The Bonds of Orion (Loralynn Kennakris Book 5)

by Owen R. O’Neill

  * * *

  Huron looked through the window in the door at the short, dough-faced guy with unruly hair and carefully preserved chin stubble cuffed to a chair. A remarkably unprepossessing specimen for all the damage he’d done. “So that’s him.”

  “That’s him,” said Colonel Yeager with an eloquent look that mingled contempt and disgust in roughly equal parts. “Roland Zamora. Senior network administrator for Xela Telkom. Works I should say worked at their network operations center. He was trying to catch a ride outta here when his boss called, asking if we’d seen him. Went monkey shit and pulled a gun on one of my guys. That made him a ‘person of interest’ when it all came down the shit conveyer.”

  “He pulled a sidearm?” Huron’s disbelief was palpable.

  “More like screaming and waving it around, if you’re gonna be particular about it.”

  That fit the picture more closely. “So what exactly was it? What he did, I mean?”

  “It was a python a kind of network super-worm. Y’know what that is, I assume?”

  “Roughly.”

  The colonel gave him the right half of a grin. “They had to explain it to me. I prefer to break shit the old-fashioned way. But I can see it has its uses. Very touchy thing to eradicate, I’m told. Anyway . . . we traced it to their network ops center. That’s as far as we got, but we were able to interview some of their people. He left in a hell-bent hurry shortly before the attack, didn’t sign out of his console properly and was acting agitated. That’s why his boss was looking for him. Everyone else was present and accounted for.”

  “Were they able to check his console?”

  “Didn’t have a chance. All their systems went down after this python thing got loose, and as soon as the TRIMs hit, they cleared the building. The separatists have it secured.”

  “Do they know about Zamora?”

  “Not that I’m aware. We haven’t told ‘em, although I’m sure they’re interested. Of course, their interests and ours don’t exactly coincide.”

  Huron had expected that. To the separatist leadership, the starport was of minimal interest especially now while Zamora’s liver would no doubt be of great interest, neatly dissected. Getting the starport’s systems back online therefore depended entirely on keeping him out of their hands until they learned exactly what he’d done and how to fix it.

  “I understand. So how do we proceed?”

  “You’ve seen what it’s like out there?”

  “I did.” When he flew over Huron had half-expected to see a huge mob scene: streams of refugees, people fighting tooth and nail in clogged streets all the mindless rampant bestial fury of a city in the throes of collapse. Instead, he saw a city devoid of any signs of life but for the light armored vehicles patrolling the empty thoroughfares and scattered squads of soldiers occupying plazas and rooftops. A city that might have been holding its breath. As well it should.

  “It got that way as a result of what you might call a few ‘regrettable incidents’ when people tried leave. They put a hard lock-down in place fast and are enforcing it the old-fashioned way, with vehicular and foot patrols. No one dares put their nose out of doors.”

  As harsh as it sounded, Huron was not sure how far he could go in faulting the separatists for preventing the mob scene he’d imagined. Responding with no more than a nod, he waited for the colonel to continue.

  “I think we can get away with taking a platoon in a couple of air-lorries they’re less apt to get nervous if they see them and not APCs and we can go with Zamora in my caravan. If we explain we’re just being civic-minded and have Zamora along to bring their telecoms back up, that might do the trick.”

  The plan made sense to Huron. The air-lorries wouldn’t provide much protection if the separatists proved trigger happy, but they were good evidence of peaceful intent. By a caravan, he assumed the colonel meant a light armored vehicle. The standard CEF marine model seated eight people in two compartments, and while it looked inoffensive enough, it could be quite useful if things got hostile.

  “When can we leave?”

  “I’ll call for the platoon now. No more than three or four minutes. But you said something about bringing along help on the IT side?”

  “That’s right. Commander Kennakris. She’ll be down shortly.”

  The colonel broke into a cockeyed grin. “She’s your hacker?”

  Huron gave the colonel an answering grin. “She is. She’s a woman of many parts.”

  “I know” flexing an arm and rubbing the bicep. “She shoulda been a marine.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen her fly.”

  The half-grin stretched into a laugh. “You stick-jocks are all the same.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Colonel Yeager replied with a slow head shake, still with that laugh transforming her features. “I’ll tell Sutton to expect her and have transport waiting. Who’s she coming down with?”

  “She’ll have some CATs with her, I expect.”

  “Happy to hear it. The more, the merrier.”

  * * *

  “I see the reception committee is forming.” Huron gestured at the group of men in fatigues gathering in front of Xela’s network operations center. They were an unfriendly looking bunch, and from what he could see through the window of their caravan, each carried a perfect arsenal. He counted ten a squad’s worth and no doubt there were more lurking about in cover positions. The man in front wore officer’s braid; a hard-faced, determined-looking fellow with a blade-like nose and deep-set angry eyes. “They don’t look happy to see us.”

  “They never are,” Colonel Yeager replied. “That guy out in front is one of their heavies. A real tight-ass farts like a dog whistle.”

  Huron chuckled at the engrossing capsule description. “You know him?”

  “We’ve met a few times. He doesn’t like me much. Name’s Evern calls himself a major.”

  “Only a major?” Huron asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Nothing more grandiose?”

  “I think he likes the way it sounds.”

  Gunnery Sergeant Wilkins turned toward them from the shotgun seat. “Shall I deploy the platoon, Colonel?”

  “Not yet, Sergeant. This is just a friendly visit. Let’s go on pretending we’re one big, happy family for the time being.”

  “Very good, ma’am.”

  “Man the firing ports, but no one is to show themselves. Not one fine curly hair, understood?”

  “Understood, ma’am.” The sergeant relayed the order.

  “Then let’s collect our friend and go say ‘hi’.”

  They dismounted the vehicle: Huron, Colonel Yeager, the sergeant and a burly private to hold Zamora’s leash an entirely mental leash but effective, being formed of the certainty that the private would certainly break his jaw if he tried to speak and both legs if he tried to run.

  Crossing the ten meters of pavement with a relaxed gait (except for Zamora, who was propped between the sergeant and the private), they strolled up to the major and his men. Colonel Yeager gave him an easy salute, just shy of being offensively familiar.

  “Hello, Major. Nice to see you again.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the salute, but the tone of his reply showed plainly how nice he thought it was. “What is your purpose here, Colonel?”

  “We’re here to restore the city’s telecoms.”

  Major Evern shook his head, a decided no. “That is not possible at this time, Colonel. This facility is quarantined.”

  Colonel Yeager hooked her thumbs in her belt and tilted her head with a disconcertingly grin. “Not for me, Major.”

  The major remained unmoved, but his men shifted their weapons forward. “Retire immediately, Colonel. Or my men will be forced to open fire.”

  Grin intact, Colonel Yeager flourished her xel. “Major, I have a battlecruiser in orbit. If that door is not open by the time I have finished speaking, I will call down fire on every fucking position you have.” />
  “With your people and yourself here?” He made no attempt to keep the sneer out of his voice.

  “Try me, Major.” She put a finger over the xel. “I have finished . . . speaking.”

  Major Evern locked eyes with her for a split-second and spun on his heel. “Open the door!”

  “Nicely done,” Huron said when they were safely inside.

  “Thanks. Much appreciated” echoing his earlier comment. She jerked a thumb at Zamora, who was being cuffed again by Sergeant Wilkins. “I don’t suppose you need any help with that?”

  “None at all.”

  “Then I’ll leave you two alone and go keep a watch on our friends. I’ll send Commander Kennakris back as soon as she gets here.”

  “Thanks. Go enjoy yourself.”

  “I’m sure we will. If you hear fireworks, you’ll know the party’s started.”

  * * *

  Rather than being reluctant, Zamora seemed almost eager to lead Huron to his cube when asked. What might have been behind it a desire to be done with the whole business, the familiar surroundings, a restored hope that maybe he could still salvage something; all of these or something else Huron could not tell. Nor did he particularly care. What mattered was getting the starport’s systems back on line, and he’d accept most any path to that goal, as long as it was short.

  Planting Zamora in his chair in front of his console, hands still cuffed behind his back, he hiked one hip onto the desk and looked down at the unfortunate young man, who was staring straight ahead.

  “I think we both know how deep you’re in,” Huron began in a light conversational tone. “So I’m not gonna waste any time on that. Time isn’t something I have right now. But I’ll tell you what I do have: a colleague who will be here any minute and who’s cracked much harder problems than this. So your value here isn’t rectifying what you did, but rectifying it quickly. Because if time is important to me, it’s even more critical to you. That major outside you noticed him, I’m sure isn’t aware of what you did. Not yet. We haven’t told him, and we have no intention of telling him. But I’m sure he can connect the dots as fast as the next guy, and I’m sure he’s asking questions right now.”

  Huron folded his arms and gave Zamora a moment to digest that. “So here’s the deal: get the systems back on line before the major figures out what you did, and I’ll take you back to the starport. If we make it off this rock, so will you. In that case, all I can promise is that your future will be a lot less unpleasant than anything the separatists have in mind for you. But when they figure it out and come asking for you, it’s out of my hands. There’s not a goddamn thing I can do then.”

  Another pause and Zamora continued to stare at the blank console screen, his soft features compacted into a fleshy grimace.

  “Now that we’re clear on what’s at stake here, Rollie, how do we fix this?”

  “Can’t be done,” he said, the squeaky edge to his voice ruining his attempt at bravado. “It’s started. You’re fucked.” He tightened his jaw, and his eyes scrunched as if he expected to be hit, but Huron merely smiled, an entirely cold expression that revealed no more than the edges of his teeth.

  “Y’know Rollie, if there’s anything I hate, it’s people using inappropriate language.” He leaned down to where he could whisper directly into Zamora’s ear. “You should’ve used your sidearm, Rollie. Then they would have blown your fuckin’ head off sweet, painless. But you’re kinda light in the article of balls, aren’t you, Rollie? That’s another thing I hate. So think real hard about your situation. Think about those people outside who lost some friends today because of you. Now tell me who’s fucked.”

  Observing the effect of those thoughts in the color leaving Zamora’s face, Huron knelt in front of him, adopting an almost brotherly attitude that was not reassuring in the least. “Now, you know and I know the people you sold out to aren’t stupid well, they did buy you but not so stupid as to do anything that would keep them from getting these systems back online fast if they needed them. And you’re sure as hell not gonna rely entirely on the Doms to look after your pink little ass.”

  He reached out to pat Zamora’s knee and then give his patella a cunning squeeze. Zamora stiffened and almost yelped. Huron’s one-sided grin widened. “So how ’bout it, Rollie? We can break that box or we can break you which do you think would take less time? My hacker versus the major’s buddies out there. It’s disloyal, I know, but I’ll put fifty on the Major. What’dya say?”

  Zamora, trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering, had nothing to say.

  “Huron, what the hell’s going on?’ Kris’ voice cut through the silence congealing in the room.

  Huron didn’t take his eyes off Zamora. “Commander Kennakris, just the person I wanted to see. Would you assist me here, please?”

  Kris took the hint. “Of course, Commander.” She came up beside him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Rollie here” Huron indicated the pastry-faced, shallow-breathing young man “is about to tell us how to disable the python he turned loose. Since he can’t type at the moment, I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a hand by following his instructions.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Huron put his hand on Zamora’s shoulder. “Okay, Rollie. How do we log on?”

  “You’ll have to release my hands, sir.” Despite his best efforts to control his voice, it shook, and that squeaky edge had become almost shrill. “It’s locked to my biometrics.”

  Huron’s finger bit powerfully into the pressure point at the base of his neck, and Zamora gasped. “That’s twice you’ve lied to me, Rollie. I’m getting tired of it. They wouldn’t run the risk that you can’t be at your console at a critical time. Nor do I think you’re stupid enough to tie your biometrics to an act of treason, if things went wrong. You and your pals will have a nice sterile login so anyone can do this if they have to, now isn’t that right?” Zamora made a strangled noise as Huron’s fingers worked deeper. “Now be a good little boy and tell the commander how to log on.”

  Zamora recited a username and a code-string password. Kris typed. The system accepted them, cycled and Huron recognized that he was looking at the system’s master control panel. “Very good.” He relaxed his hand slightly. “Now show us the source code.”

  “Go to the main sys prompt. Command line.” Kris did. “Hold down both command keys and the prime function key. Then type this ” He recited a long code string. It began with two exclamation points and a backspace. Kris took her hands off the keyboard and looked up at Huron.

  “Problem?”

  Kris nodded. “Double-Flag-Splat followed by bang-bang-backspace is a Level-0 control-code token, sir. It tells the system to accept restricted control codes lets you talk straight to the core.” She swung her gaze to Zamora’s profusely sweating face. “I can’t say what the rest of that string would do, but I’m sure it’s not good.”

  “I completely agree.” Huron took his hand off Zamora’s neck. “Now that you’re in, can you crack this box?”

  Kris brought up the core manager and snickered. “Oh, this is just provincial shit, sir. Piece ‘a cake.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten minutes maybe. Fifteen tops.”

  “Excellent.” Huron tapped his fingertips together. “It seems we don’t need Rollie here anymore. I’ll get Major Evern.”

  “Jericho99!” Zamora screamed. “It’s Jericho99! It had to be easy to remember and fast to type! That’s it! Honest!”

  “Kris?” Huron asked pointedly, ignoring the sudden acrid smell in the air. Kris nodded. He gestured for her to proceed. Kris typed a control string followed by ‘Jericho99’. “That’ll display the code, sir without executing.” She tapped ENTER and a window popped up filled with text. Huron waited a minute for her to browse through it. “Clean?”

  “Looks like, sir. It’s a simple S&D bot. The only important part is this here” she highlighted a string of code “that’s a single-use token that w
akes up the python so the bot can zero it. Can’t say for sure that it’s the right one, but it can’t do any harm if it’s not.”

  “Very good. Execute it, please.”

  Zamora visibly jerked at the sound of the word execute, or maybe it was at the sound of boots on the floor outside. Huron turned to see Major Evern, accompanied by a squad of his men and a thin older man in a general’s uniform with a scar that ran from his gray-streaked beard to his one blind eye. Colonel Yeager and Sergeant Wilkins stood behind.

  “This is the man who disabled our systems?” the man in the general’s uniform asked.

  “He is the one.” Major Evern hammered the words out in a harsh gravelly voice.

  “Bring him.” The general turned abruptly and stalked off down the hall, taking two men with him.

  Zamora started to cry. Major Evern’s face settled into a look of profound disgust. “I shall be taking that prisoner now, Commander.”

  “Major,” Huron addressed him calmly. “I don’t think Rollie here is quite done telling us everything he knows. I request he be left in our custody for the time being. You will be informed of everything we learn, of course.”

  “Oh, we shall learn all he knows, Commander. You can be assured of that.”

  Huron caught Colonel Yeager’s eyes behind the major, saw the cold, implacable look in them. She was right, of course. They had no justifiable reason to keep Zamora, and resisting meant bloodshed. Conceding the point, he stepped away from the sobbing wreck in the chair. Evern snapped his fingers to three of his men. They came over, jerked Zamora out to his feet and frog-marched him away, the major bringing up the rear. He and Colonel Yeager exchanged a slight tilt of their heads, and she followed them. Huron returned his attention to Kris, who had the system tree open and was mapping branch after branch.

  “How long till we’re back up?”

  Kris ran her stylus along one thick green branch. “A minute at most Oh! There it goes.” She closed the tree, paged to the master control panel, initiated a reset and started opening windows. They began to immediately fill with data, alerts, and urgent warnings.