"That is likely an accurate assessment. It was not my intention to involve you personally in this aspect of the escape. Please remove the leash, then proceed swiftly to docking bay-I and prepare the SOB for travel. We will be arriving shortly."
"I sure hope you know what you're doing..."
#
Further ahead in the shaft, the prisoner continued to be of no help at all to his escorts.
"If you don't unhook your feet, I swear to God, I will use the stun rod."
"Again, I am frightfully sorry. Must be some manner of muscle spasm. Poor circulation, you see. Long trips like these always seem to cause it to act up."
"I'll show you what a muscle spasm looks like," growled the second guard, unsheathing the baton-sized 'stun rod,' effectively an over-engineered cattle prod with enough circuitry to tone itself down just enough to prevent the death of the target.
"What the hell is that!?" exclaimed his partner, just in time for a fuzzy black and white creature to cannon into the three of them.
For a few seconds, chaos ensued. Zero gravity is no place for a creature without thumbs, which left Ma scrabbling somewhat haphazardly in her attempts to reach the restraints. The guards, still unsure of what precisely they were dealing with, had degenerated to screaming orders at one another and fumbling for their weapons. The prisoner simply seemed delighted at the level of confusion. His delight only increased when Ma finally maneuvered herself to his feet. She hooked her paws around a nearby handrail, her red light flickered for a moment, and the leg restraints clicked open. There are those who would have gladly paid admission for what came next.
Over the course of human development, we frequently find ourselves entering new environments. Without fail, the first order of business is to determine how best to inflict bodily harm on other humans while immersed in that environment. It became clear in a matter of moments that, yes, there was indeed a form of martial arts that was performed in zero-gravity while one's hands were bound, and yes, this man was well versed. A quick tap of his toes pivoted his body around, allowing his hands to grip the rail behind him. Thus anchored, he delivered a swift kick to one guard causing him to spin uncontrollably. A thrusting heel sent him ricocheting down the shaft. His partner managed to raise a stun rod, but a heartbeat later the prisoner's feet were locked about his wrist. A quick crouching motion yanked the guard forward, and a subsequent twist and mule kick launched the unlucky escort directly at his partner. The two collided, forcefully dislodging the plasma pistol that the latter had drawn. The entire display was over in two seconds, but it had given Ma time to release his hand restraints as well. The skilled prisoner plucked the liberated pistol from the air, stowed Ma under one arm, and propelled himself away from his former captors. A chime from the slidepad on Ma's harness drew his attention. Displayed on it screen was a map of the station with a highlighted route.
#
"That was a somewhat graceless solution, but the results are inarguable," Ma stated in Lex's ear, amid much static and distortion.
"What's that, Ma? I can't hear you. I think the hands-free is out of range."
"Have you reached the ship yet?" she asked, voice slightly clearer.
"I'm barely halfway down the next shaft. Why, are you done already?"
As a response, alarms began to sound, leading to utter panic in a space station that was already having difficulty dealing with the sudden arrival of an unexpected ship.
"I guess so," he remarked.
"I suggest you move very quickly."
"You don't need to tell me twice!" he affirmed, launching himself along the corridor.
Navigation was immensely simpler with both hands free, though the atmosphere of chaos slowed him down somewhat. He darted about the shaft, avoiding dislodged carry-on bags and commuters clumsily trying to figure out which way to flee. After a second turn brought the entrance to docking bay-I into view, a louder bit of commotion behind him prompted him to turn. The prisoner was, to put it bluntly, showing off. With Ma tucked under his arm like a football, he was practically sprinting along the walls, springing back and forth with flawless pivots to give himself enough momentum for another few steps.
"I am engaging an auto-start sequence on the SOB's systems," Ma stated as she passed. "Minimum operational readiness will be achieved in approximately forty-five seconds."
The escaped convict dove through the door to the docking bay, Lex snagging the edge and hauling himself through shortly after. The pair converged on dock 85.
"Ah, yes. I rather thought you would be here. Fellow from first class, yes? I believe this is yours," the convict said, handing over Ma. "Terribly sorry, won't be a moment."
He drifted slightly back into the main area of the bay, which had the general appearance of a wider than average shaft with regularly spaced garage-sized alcoves leading to the airlocks associated with each bay.
"Ahem! Attention, denizens of..." he proclaimed, turning aside to Lex to quietly add. "What docking bay is this, my boy?"
"I."
"Denizens of Bay-I! Anyone still lingering within my general vicinity in the next thirty seconds will be considered hostages, and thus will be joining me when I leave in my ship. Whether or not you fit inside said ship is not my concern, you'll be coming along regardless! For those doubtful of my ability to enforce such a policy, may I direct your attention to my right hand!"
He raised the pistol in the indicated hand. The response was immediate, with a flood of people moving in a crazed mob toward the exit, forcing back the security officers and guards that were trying to enter. Lex took advantage of the madness to enter the pressurized dock and slip into the cockpit. Once the bay door was clear, the fugitive heaved it shut. It was a heavy duty, hinged metal device built to keep any docking mishaps from depressurizing the whole station, and after a blast or two from his pistol fused the opening mechanism, it wasn't going to be letting anyone in or out without some serious mechanical assistance. After that, he joined Lex in the SOB, strapping into the recently installed passenger seat, situated directly behind the pilot's seat. The two seats more or less filled the cockpit to capacity, with a tiny bit of space on the floor on either side of the seats. The duffel was crammed into one side and held in place with elastic straps. Ma drifted into the other, hooking her paws around the straps she found there.
"Nice ship," he remarked.
"Yeah, thanks. You mind telling me who you are?"
"You are aiding in my escape, but you don't know who I am? Well, aren't you an interesting little riddle. We'll do introductions once we are in the clear, if you don't mind. Right now you and I are going to have to figure out how to get the dock's door to open, which they will certainly have locked, and how to get past the security ships, which they will certainly have dispatched."
"Interfacing with the SOB on-board systems," Ma stated in his earpiece, drifting onto his lap and holding herself in place with one of the harness straps. When she continued, it was via the speaker system of the ship. "Attempting to open doors ... Door access refused, attempting override security. Processing... Processing..."
"I say. That's a familiar vocal tick," remarked the passenger.
The creature on Lex's lap had its eyes shut tight, head jerking and shaking every few moments while the red light remained almost constantly lit. Finally she relented, wavering slightly as through enormously fatigued.
"Encryption complexity sufficient to render an override impossible within a useful time window with current resources. Activating tractor beam in order to facilitate physical override."
"I rather think a tractor beam won't be sufficient. Haven't you got any weaponry?" asked the ex-prisoner.
"Trust me, my tractor beam will be plenty," Lex assured him.
It had never been Lex's intention to make the SOB a combat vessel, but considering the ship's creator, the idea of missing an opportunity to add destructive capability to a vehicle was practically sacrilegious. Thus – along with a slick black paint job to blend with deep
space, heat syncs to cool engines and fool heat sensors, and an engine that could be made to belch all sorts of disruptive radio waves – Karter had installed an overpowered tractor beam with a setting that had roughly the same effect on its target that a jackhammer would have on a watermelon.
"Calculating resonance frequency and determining structural weaknesses. Deploying," Ma said.
The beam kicked on, and instantly it was clear the sort of damage something that amounted to little more than a high tech replacement for a tow rope could do in the right hands. The whole ship rattled as it did its work, forcing the unrestrained Ma to hold a bit more tightly to Lex's harness. Rivets popped and welds opened like a zipper on the surface of the door. In seconds the seal was compromised and the bay decompressed, wrenching the damaged door free. As it cartwheeled into space, four security ships strafed into view, with easily a dozen more lurking a bit further out.
"Finally!" Lex proclaimed, slipping a stick of gum from his pocket and tossing it in his mouth.
"Might I suggest-" his guest began.
"No talking," Lex snapped, revving the engines and blasting out of the bay.
The ships he was facing were slow, clumsy, short distance patrol vessels. They were barely larger than their own cockpits and, thanks to the obvious danger of using high powered weapons near a civilian space station, they were primarily armed with devices designed for incapacitation. That in no way made them harmless, however. For one thing, as previously stated, an incapacitated spacecraft is essentially a projectile, and projectiles don't mix well with fragile ships and structures the likes of which the patrols were supposed to guard. To deal with this, the security ships tended to be equipped with their own (fortunately less destructive) tractor beams and good old fashioned grappling cables to try to bring disabled ships to a halt. They also had a tricky bit of technology that freelancers had come to call "the clothesline." Security ships would pair off and link a pair of emitters that had been installed on each of them. A ribbon of bright blue energy would then zap to life between them. If said ribbon so much as grazed your ship, the hull temperature would start to spike. A few seconds of exposure would blow the coolant system, forcing you to either kill the engines or kill everyone in the vicinity of the engines when they eventually ruptured. Two such clotheslines flickered on like neon threads ahead of him, and his visual scanners showed that there was a handful more trying to box him in.
A quick waggle of the control stick sent the pair of ships ahead of him into a sideways slide to the left to compensate. He then shifted to the right and darted upward. The ships above him tried to close off the path, but unfortunately for them, the two pilots didn't quite have matching reflexes. One drifted wide, nearly smashing into one of his fellow security ships, and leaving a gaping hole in their defenses for Lex slip through. A solo ship, either in an attempt to intimidate him or simply due to plain old obliviousness, swept close enough to brush shields, forcing Lex back down toward another pair of ribbons. They slid together and tried to tighten up the net, but he eased his ship into a careful orientation and managed to thread the needle between the lines. One of the security ships, in its panicked attempt to pursue, managed to cross the path of one the other ship's lines, instantly triggering a fail-safe and drifting dead in the water. By the time the other ships managed to sort themselves out and get back on track, Lex had open space ahead of him and could put his monster of an engine to work.
When Lex had been describing to Karter what sort of things he wanted in a ship, top on the list was speed, and the lunatic inventor had delivered. Despite the fact that his previous ship, Betsy, had been equipped with triple the engines it was intended to have and an oversized power plant to run them, the SOB was several times more powerful with what looked like (but was absolutely not) stock equipment. With a little distance to get up a head of steam, and without an atmosphere to contend with, Lex had yet to find anything that could even keep pace with the SOB, let alone catch up. He hammered the throttle until the security ships were nowhere in sight. Once the sensors were clear, he picked out a suitably random destination and activated the Carpinelli Field. The view out the cockpit headed toward the blue side of the spectrum until it rocketed past ultraviolet.
"Okay, I'm going to plot out a few random jumps to make sure they can't send anyone after us. Once I'm done, the three of us are going to have a little chat. Understand?"
"Certainly," said the former prisoner.
"Of course," said Ma.
"Good," Lex said, shaking his head and muttering as he flipped through the star charts. "What a waste of a stick of gum..."
Chapter 7
Commander Purcell sat alone in her quarters. The space station that acted as her command center was an outdated military repair and defensive support model which, among other things, meant that personal space was kept to the bare essentials. A single cot occupied one wall. It was attached via hinges, and was currently folded up to reveal what was technically a chair, but was more accurately the slightly cushioned top of a footlocker. There was a charging station and mounting arm for an antiquated but practically indestructible military-grade datapad. A sliding door on one wall revealed a waterproof booth with a nozzle, though calling it a shower would be an insult to modern plumbing. It also contained a handful of biological waste disposal receptacles, the description and usage of which are best left to the imagination. Suffice to say their resemblance to vacuum cleaner attachments was not coincidental. Everything was either bare metal or painted a shade of institutional green that seemed calculated to sap the will to live from everyone in a fifty meter radius. At the moment she was seated in the chair, a modular desk surface folded down over her lap, with the datapad mounted in front of her face.
Occupying the desk was a relic of a bygone age, the qwerty keyboard. She was tapping away at it, interacting with some manner of text messaging program on the datapad's screen. Extremely high security dispatches were frequently communicated in plain text. This was largely due to the fact that audio or video messages could be easily overheard or witnessed. The tiny amount of sensitive data represented by each message could similarly be encrypted far more heavily, and each message separately, which ensured that a cracking program would have very little to work with, and thus little hope of producing useful results. As a final bonus, it allowed for absolute anonymity beyond a screen name. In the case of Purcell and the mysterious party on the other side of the communication channel, these had remained set to their default values: Local for herself and Remote for her associate.
"Report progress," read Remote's first comment.
"No progress. The inventor will not cooperate," she typed in reply.
"We did not expect him to be easily convinced. You must use persuasion."
"He seems to believe that he is in the superior bargaining position."
"Threaten him."
"We have threatened him. We have DISMANTLED him. He does not feel any need to comply. He doesn't even seem concerned."
"Torture him, then."
"He has killed five of my men in escape attempts. If we were to torture him, I doubt that anything he would design for us as a result could be trusted. I have serious doubts that we should rely upon him. We would do the human race a tremendous favor by removing him from the population."
"Not before we get the full designs and apparatus to build a full scale device."
"There must be someone else who can design them. The partial plans and small scale are available to us."
"There are other teams of engineers who can do it, but they are all in the employ of major firms, or militaries, or governments. We've tried to secure suitably skilled military engineers before. Too risky. And no civilian design team would produce a device with such destructive potential, and even if they could, the results would be traceable and repeatable by others. The inventor is a single man who has voluntarily removed himself from society. He can give us what we need without attracting the attention of law enforcement until it is too late."
"What do you suggest we do, then?"
"You say he feels he is in a superior bargaining position? Bargain with him. See if you can buy his cooperation. I will finance any reasonable demand."
"And if the demand is unreasonable?"
"Agree. When he has outlived his usefulness, kill him. He'll never collect."
"Very well."
"Keep me updated."
"Affirmative."
Purcell closed the connection and placed the datapad back in its dock. The idea of negotiating seriously with this man was utterly repulsive to her. He'd killed her men without showing a trace of regret. The idea of killing him when this was all over, on the other hand, might just make it all worthwhile.
#
Back in the cramped cockpit of the SOB, Lex was finally happy with the next few stops on his ship's route.
"Okay. We've got twenty-five minutes before the first stop, so let's get the preliminaries out of the way, shall we?"
"Surely," said the man in the seat behind him.
Lex fiddled with some controls and managed to pivot his seat enough to look his passenger in the eye.
"My name's Lex," he said, extending a hand.
"You can call me Mr. Garotte," said the passenger with a firm shake.
"You got a first name, Garotte?"
"I do, and a last one. Neither of which is Garotte."
"A codename, then?"
"Trust me. Things will be much less problematic that way."
"I wished you'd said that first. I would have come up with something cooler for me."
"Ace seems appropriate."
"We'll be sticking with Lex."
"Very well, sir. You've been sent by Karter, I presume, based on the presence of his little pet here. Soul Brother, I believe it was?"
"Yes, I'm here because of Karter. No, he didn't send me. And this isn't Solby, this is his female counterpart, Squee. Only it isn't her, either. It's really Ma."
"Ma? I think you're confused, my boy. Ma was what Karter called that control system of his. He probably just installed a similar voice module in that slidepad on the beast's back."
Unstable Prototypes Page 7
