Eve nodded in agreement, “It also shouldn’t have resulted in my platform going offline…which leaves only two possible explanations.”
“And those are?” Jericho asked, feeling a twinge of anxiety as he awaited her reply.
“First,” she began, “that my platform’s falling into the atmosphere and it’ll burn up in the next twelve hours. A cascade failure in its attitude adjustment systems was Benton’s biggest fear,” she explained, “since, if that happened, it would almost certainly result in failsafe protocols triggering a full-speed burn toward Virgin so the E.E.V. would be scuttled. The second possibility,” she said doubtfully, “is that someone has taken physical control of the platform and is trying to cannibalize its systems for their own gain.” She met Jericho’s gaze and shook her head, “Either one is bad news bears, feel me?”
The primary schematics for the E.E.V. were magnified on a single portion of the design, and Jericho felt his heart stop for at least two seconds before resuming. It took him several moments to realize what he was looking at, “Eve…tell me—“
“It’s as bad as it looks,” she cut him off before amending thoughtfully, “or maybe worse, depending on your vision. You’re looking at sixteen crust-busters: tunneling warheads with enough power to, if detonated in sequence near an existing fault line, cause a chain reaction of volcanic activity with potentially cataclysmic results. Of course,” she said as she tapped her chin thoughtfully, “I suppose they could be re-programmed to strike a city instead…but if they were detonated above the surface the blast wouldn’t be the real problem.”
“What would the real problem be?” Jericho asked as steadily as he could manage. This was, to put it mildly, an end-of-the-world scenario.
“The fallout,” she replied matter-of-factly. “See…without the extra compression provided by the crust, these warheads wouldn’t ‘pop,’ they’d ‘fizzle.’ And while that might seem like a nice thing at first, it’s anything but—Benton’s calculations suggested that the entire planet would get blanketed in enough radioactive material that even the entire Chimera Sector’s supply of anti-radiation meds wouldn’t do much more than dent the damage.”
Jericho leaned back in his chair and exhaled completely before drawing a deep breath. “That’s why Benton never left Virgin,” he concluded.
“You got it, sugar,” she replied gravely. “He tried to reposition my platform into a higher orbit dozens of times, or to somehow stabilize the attitude control hardware’s decaying architecture, but he kept running into problems whenever he’d go fiddling with the mainframe or try taking the E.E.V. out of its predefined mission parameters.” Eve sighed heavily, “I don’t think there’s another human in the Sector who could have done what he did with his limited resources.” She snorted softly, “He would have called it a miracle that he kept it in orbit at all.”
“Why didn’t he ask for help?” Jericho asked. “Hadden Enterprises could have sent in a covert operations team and repaired the damage manually.”
Eve shook her head, “You know as well as I do that Benton had extreme ‘daddy issues.’ He was brilliant,” she admitted, “but that didn’t come without its own set of problems…he once said the only things he inherited from his father were ‘his brain and his intransigence’.”
Jericho chuckled softly. “Sounds about right to me,” he agreed, “if those two could have ever been on the same page, I doubt our current situation would have developed.”
“What are you gonna do?” Eve asked rhetorically with an emphatic shrug.
Jericho nodded slowly, considering his options. “Indeed,” he agreed before arriving at a conclusion, “so how do we get you off that thing and keep it from destroying Virgin in the process?”
Eve shook her head solemnly. “Even if the E.E.V. is totally offline and gently falling toward an atmospheric incineration…and even if you managed to get a hold of my hardware in time…we can’t do anything about the other six E.E.V. platforms.”
“Six?!” Jericho blurted as he shot forward in his seat. “There are six more of these things?”
She nodded gravely. “Once my platform goes down, the others will assume the system’s been infiltrated,” she explained. “They’ll conclude that this Star System is in open rebellion against the Imperium, and launch their payloads into their target zones. The best-case scenario is a complete volcanic ejection of each and every joule of pent-up energy along Virgin’s nine major fault lines—which, while devastating, will at least allow for most of the people to be evacuated before the world turns into an ice brick.” Eve took a deep breath, “But the worst-case scenario is that every major population center is blanketed in its own, personalized fallout cloud and the Sector gets to watch a quarter billion people die on the Capitol planet in the coming days, weeks, and potentially even months.” She shook her head grimly, “And that wouldn’t be fun for anybody.”
Jericho shook his head. “We can’t do this alone,” he realized.
“We can’t do this at all, Jericho,” Eve replied with absolute conviction, and Jericho was forced to admit that it was becoming increasingly likely she was right.
Then a thought came to him and he sat back in his chair as he began to access the comm. system in an attempt to raise the Zhuge Liang.
“Jericho,” Eve began patiently, “there isn’t an operator of sufficient skill aboard the Zhuge Liang to do what we would need done—certainly not in the time we’d need it!” She shook her head adamantly as she turned the Neil deGrasse Tyson around, “I’m done for, but there’s no reason you should die in some futile attempt to save me.”
“Eve,” Jericho said evenly, “you may know more about the technical aspects of what we would need to do—hell, you know a hundred times as much as I do.” He cracked a grin before continuing, “But I’ve forgotten more about human psychology than you’ll ever assimilate into your programming.”
Eve gave him a wary look. “What does psychology have to do with a falling military satellite set to wipe out an entire planet?” she asked in a clearly challenging tone.
He nodded, realizing the answer had been staring them in the face the entire time. “You were more than just important to Benton, Eve,” Jericho explained, “I used to think you were just his companion or, at worst, a modified sexbot program—no offense,” he added quickly.
Eve looked down at her ample, virtual cleavage and struck a suggestive pose before batting her eyelashes, “None taken, sweetheart.”
“He dedicated his life to you,” Jericho continued, and he saw the look of confusion grow on Eve’s face, “do you actually think he hadn’t planned for this eventuality?”
She narrowed her eyes contemplatively and asked, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you need to turn this shuttle around and max-burn for your E.E.V.,” he replied confidently. “I’m guessing Benton’s already given us everything we’ll need not only to transfer your program, but to deal with the impending holocaust as well—and it’s going to be hidden in your own hardware.”
Eve’s eyes widened as she appeared to consider the possibility. “You know…you just might be right,” she said as she began to nod. “He would have left instructions in my tertiary caches,” she mused, and the Tyson slewed around before its acceleration pinned Jericho to his seat. “How?” she asked in bewilderment. “How did you see it while I couldn’t?”
Jericho’s grin broadened as he settled in for the flight. “Benton loved you more than anyone knew, and that kind of love makes a person take certain precautions in case something untoward happens,” he explained. “Once I realized it was a genuine affection he displayed, which you reciprocated in a way he could understand, it became obvious he would do whatever he could to protect you.”
Eve shook her head doubtfully, “I hope you’re right, Jericho…because while it should be fun for me, this is a big risk you’re taking.”
As the Neil deGrasse Tyson rocketed around the planet and hurtled toward the E.E.V.’s likely
location, he shook his head confidently as he closed his eyes to get some rest before things heated up. “It’s no risk, Eve; trust me,” Jericho said and he couldn’t help but add, “human psychology’s about as mysterious to me as a grilled cheese sandwich.”
Chapter II: The Heart of an Angel
“Three minutes out,” Eve reported, and Jericho couldn’t help but stare in awe at the size of the facility before them. It was at least half as large as the Battle Carrier Alexander, which was itself supposedly the largest moving artificial object in the Sector.
Jericho checked his vacuum suit’s seals and confirmed they were all properly fastened.
“You should have let me take us back to the Zhuge Liang so you could get some combat armor,” Eve said for at least the tenth time.
“It’s fine, Eve,” Jericho said easily. “You said yourself that there’s nothing on the scanners; we’re in the clear.” The truth was he, too, silently bemoaned his lack of physical protection. He had thankfully failed to remove Captain Sasaki’s knife from the locker, as well as the monomolecular blade and an energy pistol. He fastened each of the weapons to his belt, careful to avoid positioning them such that they might damage his thin spacewalking work suit.
But he had deemed the risk to Virgin’s populace simply too great, based on the available information, to risk a last-minute supply run. He had also dispatched the Zhuge Liang to a position where it could locate as many of the satellites as possible, should he and Eve manage to make them visible somehow.
“There it is,” Eve said triumphantly, “the E.E.V.’s secondary comm. relay looks to have been taken out.”
“Taken out by what?” Jericho asked warily as he leaned forward to inspect the cockpit’s primary display.
“That’s a toughie,” Eve replied, “see…if I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s been physically disconnected. There’s no energy signature I can detect on the mount, no blast residual on the boom itself, or damage of any kind to the surrounding structures which might indicate a collision. Thankfully the embedded transmitters are still functioning. Otherwise Virgin would be wreathed in a cloud of ash like nothing it’s ever seen.”
“Can you use those transmitters to access your tertiary caches?” Jericho asked quickly.
“Afraid not, babe,” Eve replied with disappointment, “those guys are strictly ‘do not enter,’ and generally anal about the flow of information proceeding one way. Trust me,” she added with a meaningful look, “Benton tried for years to gain access. If he couldn’t do it, it can’t be done.”
Jericho considered the information and asked, “How long until this thing burns up in the atmosphere?”
“At our current orbit’s rate of decay,” she said as the shuttle docked with one of two docking arms, “we’re looking at total burn-up in three hours, but the interference from re-entry will knock out the platform-to-platform transmitters in just under two hours.”
“Then that’s the deadline,” Jericho said, glad to at least have a timetable, “set a countdown on my wrist-link, please.”
“You got it,” she replied. “Now we’re going to need quite a bit of gear from the platform, but most of it’s not that large and each component’s encased in a protective housing. You should be able to stuff them in the duffel to bring them back here. But there are six pieces in total, got it?”
“Yes, Eve,” Jericho replied as the door swung open and the corridor extended before him, “we’ve gone over it. I know what I’m looking for, but you’ll need to guide me through a few of the steps.”
Before Jericho could step into the short hallway which took a sharp left turn just a few meters in, Eve said, “That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” Jericho asked.
“No pressure differential, darling,” Eve replied dryly, and after she said it Jericho realized she was right and he stopped mid-step before exiting the shuttle. “The system isn’t supposed to maintain this kind of pressure except during scheduled maintenance visits by Imperial technicians.”
“Can you tap into the internal sensor feeds?” Jericho asked as his hand went to the pistol at his hip.
“I’m trying…” Eve replied hesitantly, “but I’m getting some kind of interference. Aww, hell-in-a-hand-basket,” she growled, “someone’s already tapped into the system.”
“Have they detected us?” Jericho asked sharply.
“I honestly couldn’t say, Jericho,” Eve replied tensely, “but so far I haven’t seen any indications of that. There’s no comm. chatter on any of the standard frequencies or signs of irregular activity in the E.E.V.’s external transmissions.”
“Ok,” Jericho said as he stepped out of the shuttle and his magnetic boots pulled themselves gently to the floor of the access tube, “give me a layout of the station with a route to where your hardware’s stored.”
“One sec,” Eve replied, and after nearly five seconds his wrist link’s display sprang to life with a three-dimensional representation of the E.E.V. “It’s up…but Jericho,” she protested, “you don’t need to do this. We can still call in the Zhuge Liang and see if they can copy the transmission this platform is broadcasting to the others.”
“There’s only a twenty percent chance that will work, Eve,” Jericho reminded her as he made his way down to the bend in the tube-like corridor, “Lisa Steiner doesn’t think she can do it with the available equipment, so we’d just be rolling the dice. Benton stowed the information away somewhere on this platform,” he said confidently. “He knew the stakes here better than anyone—he wouldn’t leave this to chance so neither will we.”
“You’re probably right,” Eve relented before quipping, “but you’re not even dressed for the occasion.”
Jericho dearly wished he had worn some kind of body armor as he came to the primary airlock for their access tube and said, “Can you cover our entrance?”
“I might be able to use some diagnostic protocols Benton gave me,” she said hesitantly. “But they’ll just buy us a few minutes before the entire internal sensor grid lights up like Abaca on concert night.”
“Eve!” Jericho snapped irritably, actually taken aback at her latest wisecrack.
“What,” she asked innocently as the door slid open before him, “too soon?”
Jericho bit back a retort as he slipped through the doorway, which quickly closed behind him, “Don’t you think you could can the jokes for a little bit?”
“No can do, pilgrim,” she replied in an unusual, drawling accent. “I’m goin’ out like I came in, so learn to deal with it or turn around and go home.”
“Nice try,” he said dryly as he followed the indicated route showed on his wrist link. “How many locked doors are there?”
“There shouldn’t be any,” she replied in her usual, spunky voice. “This isn’t exactly a highly visible facility, after all; most of the protocols for keeping it out of enemy hands are based on the notions of stealth and…well, you know, that whole Sword of Damocles thingy.”
“And you were the security program for this place?” he asked, finding himself fascinated how an apparently intelligent being like her could have developed.
“That’s what the code says,” she agreed. “But I’m so different from that simple ‘read-and-react’ countermeasures program now that it would be like comparing a modern human to a fish. Actually…” she deadpanned, “you are basically the same, right?”
“Keep cracking wise,” he muttered as he came to junction and quickly ducked behind the bulkhead. “We’ve got company,” he said quietly as he peered around the corner and drew his plasma pistol—the same one which Obunda had tried to kill him with just a few days earlier.
“How many?” she asked.
“Two,” he replied after checking each of the three corridors which intersected at his current position, “and they look like they’ve tapped into an access panel of some kind.”
“Uh oh,” she said with obviously dramatic intent.
“What?” he hissed.
“The access panels in that corridor are linked directly to the crust-busters’ locking mechanisms,” she explained grimly. “Seems like they knew what they were looking for after all.”
“Have they unlocked any of the warheads?” Jericho asked, running silent calculations on his possible courses of action.
“I can’t tell with the Tyson’s sensors,” she said shortly, “the only way to be certain is to tap into their feed directly; none of those systems are connected to anything with external inputs.”
“All right,” Jericho said as he turned the corner and leveled his pistol at the nearest of the two. They were so preoccupied that they didn’t even notice him until he was just a few meters from their position. “Who are you?” he demanded, and they both threw their hands into the air in surrender.
“Where did you come from?” the further of the two asked in bewilderment.
“Answer the question,” Jericho said tersely, “I already know what you’re doing. All I want to know is who you are.”
“We’ve got company, Jericho,” Eve said through his earpiece, “I’m reading a vessel on approach. It looks like an intra-system transport—no Phase Drive signature detected.”
“Answer me—now,” Jericho snapped.
When the two looked at each other, Jericho saw a small data port built into the nearest one’s neck just below the ear. Just as he was about to inquire about the device, the man whirled and brought a sonic weapon to bear on Jericho—but he was a fraction of a second slower than Jericho.
The pistol in Jericho's hand, which had previously belonged to Obunda, spat a short stream of superheated plasma and the man’s body was enveloped in a field of greenish-white fire. The plasma flames consumed him utterly before he could even cry out, and Jericho re-trained the impressively deadly weapon on the other man before he could react to the first shot.
“Only a handful of private citizens in the System can afford to have those ports installed,” he said evenly as he pointed the pistol toward the man’s neck, where another such data plug was now plainly visible, “but judging by your low-rent ship I’m guessing neither of you are among them. That makes you black ops technicians here on classified orders to take over the station for President Blanco’s direct control—stop me if I get any of this wrong,” he added as he walked steadily toward the man.
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