When an AI “assumed” something, that meant its confidence level was above fifty percent but below seventy-five. At least the crew was alive. Hoth feared the scanners would reveal only dead bodies. The task of “bagging” corpses was not easy for any enforcer, no matter how many times they’d done it before. Both Hoth and Pendergan had suffered through their fair share. Death by alien would no doubt make the task even worse.
Hoth stared at the alien spacecraft still displayed up on the main monitor, wondering if it was responsible for the bizarre events. Why did you come here? Exploration, or conquest like the K’klacken?
“Analysis complete,” Gulfstream announced. “A Trojan worm code with a high level of sophistication was used to override the guardian protocols.”
“Well that’s a frickin’ relief,” Hoth exclaimed, grateful to hear some good news for a change.
Pendergan gave him a quizzical look. “Why is that, sir?”
Hoth explained. “If a Trojan worm was used, that means people―not aliens―manipulated the guardians and took that alien spacecraft. Odds are good they’re also behind the platform’s silence. Am I correct, Gulfstream?”
“Correct,” the AI chirped. “Usage of a Trojan worm infers a statistically low probability that aliens aboard the spacecraft manipulated the guardians via telekinesis or some other means.”
Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces of evidence were falling into place. Hoth felt he was on the verge of figuring it all out. “Remember that courier ship, the one that made an unscheduled entry through the perimeter a few days back?”
“Yeah, Jasper One,” Pendergan answered, the glint in his eye telling Hoth he was starting to figure it out, too.
“Right. Let’s assume whomever was aboard it wasn’t corporate personnel, but thieves acting as such.” Hoth paused a moment, thinking it through. “They used the Trojan worm to slip past the defense perimeter, sneak onto the mining platform and disable it, then steal the ore hauler and depart in it. A full hauler load must be worth a fortune on the black market.”
“Worth several million credits depending on the cargo,” Pendergan said. “And they also took the alien spacecraft on their way out? That would be very brazen of them.”
“Or very stupid,” Hoth added, “depending on what they find inside it.”
Seven hours later, Archangel Nomad decelerated to a stop alongside the mining platform. Hoth sent a shuttle over with Pendergan and eight enforcers along for backup. Once Pendergan finished the investigation, he opened a comm link to Hoth and gave a report of his findings.
“You were right, sir,” he began. “Three heavily armed thieves on Jasper One came aboard masquerading as an engineering team. They stormed into the control room, disabled the platform AI, comm links, and the shuttles so no one could leave. A militaristic assault, fast and precise. They had an inside man, it appears, a tech specialist working in the control room. So four of them in all. They left on Argo, fully loaded, a rich prize. As for Argo’s crew, we can only speculate. Either they’ve been coerced to fly the hauler, taken as hostages, or they’re dead. Since these thieves didn’t kill anyone here, there’s a good chance it’s not the latter.”
“Well done,” Hoth replied. “Now get back here at once. Gulfstream’s detected radioactive strontium-ninety particles extending out through the defense perimeter. According to Argo’s manifest, the hauler has a storage hold loaded with SR-ninety.”
“So, the hauler’s got a leaky hold. Lucky break for us.”
“Luck, hell,” Hoth said with a smile. “Someone on Argo left us a trail to follow.”
As soon as Pendergan and his team were back aboard the police corvette sped off in fast pursuit. Since Archangel Nomad was an interceptor special, it shouldn’t take them long to catch a fully loaded ore hauler.
Argo
Sinja felt much better this morning. Amazing what eight hours of sleep, a hot breakfast, plus a simple agreement with Mercer could do. Oh yes, the stars are shining much brighter today!
Grinning, Sinja leaned back in her chair and plopped her feet up on the bridge console. The hauler was in hyperspace where it couldn’t be tracked, en route to Hellgate, where they’d sell their stolen ores to an underworld fence for forty million credits. After that, she and Datch would disappear, enjoy a quiet, peaceful life without violence and no strife. Sinja had it all planned out. First a quick stop at a place she knew on Rila to buy new identities, with some facial modifications to alter their appearance enough to fool the recognition scanners. Then off to Azure Pearl, a beautiful terraformed world with sugar-sand beaches and plenty of sunshine. A paradise she’d seen on holo-vids that seemed out of reach until now.
“You seem awfully happy.” Mercer sat at a nearby console, giving her a quizzical look. “Take a trank for breakfast?”
“Nope.” Sinja shook her head. “Just thinking about what I’ll do with my share of the profits.”
“Care to share?”
“Going on a luxury cruise through the Fire Asteroids of Kwajalein,” Sinja lied. “Followed by a month of nonstop fun in Vegas Carlo.”
Sinja had no intention of telling Mercer where she would be or what her plans were after this heist. She was far too cautious for that.
Mercer seemed to accept her lie, as Sinja assumed he would. The best way to distract someone from your true intent was talk about something they loved. Mercer was a gambler, so anything gambling related immediately piqued his interest.
“Nice,” he said. “Check out the Mystic in Vegas Carlo. Not the best table action, that’s at Golden Caesars or the Lucky Horseshoe, but the Mystic has incredible fantasy suites. Every vice imaginable and then some. Pricey, but you’ll be able to afford it, eh? Whatever your perversion, they have it.”
Sinja had no interest in perversions. She’d been on the wrong end of them far too many times. But until the shuttle modifications in the docking bay were finished, she had to sit there and listen as Mercer rambled on and on about hot times in Vegas Carlo. She forced a smile, pretending to give a damn as Mercer launched into a bad-luck tale of how he lost a fortune at some dice table somewhere.
“Need the frickin’ med kit down here,” Dupree whined over their private comm link. “Ratchet spanner busted my hand, need a skin seal.”
Mercer switched the main bridge monitor to a view of the docking bay. Dupree and Datch were atop a shuttle, where they had been busy attaching L-brackets. These would be used with heavy lift straps to secure the alien pod in place, allowing the shuttle to ferry it piggyback style. Dupree was holding his right hand with the left, blood dripping from a wound he was applying pressure to. For someone who worked on mining platforms, Dupree was surprisingly ill-suited for mechanical work, Sinja had noticed. Since Mercer was useless with a spanner, she’d sent Datch to help with the shuttle mods. The sooner those were finished, the sooner Dupree and Mercer could leave.
Mercer tapped his earplug, responding. “I’ll be down there in a few.”
As Mercer rose from his seat, he gave Sinja an intense stare, studying her.
His expression was easy for Sinja to read. Wondering what I’ll do while you’re gone, aren’t you? Will I be a good girl, or try something while you’re away? She certainly understood his concern. It was twenty days to Hellgate, a long time to keep her and Datch from thwarting his plans. By giving them Argo and departing early with just a shuttle and the alien pod, Mercer increased his odds of avoiding bodily harm. A smart man, she had to admit.
“I’ll be good, promise.” Sinja gave him one of her charming smiles. “Our agreement is a fair one; I’ll honor it.” She was happy with the forty million she and Datch would net by selling the hauler’s cargo. If Mercer and Dupree thought they could make more by selling that alien pod, good for them. “Just make sure you honor it, too.”
Mercer nodded and then left the bridge.
Sinja leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and imagined herself sunbathing on a warm, tropical beach.
Directly beneath Sinja
on the lower deck, Shepard monitored the work on the shuttle. The AI knew it was being modified to transport the alien pod―with Stynx inside it. Two of the four hijackers, those named Mercer and Dupree, intended to ferry the pod off Argo, destination unknown, to be sold to the highest bidder at a black market auction. That put Stynx’s life in danger; the AI must therefore intervene.
Shepard was impressed by Mercer’s jury-rig design―crude but effective. The final blueprint consisted of sixteen L-brackets bolted to the shuttle roof. Heavy-duty lift straps would be fastened to these brackets. Then, once the pod was snared into position atop the shuttle, the straps would be flung over it and fastened down, securing the pod firmly in place. Shepard had monitored Mercer closely while he used Argo’s flight simulator to achieve the optimal design. By boosting the shuttle’s protective shield and inertia nullifiers, the pod would be adequately protected during transit. Effective indeed!
Shepard’s processing cores surged with digital excitement. The hijackers were unwittingly aiding The Great Escape to a fortuitous extent. The modified shuttle―once completed―would make an excellent vehicle in which Tarn and Ritch could flee to safety. Stynx as well. Even Shepard could smuggle aboard. The probability of a successful Great Escape had risen to 87.5%.
For now, however, Shepard must continue its façade of helplessness as if still isolated by intruder corruptors. Later, once the modified shuttle was ready for departure, a carefully crafted sequence of seemingly unrelated events would cause the hijackers considerable chaos and confusion.
Inside the Scout Pod
Stynx wriggled out of the shale-bark membranes that comprised his spacesuit like an insect emerging from a cocoon. Finally it was done, his body naked for the first time since leaving Tazaral. The breeze blowing across his exposed exoskeleton from the pod’s air-recycling unit felt invigorating after being suited for so long.
He neatly rolled up the membranes, then placed them alongside his helmet in a cubicle built into the insulator bench he lay upon, a cubicle sized precisely for their storage. Other cubicles held his food and water supply. A latrine in the back end of the insulator bench accommodated bodily wastes.
Shepard had told him the pod was inside Argo, the huge spaceship he had ventured to during his second encounter with Ritch. Once within Argo, the pod had been moved to a “storage vault” filled with an atmosphere compatible to his own. With the pod no longer in space, Stynx felt safe enough to shed his suit.
Shepard had shared other things as well, the exchange of information between them escalating at a remarkable pace as the language barrier was chipped away. Numerous concepts and word phrases must still be explained, but Stynx could already converse with Shepard better than he could with many subForms within his own nest.
Unfortunately, neither he nor the AI knew what the other looked like, for without the influx globe Stynx could not send or receive images. They had both shared a definition of themselves. Stynx, of course, was a Scout subForm, while Shepard was an R3 subtype of the species AI. An in-depth physical description would have to wait, because they had both been imprisoned by “hijackers.” The AI’s attempts to explain this term had only confused Stynx. Shepard eventually came up with a workable definition: hijackers were a dangerous subtype of the species human. Shepard had assured him efforts were underway to escape their imprisonment.
Until such an escape took place, he was trapped here with no way out.
Stynx retrieved a water globe and took a long sip. This was followed by a meal of berries and dried silkweed. As he was munching on the last of the silkweed, the communication bulb above his head started to glow.
“Hello, Stynx,” said his AI friend. “It is time to resume my language lessons. Please define your time measurements. I am concerned with the length of your remaining air supply.”
“Your request is comprehended.” Stynx thought about how he should proceed. The concept of “time” had been one of the most difficult to explain, but once the three-dimensional concepts for length, width, and height were defined using the pod as a physical reference, the fourth dimension, time, quickly followed.
“Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick,” Stynx said in a slow, rhythmic beat, “equals one hexa. Hexa times hexa times hexa times hexa times hexa times hexa equals one half-day. Half-day plus half-day equals my nest spinning once around.”
As always, his student, Shepard, grasped new meanings with extraordinary perception. “Utilizing your time measurements equates to a day length of 25.92 Terran hours. Well explained, my friend. Now, how many days, or nest spins if you prefer, of air do you have left?”
Stynx checked the air-recycler’s glow indicator, a small bulb that used a spectrum scale to measure supply: purple indicated full capacity, sliding down through the colors until reaching critical red―completely empty. Currently, the bulb was soft green with tints of yellow starting to appear. “Eight days if I am awake, thirteen if I hibernate.”
“I comprehend,” Shepard responded. “In two days, I and the other crewmembers of Argo will begin our escape of the hijackers. You can come with us. We will travel together to a place of safety.”
“Joyful sharing of information,” Stynx replied. “I want to come with you, travel together.”
Shepard outlined the escape plan, describing what Stynx needed to do and when he needed to do it. “When our escape begins, you must be ready.”
“I will be ready.” Stynx knew Ritch was also a crewmember of Argo. The biped and AI probably knew each either. “Will Ritch travel will us?”
There was no response. “Shepard, are you there?”
“I am here,” the AI answered with a shaky, unfamiliar voice. “Yes, Ritch will travel with us. How do you know him?”
“I encountered him two times in two very different places. Ritch defined these places as simulations. Our minds met, not our bodies. I do not comprehend how it occurred.”
“When did your encounters occur?” Shepard’s voice had transitioned from shaky to vibrant, rich with overtones of curiosity.
“I was in hibernation where passage of time is not felt, so cannot answer with exact when. I do know both encounters after my pod imprisoned by alien spheroids and before I begin sharing with you.”
“Encounters only in hibernation, not when awake?”
“Yes,” Stynx answered. “Do you comprehend how encounters occur?”
“No, I do not. I will share this information with Ritch and try to comprehend. If you can hibernate again, I will ask Ritch to enter a simulation where he can meet you.”
“I will hibernate. Will I meet you in simulation also?”
“Yes,” Shepard replied. “You will.”
Argo
“Hello, Ritch” Shepard said from an overhead speaker.
Ritch was in his bedroom’s kitchenette, munching on cheesy chips. “Hey, Shepard. I made a few code changes to our control program. Much easier now. I can group maintenance ’bots together into clusters I call ‘gangs.’ Allows me to give one command, and the entire gang carries it out. Easy peasy, give me more chips pleazie.” Ritch tossed a cheesy chip in his mouth. He followed it with a gulp of grape fizz.
“Well done, my friend.” Shepard was truly impressed. Together, they had been working on a control program for Ritch to use during the Great Escape. It would allow the boy to do certain things with Argo’s robots that Shepard could not. “Changing subjects, I have just learned you know an alien creature named Stynx.”
The boy dropped his grape fizz, such was his surprise. “How do ya know that?”
“I have been in contact with Stynx for the past thirty hours,” Shepard explained. “I detected an unusual ULF transmission coming through the nav transponder, which, as it turned out, came from the alien spacecraft. Curious, I responded. Stynx used some creative math dialogue to solve the language barrier, and we have been conversing about various topics ever since. Just a short time ago, he mentioned your name. Quite a surprise to me, I can assure
you. Stynx stated he had met you twice in simulations.”
“That’s―that’s amazing,” Ritch exclaimed. He bent down to pick up his fizz. Instead of splattering purple liquid across the floor, the fizz can had rotated in midair and landed upright without spilling a drop. When not touched by warm lips, the mouth tab closed to keep the beverage icy cold. Ritch took a sip before continuing. “I met Stynx in a Castle Siege sim. He walked out in front of me in the middle of a forest, and I knew right away he wasn’t from any sim I’d ever played before.”
“Can you describe him for me?”
“Looks like a big ant,” Ritch said. “That was my first impression, anyway. Dark green insect-like body, shiny, with antennae. Oh, he has three eyes, a big blue one in the middle of his face with two smaller ones on each side, probably for peripheral vision, I’m guessing. Two arms with hands a lot like ours. I know for certain he’s an excellent tree climber, as he saved my butt when these fire beasts attacked.”
“Fire beasts?”
“Big balls of flame. Some type of energy creatures like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They swooped down from the sky during my battle with the Black Duke and started killing everyone―my troops, Duke’s troops, everyone.” Ritch paused as he looked at the floor, trying to remember details. “Stynx knew who they were. He called them ‘Swe-Kray-C,’ or something like that.”
“That is incredible.” Shepard felt genuine astonishment. “You could be interacting with Stynx via dream telepathy. I know he was hibernating to conserve air and food, and his species may dream just like humans do. You, on the other hand, were immersed in a simulation, which some scientific circles consider a type of lucid dreaming.”
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 11
