by M. D. Cooper
She ran her fingers along her forearms, where two long throwing knives were hidden inside her armor. Another set of knives lined the inside planes of her boots. Her armor had a refracting capability that thwarted most basic personnel scanners. She had chosen it because it looked enough like a shipsuit to avoid closer scrutiny, and was tight enough that anyone who noticed that kind of thing wouldn’t be looking for hidden weapons. She didn’t bother trying to hide a pistol. In most situations, she could stab an attacker and take their weapons before they knew what was happening. She liked to think of that as outsourcing her weapons cache.
Chafri wouldn’t stop craning his neck to get a better view of the Ceres ring through the small windows. The secondary ring construction project was a mass of thinly connected structures with small craft buzzing around like insects. They were too far away to see any workers in EV suits but Brit knew there had to be thousands working around the narrow gray band.
Ceres had been the first planetoid to build one of General Electric’s mini black holes. The project had taken nearly two hundred years and since then the terraforming process had been in full development. Most documentaries she watched about the project seemed to suggest it would never be done. Unlike Mars, nature just didn’t seem to want to take root on Ceres. Maybe it was some inherent shortcoming in the Anderson Collective. If they weren’t willing to embrace every advance humanity developed, they were never going to move into the future with everyone else. As she thought about it, she didn’t see how something as massive as a mini black hole could operate without the help of AI. It seemed obvious. But it also wouldn’t be the first time a government kept their populace sated on a series of simplistic lies while the real work continued unchanged.
The terminal airlock opened, revealing a gray chamber with a series of benches. A bored-looking agent in the same uniform as the man who’d come aboard the Mortal Chance stood at a lectern bearing the Seal of the Anderson Collective facing the incoming doors.
“State your business,” he said.
“We already sent that with the access request,” Rina said.
“We need it for local records,” he said, sounding irritated by the question. “You sent your request to the terminal authority. You’re entering Region Twenty-Four.”
“Shopping,” Brit said.
The agent tapped something on his console. “You are allowed to purchase personal items or gifts only. The transport of forbidden items off the Collective may result in fines and forfeiture, up to and including loss of personal liberty at the behest of the Collective. Do you have any questions?”
“No,” Brit said.
“I have questions,” Chafri blurted, then gasped as Rina jabbed him in the ribs.
“No questions,” Rina said.
The agent stared at them for a few seconds. Closer, Brit noticed his bloodshot eyes and pasty skin. He looked like the male version of Captain Harm.
“Good,” he said. “Please submit your personal tokens and enjoy your stay.”
In ten more minutes, they had left the customs area and were out in the main terminal, which was very different than any other embarkation point Brit had seen. It looked more like a cathedral than any sort of shopping and traveling district. Huge statues of various Collective leaders glowered down on them from the middle of the concourse, while the walls were filled with brightly colored murals depicting the history of the settlement at Ceres. The art was beautiful but lacked nuance. Stern leaders pointed the way to green lands with the Milky Way overhead, as if everything were an endless extension of Terra.
Only a few people around them were dressed in typical shipsuits. Everyone else was wearing a genderless uniform covered in repeating patterns.
After a minute, Brit realized there were no plants in the concourse, and she had yet to see a bird or insect.
“This place is depressing,” she said.
“They have a purpose,” Rina said. “They do a good job at pursuing it.”
“How do you know so much about them?” Chafri asked.
“I don’t. I’ve watched a lot of vids and took a history class on the FGT. The Anderson Collective plays heavily in that period because they didn’t want to leave with the other colonists. They staked everything on this little rock and now I think it’s made them crazy.” She looked around as if she was worried someone would overhear her. The terminal was mostly quiet except for the sounds of shoes on the polished floors and the declarations of terminal agents.
Brit was looking at another mural showing the bombardment of Ceres with asteroids from the belt, building up an ice mass and adding raw materials, while wise-looking woman and men gazed down from the top of the image.
“How do we get to see where people actually live?” she asked.
Rina shrugged. “We don’t.”
Brit shook her head. “Where are these shops you want to see, then?”
They spent the next hour walking through shops filled with generic items like mini statues of Collective leaders and representations of Ceres. The most interesting shops were full of fabrics and clothes, which didn’t seem to have the same restrictions as the other gift shops. While none of the clothes interested Brit, she could appreciate their design and feel. Blandly smiling employees watched them, commending their choices every time they picked up a shawl or cap.
In a store full of small stuffed animals representing a hamster-like rodent of which the Collective seemed to approve, Brit noticed a small woman with short black hair at a display of robotic hamsters that wiggled their noses at passers-by. She was dressed in a business suit that suggested Ceres formality but wasn’t anything like the local garments in the other shops.
In another part of the shop, Chafri tossed one of the hamsters in the air and giggled when it spread its arms and legs to float into his hands.
When Brit glanced back at the display, she found the woman looking at her.
“You knew Riggs Zanda,” the woman said.
Brit blinked and glanced around quickly. Aside from Rina, Chafri and a vacant-eyed clerk, there was no one else in the shop.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Riggs Zanda told me he met you on Cruithne. You’re Brittney Sykes.”
“I’m not sure who you’re referring to. I’m Sarah Jennings. Who are you?” Brit asked.
The woman took a step closer, body still facing the wall of hamsters. “My name is Fugia Wong. Riggs told me about your,” she paused as if looking for the correct word. “Project.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brit said.
The woman gave her a half-smile, narrowing her eyes. “Of course not. Would you like to come eat with me?”
Brit raised an eyebrow. “If you can take us someplace out of this tourist trap, I’ll listen to whatever crazy things you say.”
“Be careful about that,” Wong said. “The Collective is always making connections. Just by talking to me, you’re already on a list.”
“What kind of list? People who talked to someone else in the hamster shop?”
“Somewhere there’s a file of precisely those people,” Wong agreed. “You coming?”
“Hey,” Brit said to Rina and Chafri. “I’m going to get something to eat. You want to come?”
“Will it give me the runs?” Chafri asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Brit said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STELLAR DATE: 09.14.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Mars 1 Port Authority Terminal 983-A4
REGION: Mars 1 Ring, Mars Protectorate, InnerSol
Lyssa’s leap from Alice to Sunny Skies was as effortless as realizing she could do it. She drifted among sensor arrays, relay controls on the defense arsenal, navigation panels and the thousands of interconnected systems around the engines.
The SAI was still part of Andy’s mind but now realized she could access these places using the Link just as anyone would on the ship. Her awareness expanded instantaneously. It was similar t
o the ocean Fred had offered when she first accessed the M1R network, but this was a place she understood.
It wasn’t until she reached into the command deck control system and saw what Fran had done that she understood the ship was caught in the jaws of a trap. Hundreds of attack drones swarmed around Sunny Skies, with more flooding from launch points all across the nearest section of the M1R. The M1G shuttle with Petral and Sergeant Pierce was surrounded by drones, with a capture vessel chasing after it. Even worse, three separate navigation locks were inbound from the M1R Port Authority with a heavy tug following. If they reached Sunny Skies, and that tug made grapple on, the Sunny Skies wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Fran said.
Lyssa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She tried to make sense of what Fran was saying while also tracking the various drone attack groups closing on Sunny Skies, and the capture vessel closing on Petral. Nothing Fran said made sense, which meant it wasn’t supposed to.
Lyssa didn’t answer. She was already reaching through the ship’s communication arrays, back to the M1R network and the ocean Fred had used to cow her when he first knocked on her door.
The SAI’s presence loomed over her like a huge version of Em the Corgi.
Fred chuckled, a sensation like mountains crumbling.
She persisted.
Fred grumbled.
Fred didn’t answer. Instead, Lyssa felt herself pulled in a way she had never experienced before. In an instant, she was present in the shuttle with Petral and the M1G sergeant. Two M1G officers stood in the cramped rear of the shuttle, which was now open to an airlock on the capture vessel.
“Petral Dulan,” the first officer was saying. “Recently of Cruithne.” He sneered the name Cruithne like it tainted his lips. You are charged with theft of an Mars 1 Guard vessel, kidnapping of a M1G non-commissioned officer, and destruction of property. We’re still waiting on verification of numerous network crimes that have been linked to your token. Do you deny this?”
Petral was several inches taller than the officer, which meant he was staring into her lips as he talked. She stood with one hip cocked, and flipped her hair with a movement of her chin before answering. She seemed to notice the effect she was having on both officers.
“I deny everything,” Petral said.
“Explain your connection to the light freighter, Worry’s End. Why did you land this stolen shuttle on board and why are they attempting to flee M1R space?”
“It’s simple,” Petral said. “I was helping that little girl get home. Otherwise, I could care less about that ship.”
“Do you deny you arrived on M1R on board the Worry’s End?”
“Of course not. But is the bus you came in on responsible for your conduct? I booked passage. That’s it.”
Fred interjected.
Lyssa said.
Something changed in his voice. The words developed a sinister hint, which made Lyssa cast around for some change in their status. She checked Andy and found no change. Petral was still convincing the M1G officers she was the person Heartbridge really wanted.
>
Fran’s voice snapped into Lyssa’s mind.
In the shuttle, Petral raised her hands. “I surrender to the Mars Protectorate,” she said.
“Do you confess?” the officer said, leaning close to her. Lyssa wanted Petral to put a knee in the man’s gut but she stood composed and calm. Petral even had a slight smile on her face, like she knew how everything was going to play out. She was the smartest person in the shuttle.
Lyssa took a chance. She reached out through the long-range sensor arrays on Sunny Skies and bounced a signal off a nearby cargo frigate. She used the relay to attack two of the incoming drones about to strafe Sunny Skies, gained control of their systems, and turned them on their comrades. The drones fell into a spiral of interlocked fire.
