The angel had other plans.
Of course, he had to use guilt. A thousand people. Six hundred-odd families. How could she put her own life above that many others? She couldn’t, and Raziel knew it. Did murder still count as murder when an angel told you to do it? Damn, listen to me… I really do sound like I’m Cat-6. Maybe I am hallucinating. She frowned. Hallucinations didn’t send email with sixty-three terabytes of intelligence data.
The door of Augury beeped as she walked in. A starved-thin man wearing shiny black pants so tight his legs took on the look of polished obsidian leaned on the transparent counter. Gleaming charcoal-hued steel bands traced the outline of his ribs at the sides of his bare chest, each lined with tiny green lights. Hair exploded in a burst of deep, dark indigo from his scalp. A line of two-inch plastisteel spikes grafted into his skull ran from the base of his neck, up and over his head, to the tip of his nose. Artificial eyes glowing like emerald coals looked up from deep within shadowed recesses of eyeliner. One hand crept toward a cut-down rifle hidden in the counter.
“Murder in violet and black,” he said.
“Rory.” Her speedware made time draw to a standstill. She lunged forward, clearing the space from the door to the counter in a tenth of a second and leaning her weight down on his hand as it grasped a hidden gun. Time resumed. “You don’t look happy to see me.”
The breathing skeleton let off a faint squeak. “Got an upgrade, eh?” His lip twitched.
“Got a great deal, not much of a warranty though… and the payments are a bitch.” Risa traced her thumb over a caduceus tattooed on his forearm, the snake’s fangs drawn as if biting his wrist. “Nice ink. New?”
“Two weeks.” He stood up straight, tapping black-painted fingernails on the armored glass counter. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“I won’t stay long.”
“Got any cat ears?” asked a distracted-sounding teen among the shelves, her orb-shaped hair dyed snow white on the left, teal on the right.
Risa leaned on her elbow near the rifle as Rory pointed the girl at a holo-terminal where she could customize a set of ears. Everything from robotic devices mounted on a removable headband, to implants, to synthetic ones indistinguishable from living tissue that replaced human ears. He returned, leaving his customer swaying and mesmerized by the flashing lights.
“Flowerbasket?” Risa smirked.
“Naa, the kid’s on Zoom. Who the hell knows what she’s seeing in that pixel cloud.” He glared at the weapon she kept from him and snarled. “You get seen here again it’s gonna be my ass.”
“You don’t have an ass.” She gestured at the cabinet behind him. “I need a chip. Pilot with military add-ons.”
He loomed over a battered terminal screen, the pallid skin of his chest shining bright blue. “Forty grand.”
“Forty? I didn’t hit you that hard. Eighteen at the most. No loyalty to a frequent customer?”
“Not with the kinda trouble that follows you.” His upper lip curled into a snarl.
Behind him, a white cyberarm hanging on the wall by a curtained archway caught her eye. Ornate and new, the glossy replacement limb had the size and contours to fit a petite woman. Her eyes picked up traces of blood in the seams, invisible to normal vision. She wondered if its former owner was still in the ‘operating suite’ on the other side of the curtain.
“I didn’t know you were desperate enough to do rip jobs. MDF might be interested in that Intera White Orchid. That’s a little high end for this little shithole huh?”
Rory glared. “You? Call the police? Dustblow. You think I got mash for brains?”
“Things have changed. You can say I’m in bed with them pretty deep now. Ten thousand and I’ll call it borrowed.”
He leaned at her, eyes wide. “And wot if you feckin’ die?”
“Then it’s an investment in never seeing me again.” Risa resisted the urge to gag. “What the hell is on your breath?”
“Pear.” He tapped a Nicohaler lying on the counter.
“Either that was made by someone who has no idea what the hell a pear is, or you’ve got a dead body in the back room.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin, tapped it, and narrowed his eyes at her before backing up to a locked case. A swipe of his hand by the door caused it to beep, and the front panel whirred open on mechanical struts. Intense cobalt-blue light flickered on, permeating the transparent plastic holding rows upon rows of tiny black boxes in slots. He ran a finger across one line, counting, and extracted the fourteenth case. “That’s my bitch.”
Risa’s mental command activated a miniscule motor, which extended a thin slab of transparent plastic out of her head behind her left ear. “What’s the cognitive sync time for this one?”
Rory held the box between thumb and forefinger, staring over it at her. His grin exposed pointy metal teeth as he squeezed, causing the little box to open down the middle. Inside, a tiny platform bore a silver square two millimeters across. “About twenty minutes.”
“That’s fine.”
She pressed a finger to the speck, lifting it from its case and setting it on the sliding tray sticking out of her skull. It flickered with blue light and slid back into the concealed quarter-inch slit in her skin. As soon as it clicked and went silent, an eruption of information flooded her mind. Random facts about military aircraft leapt to the forefront of her thoughts, interwoven with fleeting glimpses of how it felt to be a pilot. All of it taken from the recorded cortical imprint of someone who’d sold access to their memories.
“How’s it look?” Rory eased his weight on the counter, his voice sounded murky and far off.
Cat-ear girl grabbed at nothing, raking her hands through the still-blank holo-panel, trying to catch an object visible only to her.
Risa took out her NetMini. “Like a pilot. Ten and you get it back when I return?”
“Sixteen and you don’t bother comin’ back here or tellin’ anyone where you got it.”
“Skill chips aren’t illegal.”
“The fuck cares about legal. I care about gettin’ tenderized again. Be glad I didn’t slip you a mindhack soft and puppeteer your pretty little ass right to Staanek.”
The focus of her vision darted to the top-right corner, opening a command menu. She navigated to the diagnostic function of her Neural Interface Unit, and pulled up the ‘about’ data on the new chip. It appeared with a flowing yellow ribbon under it bearing NEW in all capital letters. Her system detected it as a Grade 3 skill soft. No trace of a tracker or any unexpected software.
Yeah, 16k is fair.
She authorized the amount and swiped the NetMini over the reader. “Done.”
A speedware-assisted reach hit the magazine release on his rifle, giving her enough time to get out the door without having to worry about a surprise from behind. Images and sensations mixed with random pieces of information about dozens of military aircraft in her mind as she stumbled through the streets of Elysium’s underground. By the time she reached an elevator a mile and a half away, the data storm had subsided enough to let her walk without appearing drunk. The Elysium Central Mall had a large bank of elevators leading to the surface city. Though she shared the cube with eleven other people, no one looked at her twice.
When the doors opened, a blast of fresh, genuine air lofted her hair. Blue sky and clouds overhead caused her stomach to shift in a knot. I do not want to do this. This is it. I know it. Too much is going on. I love Pavo, I want to be there for Kree, and I have the worst feeling about Arden. Who was that man with the black and white hair? He knew about Arden before Raziel.
She squinted. No, he told me about it first.
It took only a minute to summon a PubTran taxi and book a ride to the surface exit gate along the western edge. She settled in the uncomfortable bench seat, picking her fingernails at the coarse cloth patterned with little cyan and dark-grey squares. More specifications on military aircraft danced around her head.
Years ago, the line betwe
en the Martian Defense Force, the police, and combat military troops had been only the color of their armor. These days, the MDF had grown more independent and to a degree, territorial. Some, like Kwan Huang, said it resembled what the Front saw happening in the people. They had to believe the citizens of Mars cried out for independence.
It was the only way sane men and women could do the things they had done.
Risa got out of the PubTran car in the shadow of an enormous hotel close to the starport arrivals terminal. She crept out the gate on foot, dropping down into the maintenance walkways where civilians weren’t supposed to go. The military airbase she needed to infiltrate was a quarter mile north of the civilian pad. The UCF used it as a launch point for local defense, and not for missions with any serious level of secrecy attached to it. According to Raziel’s documents, it offered the best chance of success and the least amount of security. Low, at least, by military standards. She climbed a vibrating pipe big enough to have crawled inside of, and slipped among bundles of wires and hoses. Skulking around the superstructure of landing pads seemed foolish: if something decided to come in or take off while she was below it, she’d cook.
Gee, I seem to like playing chicken with hot exhaust fumes lately.
The fear of ionic downblast kept her moving. A square shaft surrounded on all sides by arm-thick pipes offered a ten-meter shortcut between bays. She emerged from the end into the shadows below where her target perched. A scarcity of light made it into the tangle of hoses and wires from small hatches around the waiting aircraft. The reek of Cryomil burned like an alcohol fire inside her nostrils, flooding her mouth with the flavor of aluminum. Boots clanked overhead, but no one could see her. Wooziness from the skill chip assimilation hadn’t yet subsided. Safe in the dark, she curled up to wait out the last of the shivering caused by her overworked brain, and pondered the foolishness of stealing a military aircraft.
Even with Raziel’s influence keeping her out of their sensor visibility, it felt like a horrible idea.
My fault for wasting so much time. She scowled. No, I didn’t waste it.
Kree had run off after her declaration of non-mommyness. A moment passed where Risa almost felt like leaving the lives of a thousand people to the hands of fate, angel be damned. She ran after the girl into the safehouse, torn up and worried, but when their roundabout chase ended with Kree seeking refuge once more in Risa’s bedroom, it took some of the sting off her words.
After an hour, Kree begrudgingly accepted her reason for leaving. She had to stop something bad from happening to a whole settlement full of people. Risa promised she’d come home. Each time she repeated it, dread that death waited for her in Arden grew. Kree wouldn’t have reacted well to her showing fear or doubt, so she held them in. For a minute, Risa shivered and fought back tears, remembering how the girl begged and begged her to stay a little longer. Lost time, and a too-brief nap, left ground transportation to Arden out of the question.
Raziel had come up with this idea, and told her right where to go.
She wiped her eyes and concentrated on being angry again. Hold it together, Risa. You’re going to save lives this time. This is what you wanted. No more bombs. No more killing.
Once her brain settled down, she crawled to a three-foot-high ladder leading to an open trapdoor and peered out. A modest-sized military scout craft sat above her, balanced on three pads. Risa had never seen one this close, but somehow recognized it as LSV-18 ‘Lava Wasp.’ Stats someone else had learned jumped into her mind. She knew it could achieve a level flight speed in Mars atmosphere a hair over Mach 11, but had boosters capable of putting it into orbit. It also had a nasty habit of bouncing back into the air when landing. Too much engine, not enough airframe.
Now, Risa.
She didn’t ask why Raziel chose that instant to speak, but obeyed anyway. Risa sprang from the hatch, speedware flinging her into a blur. In the span of a second and change, she sprinted toward the open canopy and hopped in. Her hands flew over the controls as if greeting an old friend. Close the windscreen, power up main engines, flight console online, navigation system online, refueling port closed, transponder… off. She bypassed the weapons checks―all she needed was a ride.
Everything felt routine until she leaned back in the seat and grasped both side-mounted flight sticks. She sat in an aircraft, in the pilot’s seat, and had the stunned faces of three marines gaping at her.
What the fuck am I doing?
One of them reached for his sidearm. His mouth moved as though he yelled, but she couldn’t hear him in the sealed cockpit. Without another thought, she pulled back on the left stick and shot straight up. A few clanks echoed in the hull, a sound as if they’d thrown rocks. Risa pushed on the right stick, and the nose tilted down. The aircraft bled altitude as it accelerated. She stared at the climbing airspeed and at the M3 interface port in the center of the instrument cluster. Plugging in would make it easier to control, but she needed to be able to ditch fast―and didn’t have a breakaway cable.
No one trusted wireless control for combat vehicles―especially not the military.
When the LSV-18 reached 173.79 knots, she hit the button to change the flight characteristics. The wings extended and canted down before a burst of acceleration pinned her into the seat. The Lava Wasp’s handling changed from helicopter-like to that of a jet fighter. She pushed the throttle stick forward, grinning at the racing numbers. When the airspeed hit 666 knots, it shifted to display ‘M:1.’ Comm indicators beeped. She ignored them, flying supersonic and as low as her nerve allowed.
Do they think I’m going to turn around because they ask nicely?
Brick-red Martian wasteland raced by below. The powerful thrum of the craft’s engines vibrated her seat. The LSV-18 was designed for speed and maneuverability, not firepower or armor. Risa punched in the coordinates to Arden Settlement on the Navcon, amused at how similar the device was to what one might find in a civilian car, except for integration with a command network. She turned off the transponder so the military couldn’t tell where she went and smiled at a line of white text at the bottom right of the display.
Estimated arrival: two hours and six minutes.
Plenty of time to spare.
Flying the Lava Wasp by virtue of a skill chip was perhaps the strangest thing Risa had yet done. Her body moved as if on instinct, responding to random popup windows from the flight control system and making adjustments without knowing exactly why or what she was doing. The entire process ran on some subconscious, autonomic level as though someone else had possessed her body.
This is only a little freakish.
A touch less than two hours later, Arden Settlement appeared on the horizon as a dark spot surrounded by a glowing blue box, courtesy of the HUD. The waypoint indicator flickered and turned green as the flight computer confirmed the transponder as friendly. She eased back on the throttle, slowing to about 400 knots. At the point the airspeed indicator changed from showing Mach number to knots, the airframe shuddered for a few seconds.
Shit, it’s rattling apart! Her panic failed to break the control of the pilot’s ghost, which didn’t react to the shaking. She swallowed hard and stared at her hands clutching the sticks, expecting the plastic to crack under her grip. Seconds later, the ghost whispering at her subconscious made her think of air turbulence and not her plane falling apart.
The settlement grew from a tiny discoloration in the distance to a sprawling agricultural complex. Like some kind of ancient coliseum, a four-story wall ringed the entire facility, interrupted at each of the long ends of the oval by twin boxy airlocks big enough for Millipedes to drive through. Sunlight gleamed from silvery, triangular panels of semitransparent material forming an atmosphere dome over the entire facility.
Pipes crisscrossed the ground, weaving among rows upon rows of hydroponic grow tanks and utility buildings. Some led to a cluster of drop pods around a large platform containing two articulated cargo transport trucks. Her desire to get a better look
sent her finger to a control panel as a reflex. Workers in sealed e-suits appeared in a picture-in-picture view on the canopy, piloting exoskeleton loaders and carrying half-ton cargo boxes full of food.
It’s a massive greenhouse.
A little black window popped up on one of the system monitoring screens, containing text:
Lieutenant Alisha Hayes.
Training mission.
Out and back.
Need to top off on Cryomil.
Risa scratched her head until a comm channel beeped. “Damn, didn’t I turn that off?”
She reached to kill the communication system, but doubt prickled at the back of her mind. Her finger went the other way and pushed the button to answer.
A dark-skinned woman in a brick-red military jumpsuit appeared in hologram over the controls. She looked a little shy of eighteen and had the wide eyes of a newbie. “Incoming LSV-18, this is Arden Settlement. Please identify.”
For no particular reason, Risa put on a bubbly voice. “Hi! Lieutenant Alisha Hayes, UCF Marine Corps. Sorry for not comming in, this is my first solo flight, still making sure I don’t crash.” She giggled. “I’d rather fail to hit procedure than succeed in hitting a rock.”
The woman relaxed. “Welcome to Arden, ma’am. What do you need?”
“Low on Cryo. Wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and hitting the head either, been flying for hours.”
“Roger that. Come in bearing 080 degrees at fifteen knots. Egress collar is a little shifty, watch your yaw.”
What the hell does that mean? Before Risa could ask, her body reacted under the control of the chip. She changed course, slowed, and guided the aircraft toward a large square aperture near the top of the dome. Flashing red lights went off at the corners of a thick white plastisteel frame seconds before two transparent slabs the size of Gee-ball arenas slid apart, creating a gap for her to fly through.
“Thanks, Arden Control.”
The comm signal dropped.
She slowed, and hit the switch to transition the aircraft back to helicopter-style control while bleeding off airspeed. Vibration and mechanical whine rumbled the airframe as the wings tucked in. Risa’s ad-libbed remark about needing to hit the bathroom proved truer than she thought as the little aircraft got closer and closer to the opening. One twitch at the wrong time would bump the edge of the giant doors and send her tumbling to Mars in a fireball. She wanted to scream, feeling like a spectator in her own body as her zombie arms guided the Lava Wasp into the entrance.
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 39
