix particle accelerators?”
“I’m telling you we don’t know how to fix particle accelerators. I’m also telling you that we need to get to the recreation center as soon as possible so that we can get to work fixing all of the complicated machines that are in there.”
Rogers shot a look at Tunger, who only smiled. This was his fault.
“It’s some sort of mistake in the system,” Keffoule said. “Perhaps we can start on the recreational equipment while you look into the error.”
“If there’s some kind of mistake,” Mack said, “I’m going to have to check with my supervisor. Says here you’re supposed to fix that first. I don’t want people to expect the particle accelerators to be fixed by a certain time, and then go and try to accelerate some particles, and then have the particles not accelerate, you know?”
Checking with a supervisor? That was also bad. Possibly worse than working on a particle accelerator. Having someone with half a brain interfere with their operation might blow the whole thing wide open—and then Rogers would probably also get blown wide open. And then the galaxy would get blown inward. And then nothing would blow anywhere ever again.
“We told you we don’t know shit about any—” the Viking began, stepping forward. Rogers knew this stance very well; Mack was about to get punched in the face. Violence, however entertaining, would only make this worse. More exciting, but worse.
“I’m sorry,” Rogers said. “Did you say particle accelerators?” He laughed, which didn’t sound very realistic. “Oh, wow, I thought you said nautical accelerators. Those are totally different, and we’re not specialists in those at all.” He nudged Keffoule in the ribs. “Isn’t that hilarious? Nautical accelerators.”
“Ha. Ha,” Keffoule said, visible effort on her face. “What you have said is funny.”
Rogers rolled his eyes. Why hadn’t he nudged someone with a personality? Turning back to Mack, he put on his most winning smile and thought furiously. They wouldn’t survive close scrutiny of their IDs.
“We’re kind of on a tight timeline, Mack, so let me make a suggestion. A couple of us—you know, the ones that are the best at fixing particle accelerators—will go with you to the, uh, acceleration room to work on that. And the rest of us can use these handy maps you have all over the wall to find our way to the rec room and start fixing that stuff. Divide and conquer, you know? That way we don’t have to involve supervisors, and all those particles can keep accelerating. We’ll be out of here in half the time, and you’ll look good to your boss. How does that sound?”
“Are you guys sure?” Mack asked, looking suspicious. “A couple of seconds ago it sounded like you really weren’t qualified.”
“Uh, no! We just got, um, confused. You know, in a way, a well-designed Skee-Ball machine is just like a particle accelerator. Ha-ha. Sometimes we get confused. Ha-ha.”
Jeez, now he was sounding like Keffoule.
While Mack contemplated the validity of this idea, Rogers contemplated who the hell he was going to send on a wild-goose chase. Tunger would have to go to the rec room, obviously. His knowledge of Jupiterian systems and technology might be the thing that won this fight. But who was going to go with him?
Looking around, he tried to read the faces of the other members of his team. Most of them, however, were too busy looking at him like he was out of his goddamn mind, which was pretty accurate. Whoever he sent to talk quantum physics would be in great danger. Well, everyone was in great danger at this point. But they’d be in even greater danger; their game would be up as soon as they walked into the room, and the only useful thing they could do would be to buy the rec room team some time.
He might even be sending half his crew to die.
So, Rogers made the decision the best way he knew how: he waited until someone else spoke up.
“Yeah,” Mailn said, slowly. “This lady here knows a thing or two about math, I hear.” She pointed at Keffoule, who twisted her face into a sort of half grin. Mailn was right! Keffoule couldn’t sneeze without spitting out some sort of formula. It might not be quantum engineering, or whatever the field was called that built particle accelerators, but it would certainly help her talk shop with whoever was around. That would buy them the time they needed for certain.
“And I’ll go with her,” the Viking said. “I don’t want her to break her noodle arms if she’s gotta lift any heavy, uh, particles.”
Rogers felt the blood drain from his face. Why was the Viking choosing to go with Keffoule? He’d known right away that he’d have to be the one to go with Tunger, but he was hoping that the Viking would come with him.
But now he was basically going to have to say goodbye, maybe forever.
He opened his mouth to protest, feeling betrayed in a strange way. Why go into what was sure to be a fight instead of being with him?
But then a miracle happened: he thought before he spoke.
In his mind, he played back their conversation outside his stateroom. The one where she’d kissed the ever-living shit out of him. Fighting was what she wanted to do. This was her choice, not his.
A brief moment of silence followed, during which Rogers thought someone was physically reaching into his chest and ripping out his heart, then taking a bite out of it and dunking it in Scotch that had only been aged eighteen years. It may have been the worst, most necessary feeling ever experienced in Rogers’ very narrow emotional awareness.
“You’ll be great,” Rogers said finally.
The Viking’s jaw tightened, and she gave him the slightest of nods, but Rogers knew what she was trying to say. Actually, he had no real idea what she was trying to say, but Rogers always liked to use silence to project whatever he wanted to hear into the conversation. It made the world easier to deal with.
Mack, who had been looking at some stuff on his datapad in between comments, didn’t seem to notice or care that Rogers’ world had just fallen apart around him. He looked up and smiled.
“Well I think that’s a fine idea. So you three think you can find the rec room?”
“Actually,” Mailn said, “I think I’d better come to the particle accelerator.” She held up her hands. “I’ve got small hands for those tight corners and stuff. And I’m good with wrenches. Particle wrenches. Or something.”
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Rogers said to Tunger, who grinned at him. Of all of them, Tunger seemed the most relaxed, which had an opposite effect on Rogers.
They all stood in a big gaggle, nobody saying anything, nobody moving, grim expressions all around. Rogers couldn’t have been the only one who understood that this might be the last time they would see each other if things went south. And south was practically the only direction on the compass of Rogers’ life.
Mack finally broke the silence.
“Gosh, folks. You’re all making it look like you’re marching off to your deaths! We’ll see you again in a couple of hours for lunch. I’ll take you all to the café near the beach. Great burgers.”
“Yeah,” Rogers said, barely hearing him. “Burgers.” The Viking had turned away and started walking, Keffoule at her side.
“I do not have noodle arms,” Keffoule muttered. “I am lithe.”
“Compared to me, everyone has noodle arms,” the Viking retorted.
Mack and Mailn caught up to them, and they vanished around a corner.
“Well, old chap,” Tunger said. “Shall we?”
Rogers didn’t answer for a moment. He felt sick inside, and not at all like he had what it took to stop the galaxy from collapsing. But, as seemed to be the case so often lately, he had no choice.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s shall. Or something. Man I really miss your old voice.”
• • •
They made their way to the recreation room silently, weaving through throngs of Snaggardir’s workers, security personnel, and even a few more families. One hallway seemed to house some kind of school complex; Rogers could see kids playing, throwing things at each other, and generally being kids. How could a group of people be so bitter at the world that they’d drag all of this down with them if they didn’t get their way? A part of Rogers still thought that the Jupiterians were bluffing, but he couldn’t take the chance. It was time to bring the Jupiterian uprising, and the Galaxy Eater, to an end.