by Alex Lamb
‘Oh, really?’ snapped Voss. ‘You think we’re just going to let you walk out of here? You think that because you read the tea leaves about Nem complexity you have some sacred responsibility to rescue Earth? For your information, your input has already been factored in. Nelson was prepping to leave to support the defence of Earth when Snakepit started interfering with control of the Ariel Two. Sam’s probability assessments have been de-emphasised and his directives marked as unreliable. The League will own the aftermath of this debacle with your help or without it, Ms. Ludik. As it is, your inability to detach from Will Monet has made that process far more complicated than necessary. You have a lot to answer for.’
Ann felt a desperate laugh bubbling out of her throat. Inability to detach. That was one way to put it.
Voss recoiled, her face darkening. ‘I’m sorry. Did I say something funny?’
‘Listen to me, you slack-witted political hack,’ said Ann. ‘I told you this would happen when things started running out of control. You failed to listen. I don’t know what your fallback plan is now, but my guess is it’s to boser the planet using the Chiyome, get the hell out of here and try desperately to pretend that none of this is your fault. That’s usually how it works, isn’t it?’
The look in Voss’s eyes told her she was right.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough,’ said Ann. ‘The Nems aren’t taking orders from their homeworld any more, which means they’re free to build new nests. Snakepit’s the least of your problems. The first new nest site they have in mind is probably Earth. They’ve already reached something close to human-level reasoning, which means that all your clever plans to spare the home system from carnage are way out of date. How long do you suppose the other colonies will last after that?’
She waited for an answer, but Voss just glared at her like a cornered animal.
‘You’ve kicked off the extinction of the human race,’ said Ann. ‘Well done. And that’s why I’m leaving – to clean up the stupid mess you’ve made, if I possibly can.’
Ann could see the loathing swelling behind Voss’s eyes.
‘You sound mighty sure of yourself for someone who’s being considered for execution.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Ann.
She pulled on the restraints. They came apart like butter.
[Now,] she told her shadow.
The guards’ eyes rolled up in their heads and they flopped to the ground like puppets. At the same moment, every screen on the command deck flickered and died. Will Monet’s face appeared on the main viewing wall, a dark smile curving his mouth.
Ann grabbed Voss’s jacket and lifted her off the ground with comic ease.
‘Bioblocker!’ Voss shouted. ‘Bioblocker now!’
Nothing happened.
‘Disabled,’ said Ann. ‘Wouldn’t have worked anyway.’
‘You’re not Ann Ludik!’ said Voss. ‘You’re Monet!’
‘Close but no cigar,’ said Ann. ‘Will never looked this good. And now we’re all going to start behaving like rational people. How about it?’
18.4: MARK
As the shuttle lost line-of-sight with the constructorbot, Mark’s grip on its pilot-SAP fell away. The colonists overcame their shyness almost immediately. Warning pings started appearing in his sensorium with messages attached.
‘Gulliver Shuttle Two, you are to land at the supplied coordinates in the desert, otherwise we will bring you down.’
A volley of twenty ground-to-air missiles raced towards them from a remote station somewhere far beyond New Luxor. Mark had to kick in a program of evasives before they’d even gained fifty kilometres of altitude. The shuttle banked hard.
‘One minute they want this boat, the next they’re trying to blow it out of the sky,’ he said as weapons screamed past their wing. ‘Can’t these bastards make up their minds?’
‘I don’t think they’re being super rational right now,’ said Zoe.
Mark snorted. ‘They haven’t been rational since they tried to floor me in a game of constructorbot smackdown.’
‘We have no idea what Sam told them,’ she reminded him. ‘He doesn’t have a great track record for honesty.’
Mark flew with half his mind and threw the rest into co-opting the missiles’ onboard controls. Zoe was right. Had the colonists been thinking anywhere close to clearly, they would have fired their missiles with something other than a standard rotating-format security protocol. Under the pressure of Will’s hackpack, their guidance systems cracked like raw eggs. Mark directed the missiles into each other’s paths only to discover that the colonists had decided to dive orbital tugs into Carter’s thermosphere in an attempt to prevent him from reaching the Gulliver.
‘I hate these people,’ Mark muttered. ‘I just want to leave. Is that too much to ask?’
He bounced his connection to the Gulliver via the Fleet station hanging above them and undocked the starship from its tether. The Gulliver adjusted its position, sliding into a lower, faster orbit.
‘You want to try nudging a starship?’ he said. ‘Please, go on, try.’
They did. Several small robotic ships impacted against the twenty-kilometre-wide wall of the Gulliver’s exohull, leaving barely a trace of their existence. Mark swung the shuttle up, dodged between obstacles and docked on the move, the shuttle’s hull clanging from the force of their impact. Fortunately, he managed to not smash the docking machinery on the way in. As soon as he had a join, Mark instructed the starship to pull them away from Carter with more conventional thrust than was strictly legal so close to an inhabited planet.
Fusion torches ignited all across the Gulliver’s back, blasting Carter’s atmosphere with a hammer-blow of superheated ions. Parabolic shock waves of glowing cloud rippled out behind them as they tore away. Mark gritted his teeth as they put distance between themselves and Carter’s racing shoal of improvised munitions. Only when he was sure the tugs couldn’t chase him did he allow himself to relax. He sagged into his crash couch with a moan.
‘Finally,’ he said. ‘I never want to see that place again.’
‘Now for the really difficult part,’ said Zoe. ‘We can’t fly the Gulliver home until we’re in control of the rest of the ship, and it’s only a matter of time before the Carterites find something bigger to throw at us. We have to get you down there and plugged into that helm. Sam knows that and he’ll be somewhere in that habitat core waiting for us.’
Mark rubbed his eyes, feeling excitement and dread in equal measures. Sam would have something twisted cooked up for them, he felt sure. And yet the fear that idea brought was tempered by Mark’s urgent desire to drive a fist into the man’s face.
‘Is there any way you can override that stupid security set-up so I can see the whole interior?’ he said.
Ironically, as soon as he reached the Gulliver’s mesohull, his grip on the ship’s functions would get weaker, not stronger. His hold would vanish the moment he entered the security-locked cabin and only bounce back once he reached the Fleet section of the habitat-core.
‘Not from in here,’ said Zoe. ‘We need full helm-space and robot control.’
‘Then there’s no point in waiting. I’m going down there to sort this shit out.’
There was nobody else who could do it. Zoe wasn’t in any shape to face Sam, even in zero-gee. Her feet were still useless and she was doped to the eyeballs on muscle-relaxants and pain-suppressors. Mark would have to handle Sam alone. He unclipped and started towards the airlock.
Zoe eyed him anxiously. ‘You’re not dealing with the FPP any more,’ she said. ‘This is Sam Shah we’re talking about and he won’t be in a friendly mood.’
‘I know that.’
‘Then don’t be in such a hurry!’ Zoe snapped. ‘He’s going to fuck with your head. That’s what he does. You need to start thinking like he does otherwise he’l
l finish us. Tell me what he’ll try next.’
Mark exhaled. ‘He won’t want me to reach the bridge, so he’ll wake Citra up and use her as a human shield. He knows I won’t want to kill her.’
‘Agreed,’ said Zoe. ‘What else?’
‘He might paint the walls with neurotoxin like he did last time.’
‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘We can fix that from here. The shuttle has a printer. We can put together a skin-suit for you with gloves.’
‘He’s going to be armed,’ said Mark.
‘Yes. But so will you. This shuttle was built for first contact, remember? There’s a pair of recoilless automatics in the shuttle’s security locker with magazines of plastic rounds. Keep going.’
‘He’ll use his eyes in the science and diplomacy sections to set up an ambush,’ Mark added, the difficulty of his situation setting in. ‘And I have to get through the diplomacy section to reach the bridge.’
Zoe broke into an evil grin. ‘That’s what he thinks he’s going to do.’ She started typing furiously on her touchboard. ‘I’ll be simulating a soft assault the moment your docking pod gets down there. We use the paranoia built into this ship against him. If the Gulliver even sniffs a computer virus, everything locks. The entire network will go down. Screens. Cameras. Everything. He won’t have eyes for at least five minutes while the security SAP figures out I’m bluffing, then everything comes back up. If you get to the helm before that, flag me and I’ll reboot manually. But you’ll have to reach the fat-contact in your couch. Everything else will be out.’
Mark slid over to the security locker, pulled out a gun and loaded it.
‘It’s a start,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep that bastard on the back foot for as long as we can.’
Zoe had the shuttle print him up a body-stocking that would keep Citra’s toxins off his skin without compromising his movement. Mark gratefully abandoned his paper smock and pulled it on.
‘First and foremost,’ said Zoe, ‘keep this in mind: that fucker is going to do exactly the opposite of what you expect. Don’t take your eyes off him for a second. Promise me.’
Her eyes implored him.
‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I didn’t intend to, in any case.’ He pushed himself over to the airlock. ‘Wish me luck.’ He grabbed a handle and waved as the door shut behind him.
The pod ride down to the centre of the ship had never felt longer. Mark breathed deep, his heart hammering. His mood see-sawed between fear and rage. Somehow, one man in a starship core scared him more than a planet full of angry colonists.
The pod thudded into place. Mark grabbed a handle and pulled himself flat against the wall. Then he waited. Five seconds later, the monitor screens died and came back flashing incursion warning symbols. The lighting turned red. Sirens sounded briefly and fell silent.
Mark hit the manual override on the door and held his breath. No bullets flew in. He glanced quickly over the lip of the hatch and darted back. Nothing lay beyond except the Gulliver’s spotless corridor. Black and red incursion warnings glowed from every surface. Not having eyes in the walls set his teeth on edge.
He slid quietly into the habitat core, angling his automatic to cover the ambush point at the closest intersection. He paused as soon as he was inside, listening hard. Nothing carried on the air except the soft hiss of the Gulliver’s fans.
‘Don’t shoot,’ said Citra Chesterford.
Mark’s heart skipped a beat. His gun slid instinctively towards her voice.
‘Come out, then,’ he said, ‘and keep your hands where I can see them.’
She floated in front of him, her eyes full of judgement. ‘We don’t want any more bloodshed,’ she said. ‘You’ve done enough.’
Mark’s heart pounded. He scanned her rapidly to make sure she wasn’t carrying a weapon and then slid his eyes back to the ambush points. He hadn’t expected an early surrender. Sam was out-thinking him already.
‘Where’s Sam?’ he snarled.
‘The bridge,’ she said. ‘He knows that’s where you want to go so he’s waiting for you there to make a point. We’re not going to fight you, Mark.’
Mark emitted a dry half-laugh. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m sure.’
‘I’m here because we knew you’d kill Sam on sight if you met him first,’ said Citra. ‘He’ll come out when I give him the all-clear. You have a witness now. Maybe that means something to you, maybe not. Maybe you’ll just kill me, too.’
‘Professor Chesterford, you are one deeply confused woman,’ said Mark, ‘but frankly I don’t care what kind of bullshit fantasy you’re living in any more.’ He gestured with his gun. ‘That way,’ he said. ‘You first.’
Citra slid down the corridor in front of him. She moved slowly and carefully, making a point to keep her hands visible. Mark gritted his teeth and focused on the corridor’s intersections. He barely breathed during the short journey to the bridge.
They reached the doorway. It had been left open.
‘Are you still in there, Sam?’ said Citra. ‘You can come out now.’
‘No,’ snapped Mark. ‘Tell that slimy fuck not to move.’
She eyed him with dismay. ‘Are you going to kill him?’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ snapped Mark. ‘Right now I’m planning on leaving that to the Fleet tribunal.’
‘That’s rich,’ said Sam Shah from around the corner. ‘After what you’ve done.’
Coming back aboard the Gulliver was like entering an alternate reality. But what else had he expected? Until Sam ditched him on Carter, he’d lived in that delusional state himself.
‘In,’ Mark told Citra. ‘To the back of the room.’
‘You want us both in there?’ she said. ‘There’s not much space.’
‘Both of you. I want Sam’s back against the wall.’
Citra floated through the doorway. Mark edged carefully around the opening, keeping his weapon aimed. Citra and Sam hovered in the narrow area that ran along the left side of the crash-couch bunks, as requested. Sam’s expression was one of exhausted disapproval. He looked Mark’s suit up and down with evident disdain, as if poison had been the last thing on his mind.
Mark glared at his adversary, thinking fast. A double surrender – there had to be something wrong here. For starters, Sam was still keeping up a stream of lies for Citra. He’d only bother with that if he had a reason.
‘Congratulations,’ said Mark. ‘I anticipated the tricks you’ve already used. Ambushes. Poison on the walls. That kind of thing. You’ve surprised me yet again.’ He kept his tone light, trying to sound indifferent. Meanwhile, his heart thudded in his chest, waiting for the inevitable ploy.
‘We’re just saving time,’ said Sam wearily. ‘And hopefully some lives. You boxed us up in here and took away our comms. You shut down our network and arrived with a gun. It was pretty clear you meant to take back the ship, whatever we were trying to achieve. This way, maybe we can convince you to see reason and help some of those people down there.’
Mark didn’t bother replying to Sam’s bullshit patter. The bastard would only build on it.
‘What now?’ said Citra.
Mark drifted slowly into the room, sliding up to the captain’s bunk while keeping his gun on them the entire time. Something about the situation felt deeply wrong. With his free hand, he felt around behind him for the fat-contact. It took him twenty seconds to locate it without moving his eyes away from them to look.
He drew the cable up to his neck only to find it dead. He registered a moment’s surprise. In the same second, a shadow fell across the doorway. Mark pulled himself to the wall just in time as a plastic round shot the gun from his hand. Ash stood there in the doorway, his face a rictus of rage.
‘Kill him!’ Sam yelled. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Mark lay trapped in the bunk, prone and easy to shoot – a perfect
set-up, yet again. He grabbed the bunk’s handles and threw himself towards the door-wall in a crouch. Ash swung into the room to take aim.
‘Traitor!’ Ash wailed, his voice cracking.
Mark pivoted on one handle, twisted and kicked out with his right foot as Ash moved in. Ash’s gun fell from his hand, bouncing off the wall. By then, Sam was scrabbling for Mark’s automatic. Citra was in the way.
Mark slewed out of the bunk feet-first, repeatedly kicking Ash in the face as he came. Ash batted his feet away, but Mark’s hands were in the air by now, reaching for both weapons. Before he could grab them, Ash seized him by the knees and yanked, using the doorway for leverage. He dragged them both back into the corridor.
‘You’re going to pay,’ Ash screamed.
‘For what?’ Mark shouted back.
‘Mind rape!’ Ash shrieked, his voice hysterical with indignation. ‘What do you think?’
Mark fought down his outright shock that Ash was still alive, along with his confusion over the accusation. He focused on grabbing Ash’s arms as the two of them bounced against the corridor wall. Under ordinary conditions, Ash wouldn’t have lasted five minutes against Mark. But Mark was half-starved and Ash fought like a man unhinged.
As they tumbled against the padding, Sam grabbed a gun. Citra picked up the other. She fired, narrowly missing both roboteers as they twisted over each other.
‘Don’t fire till you have a clear shot!’ Sam told her.
Mark corkscrewed and kicked against the wall, sending Ash and himself sprawling down the passage towards the ladder to the lounge. Mark angled around, his feet running along the walls and ceiling as he tried to turn Ash’s back towards the guns.
Another ill-timed bullet whined past him. Mark’s desperate evasions gave Ash an upper-body advantage. He snatched a hand free and went for an eye-gouge. Mark blocked frantically, trying to fend him off while Ash’s fingers clawed over his cheek. Ash’s face hung inches from his own. The look on it was one of a man dying inside.
