Dissonance: Aurora Renegades Book Two (Aurora Rhapsody 5)

by G. S. Jennsen

  It looked as though a pressurized cluster bomb had been dropped on Folsom and Spear. Most of the lights had gone out. Or maybe they were obscured by all the smoke.

  How the hell was she going to get out of here?

  Map overlay activated. Assuming Rincon Plaza is the primary target, go left—

  Laser fire burned through the smoke in front of her as she turned. Too close.

  Or right. Right would be better.

  VANCOUVER

  EASC HEADQUARTERS

  Miriam scrutinized the data flowing across the secure, encrypted and also hidden comm channel. “This looks good, Christopher.” She glanced up at the holo wearing a grateful smile. “You’re making progress far more rapidly than the schedule we set. Excellent work.”

  He scoffed, deflecting the compliment. “With all the construction going on out here, it hasn’t been difficult to divert a few resources here and there.”

  “Minimize it if you wish, but I recognize the effort required—”

  The alert flashed in her vision at the same time it flashed on the news feed panel embedded in the wall. Footage of buildings crumbling into smoke, people running and generalized chaos followed.

  “I need to go. I’ll touch base when I can.” She cut the connection and deactivated the shielding around her office. Subversive scheming would have to wait; it was time to focus on the here and now—to do her job.

  In a matter of seconds she had the relevant broad-stroke details. The location was San Francisco, the Rincon Hill neighborhood—a favorite of warenuts and, in recent days, possible Prevos. Three explosions had been confirmed, though whether they resulted from bombs or rockets remained unclear. Widespread small arms fire in the aftermath had also been reported.

  Initial casualty reports varied, from a low of seventeen to a high of over a hundred.

  She connected to North American Military Headquarters in San Francisco and instructed them to allow civilian emergency and security personnel to take the lead, but authorized provision of any assistance requested, carte blanche.

  Next she alerted the OTS task force at Naval Intelligence and advised them to send an officer to the scene, under the reasoned assumption this was likely an OTS attack. The terrorist organization had become increasingly brazen and violent in recent weeks, its members descending from the ranks of opposition protestors to mass murderers. News of the bombing in Cavare had reached her hours earlier.

  Two attacks on the two most powerful planets in the galaxy on the same day. OTS was trying to give Olivia Montegreu a run for her money.

  Miriam was fully engaged in multiple on-scene reports and a briefing with the San Francisco law enforcement chief when a holocomm from Pamela Winslow invaded it all in a flurry of blinking alerts and priority overrides.

  She paused the briefing, paused herself to grit her teeth and allow herself a single silent curse, and switched channels.

  “Chairman Winslow, I am in the middle of a crisis at the moment. Unless this is a true emergency, I suggest whatever you wish to discuss wait until the situation has calmed.”

  “Admiral Solovy, have you seen the latest from Rio de Janeiro and Shi Shen? This kind of behavior cannot be allowed to continue.”

  Vids of young people, their dress marking them as members of the warenut counterculture, defacing government buildings were shoved onto her holocomm. She waved them off the edge of the screen to glare at Winslow.

  “How curious. I expected you to be complaining about the rise in terrorist attacks by OTS—such as the one happening this instant in San Francisco.”

  “Regrettable to be sure, but OTS is reacting to what it correctly perceives to be a very real threat.”

  “Chairman, you cannot be advocating—”

  “Overreacting, yes. But I expect the attacks will lessen or even stop if we make a proper effort to crack down on this rampant spread of illegal, hazardous technology. Children are turning themselves into monsters and, quite frankly, it is your fault. You initiated the creation of this technology, then you allowed it to slip through your fingers.”

  Miriam’s jaw tightened. “I disagree, but now is the least optimal time imaginable for assigning blame. People are dying, and I will not stand around debating semantics with you while they are.”

  “Two hours from now, the Assembly will pass legislation outlawing the ownership, possession or use of Artificials outside of the government, military and Assembly-approved corporations. I expect you to instruct those under your command to assist the police in enforcing this new law throughout Earth Alliance jurisdiction with all due speed.”

  “Enforcement of civilian law is not the province of the military.”

  “I only mean in a support capacity, of course. I’m not referring to martial law type measures.”

  Yet. The fact that the possibility of martial law was sufficiently extant in the woman’s mind for her to drop it in conversation was worrisome, but not surprising.

  “Chairman, I realize in all probability you will be the Prime Minister-elect in three days. But you are not the Prime Minister today, and you have no authority to issue orders to me.”

  The woman’s lips drew in and thinned. “In that case, we will reconvene in three days. A word of warning, though, Admiral. Expect that conversation to be considerably less civil.”

  “I can hardly contain my enthusiasm. Good day, Chairman.”

  As soon as the comm dropped, she reconnected to Vice-Admiral Jirkar at NA Headquarters and spent some time ensuring he was up to speed, then granted him full authority to act according to her directives.

  When the conference was done, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  So be it.

  Yet more grateful than she’d been a mere few minutes ago that Rychen was ahead of schedule, she reactivated the encryption shield and prepared to contact several people. Richard was first.

  19

  SAGAN

  EARTH ALLIANCE COLONY

  DRUYAN INSTITUTE

  * * *

  ABIGAIL CANIVON GAZED AT THE SAILSHIPS floating on the tranquil bay outside. No trace remained of the damage the Metigens had inflicted on Sagan.

  The Druyan Institute’s Cybernetic Research Center had been rebuilt, better than before. She enjoyed a plethora of new, state-of-the-art tools at her disposal.

  And why shouldn’t she? These were heady days for the industry. Advances in not merely core cybernetics but other biosynth materials and all quantum computing applications had been the order of the day for months.

  Now all that progress was at risk of being halted—if not destroyed and a regression begun—by two opposing but inexorably related forces: OTS and Olivia Montegreu.

  Montegreu brought validation to all OTS’ most extravagant claims; she was its doomsday warnings made flesh. Artificials were too dangerous to be set free or even to use, because they lacked a conscience or any true moral compass. Adding humans to the equation didn’t make them safer as many had hoped, but rather more of a menace. Given the keys to the final domain, flesh and blood, Artificials now threatened to dominate and subjugate humanity.

  The woman was a better recruiting tool than anything OTS could have dreamed up. And it was Abigail’s fault.

  For all her considerable intelligence and ingenuity—no one had ever accused Abigail of being modest—she’d been unable to outsmart an Artificial. She could not find a way to subvert its processes in a manner that would prevent the melding of human and synthetic from reaching its full potential.

  But maybe she could do something now.

  She pivoted from the window and headed back into the lab. She’d convinced Montegreu that in order to ensure the Prevo procedure was successful, she needed the details on the woman’s cybernetics and eVi architecture. Which, to be completely safe, she had needed.

  What she hadn’t needed to do was take advantage of the woman being sedated during the procedure to acquire additional details on the many routines they ran, then save a copy of said routines to he
r own internal storage.

  She’d neglected to hand the information over to Alliance authorities after her rescue. It would not have done them any good. Even before becoming a Prevo, Montegreu sported some of the most advanced biosynth enhancements Abigail had ever seen. They would not be easily countered, as Colonel Jenner had discovered when he’d attempted to execute Montegreu while she lay unconscious and seemingly helpless.

  But they could be countered. She and Vii were working on possible avenues of attack in their spare hours, more so of late as the threat Montegreu posed became perilously obvious. And they were getting close to a workable solution. The key was the manner in which the shield—

  The incoming holocomm request was encrypted and displayed no traceable sender. The subject line simply read:

  On the strenuous nature of not hindering

  She massaged her temples before accepting the request. “Admiral Solovy, what do you need?”

  The woman gave her what passed in some circles for an actual smile. She looked to be on a transport.

  “You know, Dr. Canivon, by all rights we should be friends, if only because we both despise false pleasantries. I’d like you to consult on a…let’s call it a side project I’m working on.”

  “Side projects are typically idle, leisurely hobbies of little import.”

  “This one is not.”

  “I suspected as much. Can I assume you’re not able to give me any details on the nature of the work?”

  “I regret to say you can. It isn’t prudent to discuss the matter over any comms, however secure we presume them to be.”

  “I’ve hardly settled into my work here at the Center. Does this consulting need to be conducted onsite somewhere?”

  “It does.”

  She thought of the dozens of ongoing research proposals and planned work to be done. But she did owe Solovy a fairly significant debt for having seen to it she was rescued off New Babel, especially when she’d immediately thereafter walked out on the woman and on her job.

  “Will it harm Devon or the other Noetica participants in any way, directly or indirectly?”

  “Quite the contrary, I hope.”

  An obtuse answer, per usual. But Abigail had to admit she’d been mildly curious about what Solovy was up to ever since their similarly cryptic conversation at Special Projects.

  She cleared her throat. “Fine, then. Where do you need me?”

  “Messium, as soon as you are able. I’ll send more details once you’re underway, and you’ll receive all the information you need when you arrive. Thank you, Doctor.”

  The comm ended, and Abigail sighed. No matter how often or how vigorously she tried, she never could manage to escape galactic politics for long.

  KRYSK

  SENECAN FEDERATION COLONY

  Krysk was as sweltering as on her last visit, but Olivia noticed it only as part of a detached recognition of her environment. The Artificial regulated her body temperature to perfection, cooling her skin to counter the humidity. A thin, porous, long-sleeved shirt and loose pants did their job of, regrettably, covering the web of streaming gold pulses along her skin.

  She had no qualms about walking the streets unguarded and in full view of everyone, but causing a scene by frightening the locals would be counterproductive to her purposes, as well as horribly inefficient.

  This area of downtown had suffered damage from General O’Connell’s attack, though it had been patched over until it was nearly invisible. But she could see the miniscule cracks and the shifts in hue where new material met old.

  Such a foolish, base man. He’d served as a useful pawn in Marcus Aguirre’s scheme, easily manipulated by the unchecked emotions he wore for all to see. But the fact a man like O’Connell had risen to the apex of a military comprised of tens of millions of soldiers said everything there was to say about the organization.

  Ferre group’s distribution of chimerals and illegal ware dropped 27.3% in the first two months following the end of the Metigen War and 14-17% every month thereafter.

  It now measures 26.4% of its pre-war level.

  She glanced at the name in the building’s directory in amused dismay. Fotilas Services. Laure hadn’t so much as bothered to change the name of the shell corporation or its location. He wasn’t a stupid man, at least not in comparison to most of his fellow humans, which left conceit as the explanation.

  It didn’t matter. He’d lived this long at her pleasure, and he’d die at it as well.

  Laure Ferre leapt up from his desk with enough force to topple the chair behind him. He slammed his fist on a control panel—an act that was presumably intended to summon security—then tripped over the chair as he backed against the wall.

  Olivia tilted her head to regard him with detached curiosity. “They won’t be coming to help you.”

  “You killed my security guards?”

  She offered him the most trivial of shrugs.

  “Why didn’t the alarms go off?”

  Another lift of her shoulders. “I bypassed them.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, Laure, Laure dear. I can do anything.”

  He lurched for his desk and retrieved a Daemon from an alcove beneath it; she indulged him. He fired at her chest again and again to no effect, as her shield absorbed the pitiful energy without strain.

  Finally, his arm fell to his side and the gun dropped from his fingers to clatter across the floor. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “You’ve been such a very bad boy. I tolerated it beyond the point where I should have, because I admire your tenacity, I do. I'd hoped in time you might come around to my view of the world and we could have had a more…positive relationship.”

  He’d never be Aiden Trieneri; still, he did have a rough, gritty masculinity about him she’d considered enjoying at one point. She didn’t miss Aiden—much—but she did miss some of his finer skills.

  “You should not have tipped the authorities to my acquisition of Dr. Canivon. Now you’ve tried my patience beyond its end and become quite a bit more trouble than you are worth.”

  She lifted her wrist to eject the aSTX-laced blade from her bracelet and into his neck. The toxin would paralyze his respiratory muscles, suffocating him even before he bled out. She possessed the capabilities to kill him in a number of ways, and many of them would create rather less of a mess.

  But having seen this attack in the past and watched its victims bleed out from it, he’d have a minute or two in which to comprehend his fate. It was fitting.

  She gave him a last, disdainful sneer as he slid down the wall to the floor. “Say hello to your cousin and aunt for me.”

  Then she turned and left the office and the trail of bodies therein. She had a few additional things to take care of on Krysk before heading to Dolos Station.

  Her vulnerabilities were rapidly approaching zero, but a few yet remained. The next step to eradicating them? A renewable supply of adiamene.

  20

  PANDORA

  INDEPENDENT COLONY

  * * *

  DEVON REREAD THE MESSAGE a third time.

  It wasn’t that it was difficult to understand; it was in fact exceptionally straightforward. He simply had no idea what to make of it.

  Mr. Reynolds,

  First, let us get one issue out of the way: I am not coming for you. You may be safe from very little right now, but you are safe from me. Your answers to my questions below will not change this fact.

  Whatever it is you possess of Annie—I’m operating under the assumption you do have her, in some manner I won’t attempt to fathom—are there any circumstances under which she can be returned to hardware, and if there are, can I have her back?

  Regards,

  —M.S.

  On balance, he liked Miriam. He liked her because Richard liked her and because Alex liked her…well, in a screwed up family way. But mostly he liked her because, though he’d been in no condition to appreciate it at the time, she’d take
n care of him after the attack in Annie’s lab. She was abrupt, often cold and a harsh taskmaster—yet when it mattered, she’d protected him as best as she could.

  But the notion of giving back Annie? While it had been only weeks since they’d taken the final step of joining consciousnesses…no. Regardless of whether such a thing was theoretically possible—neither of them was inclined to waste cycles analyzing whether it could be done—it was never going to happen.

  She was part of him now, etched into his soul.

  He opened up a response.

  M.S.,

  Thanks for the all-clear. For real. I’ll keep the locks on the door, but not to keep your people out.

  I’m sorry, but no. To the second question, that is, which makes the first question irrelevant. As you told me and the others when you asked us to be a part of Noetica, there’s no going back. There never was.

  —D.R.

  P.S.: I’m trying to take good care of her. She’s definitely taking good care of me.

  P.P.S.: Any chance you can see to having Pamela Winslow killed, maimed or permanently imprisoned? It would make my life so much easier. Thanks in advance.

  Devon watched the news feed in growing disgust and concern. Three OTS attacks in the last week on Alliance worlds and one on Seneca. Twenty-three Prevos had died in the San Francisco attack, plus fifty-two ordinary people caught in the crossfire.

  You’re not responsible.

  For OTS being a bunch of psychopaths? No. But I am responsible for the new Prevos.

  They each chose to become what they are.

  I know, but I feel protective of them. I need to look out for them.

  By definition, they are among the most powerful, capable people in the galaxy. They can look out for themselves.

  Okay, fine. How about the people trapped in the middle, then? The hackers and warenuts who haven’t become Prevos but are still in danger, since OTS can’t be bothered to tell the difference? No. I need to do something.