“How about the rest of the ship?”
“I can’t tell, sir. I think the hardline must have been disconnected.”
“Can we fix that?” Helot asked.
“Maybe. That will take a while. In the meantime, we should be able to patch back in over the wireless. We’re working on that now.”
“Good, let me know when you do that.”
“Sir?” the officer at the engineering panel interrupted him.
“What is it?”
“Our bulkhead doors along the Africa and America side elevators are showing a loss of pressure on the other side.”
“Vacuum? Is it just in the space between the doors, or is there a breach on the other side? At street level? Don’t answer, I know you can’t tell yet.” Helot exhaled. “Okay, Smith, give me a status report on all the disconnects. A summary status report.”
“About a third of them are offline right now. During the detachment, a bunch of them failed to release — mainly in the two and three series. Then, after the detachment, a bunch of them slammed shut again. It’s hard to tell how many.”
Curts had crossed over to look at the officer’s screen and turned to Helot. “We’re going to need to inspect these all visually before we try that again.”
“I know,” Helot said, annoyed at Curts’ obviousness. He turned to the officers perched in front of him on the upper–level of the command center. “Engines? Navigation?”
“Engines and positioning thrusters are fully operational. We’re rotating well off axis though. 0.12 degrees per second.”
“Hardly our biggest problem right now,” Helot muttered. “Okay, keep an eye on it.”
“Sir? We’re patched back in to the main Argos network via wireless. Everyone should be seeing that on their screens now.”
Helot turned to the officer at the engineering panel. “How’s the rest of the ship?”
“The bulkhead doors along 9th Avenue are all intact. No signs of vacuum at street level.”
Helot nodded, repeatedly clenched and unclenched his hands, mentally working through his options. “Okay, everyone. I don’t want to see anyone panicking. We’ve got a year long window here. Lots of time to try again. But, let’s not waste any of it. Curts, get your people and start inspecting those disconnects right away.”
He looked at the images of the crowds gathered on the other side of the bulkheads, knowing they weren’t likely to give him a year.
§
A clang rang up from the darkened hole in the floor, followed by a thud. Helot and Thorias looked at each other with concern. “You okay, Curtsy?” Thorias asked.
“Yeah,” Curts’ voice echoed up from the hole. “Hang on.”
They were standing in a dormitory on the fifth floor, just above the threshold along which the ship was to have split. Bunk beds had been shoved aside, along with the confused civilians in them, family members of security and naval officers. This had uncovered the massive access hatch which opened up onto one of the jammed disconnects. Curts’ head appeared in the access hatch and looked around, blinking. He hauled himself out of the hole and flopped down on the ground, covered in sweat and grime following six hours of uncomfortable work.
“It’s going to t–t–take at least a couple months,” he reported, getting to his feet. “We’ve only inspected a fraction of them, but I think I can fairly safely say that we’re going to have to physically c–c–cut through almost a quarter of the disconnects with fuse torches. There’s a problem though.”
“They’re in vacuum?” Helot asked.
Curts bit his lip. “Probably some, yes. But most evidently aren’t.” Eyes closed, he shook his head. “No, wait. That’s not what I’m, err…that’s not the p–p–problem. I’m thinking…I mean. The issue is — a lot of them have resealed. Or there’s not enough separation to blow the seals completely. That’s part of it. The other part is that…it’s hard to explain. I mean, most of the disconnects can only be accessed from the other side of the ship.”
Helot’s knuckles whitened. Spit it out you fucking idiot. “It means your men will need access to the other side of those cavities,” Helot said, seeing Curts’ mouth open, wanting to pre–empt him. He had already guessed that would be necessary. Curts nodded.
Helot turned to Thorias. “So? This is what you were worried about, yes?”
Thorias turned his head to the side, cracking his neck. “If the people on the other side of those bulkhead doors don’t know what happened, they will soon.” He looked at Helot meaningfully.
Helot grimaced and twisted his fingers together. It had been stupid telling everything to Kinsella. But it had been irresistible — to have kept a secret like that for so long and be home free. Telling that oily bastard where he could stick his kiddy–diddling pics was fantastic, the best part of what had admittedly been a pretty shitty day. “Can we maybe find him and make him be quiet?” he asked softly.
“We can try.”
“Okay. Quietly, if possible. And alive please,” Helot said, wishing he didn’t have to specify that, not wanting to take the chance. “Now, what else? We’ll still need to keep people out of the aft. So, we’ll keep the bulkhead doors down. But people will ask questions.”
“Call it a terrorist attack,” Thorias said. “Everyone will have felt the shaking. That will give us an excuse for sending officers out hunting for the mayor. We’ll keep most of them back here. Open a few bulkhead doors to serve as gates. Set up barricades. Call it a security perimeter. A few squads will roam the bow, looking for the terrorists who did this. And we already have a couple readymade terrorists to pin this on.”
Helot rubbed his fingers together. “Okay. Do all that immediately.” Thorias turned away and began making calls. Helot directed his attention back at the filthy chief engineer. “Curts? Get started with those fuse torches. Quickly, please.” He left the engineer by his hole, and left the room, waiting for the door to close behind him before rubbing his face. What was supposed to be a clean cut, surgical procedure now felt an awful lot like picking at an open sore.
§
Sergei swallowed again. He had had to do that too much lately. He had too much damned saliva in his mouth. He guessed it was just nerves. No one had ever told him of all the saliva that came with the nerves.
Four in the afternoon and he was standing guard at a hastily erected barricade on Africa–1. Another eight security guards were there, working through their own symptoms of the nerves, casting nervous looks down the street to the north.
It had been an interesting day. He had slept uneasily the night after leaving the bar with Laura. Sergeant Koller had been at the bar, staring right at them both. For a while, Sergei had thought it was just a coincidence Koller was there, and that he had been staring at them like a pervert simply because he was one. But a part of him couldn’t shake the idea that Koller was there specifically to watch them. Sergei had sleepwalked through the next day, constantly checking over his shoulder to look for any familiar faces, finding none. They weren’t watching him. Which meant they were watching Laura. He had decided that he should probably warn her about that, but he hadn’t decided on the safest way to do so when he had gone to bed, hopeful he would think of a solution by the morning.
No solution was waiting when he awoke, but a message was, one accompanied by the distinctive chirp indicating it was a priority message. Still a couple of hours before Sergei was scheduled to come on–shift, he knew it was almost certainly a “Get the fuck in to work right now” chirp. The chirp, unwelcome though it was, was at least familiar. The message that accompanied it was not:
COMMENCE DRILL 1A. ARRIVE AT SECURITY HQ IN 30 MINUTES WITH 1 STANDARD BAG OF PERSONAL BELONGINGS.
Sergei read the message twice before reluctantly getting out of bed. He knew what the drill was — they had done this once a year since he had joined the security ranks. It was intended to prepare the security corp for the possibility of a long term deployment in a fortified aft, on the chance that a massive civil wa
r would break out in exactly the same way as the first one. Sergei remembered his first such drill clearly. “They’ll know who you are and where you live,” his commanding officer had told him. “And will have no hesitation about destroying everything you own. Take everything that’s valuable to you.” Sergei had thought that a particularly overdramatic touch. They had been doing these drills regularly since the Breeder conflict, though they had always been announced in advance and never via a message. That was odd. Sergei couldn’t recall any drills announced via a terminal message before.
Sergei lived close to the headquarters and was able to get to the office quickly. Shortly after he arrived, another message told him to report to a room on the sixth level where he was to wait for further instructions. Now very confused, Sergei made his way to the elevator bank within the headquarters and took it to the sixth floor. He rarely had cause to go above street level, and it took him awhile to find the right room. The whole level was far busier than he would have imagined, with a lot of similarly confused people wandering around. Once he found the room, he entered to find a dozen sets of bunk beds laid out in dormitory fashion in long rows. Sitting down on a bunk at random, he waited and watched as for the next forty minutes security men streamed in, all carrying bags full of whatever they considered valuable. Sergei noticed with some interest that both current and off–rotation security officers were amongst those arriving. Retired and off–duty officers could always potentially be called into service again, but he had never known them to be included in a drill before.
Around this point, the ship began the violent lurching which marked the death of any notions that they were still involved in a drill.
The next few hours were filled with increasingly confused speculation in the dormitory, not tempered in the slightest by the terse messages from command telling them to hold their position. Eventually, Chief Thorias himself arrived and ordered them back down to street level to muster in the security headquarters. There Sergei got his first glimpse of the sealed bulkhead doors.
After another few minutes had passed, by which point it appeared that the entire security contingent was gathered in the streets surrounding the headquarters, Thorias announced that terrorists had just attempted to destroy the ship. All security officers were now on permanent around–the–clock duty, their numbers supplemented by recalled off–duty officers. All would be assigned to barricades securing the aft of the vessel or to roving patrols to calm the public and hunt for the terrorists. Pistols and commlinks — earpieces with integrated microphone, linked to the terminals — were also distributed.
On Africa–1, the construction of the barricade had proceeded remarkably smoothly. When the bulkhead doors had opened, only a handful of curious civilians were on the other side. They were instructed to return to their homes, and none put up any fuss. Over his commlink, he could hear that things were not progressing as easily for the other units. There was a near riot occurring on Europe. Shots fired.
Within a few minutes, Koller and some others had arrived with temporary barricades of the flimsy plastic variety used for managing parades. After directing where to set these up, Koller left, explaining that more instructions would be forthcoming. Sergei snorted at that — a clear euphemism for “we don’t really know what to do yet, so don’t do anything.” Rumors quickly began circulating, based on overheard conversations, stray commlink chatter, and, no doubt by now, amphetamines. The Mayor had been killed. No, just injured. Thrown overboard. But he was definitely not in power anymore. Unless he was faking all this to gain more power.
Sergei watched the small cluster of people that had gathered a few blocks down Africa. They milled about without any clear purpose, but the focus of their attention was clearly the security officers gathered behind their flimsy plastic barricade. Thankfully, none of them approached. Maybe news had spread that there had been shootings at Europe. The terminal chatter had settled down a bit by this point, and it was clear that only a single civilian had been stunned in the earlier fracas and not hurt badly. Still, Sergei kept a nervous eye on the crowd. Even when keeping a distance, their presence was worrisome. The crowd slowly increased in size.
A high–pitched noise pierced the air. Sergei looked around, confused. A rumbling noise followed soon after, then silence. The sound of voices murmuring in the background. Sergei reeled. He had no idea the ship even had a public address system. Every terminal on the ship, and presumably every desk and wall display, began playing the same message.
“Good morning. This is Captain James Edward Helot. This morning, criminals attempted to destroy critical parts of the ship’s propulsion system. This violent and senseless attack was the cause of the tremors felt throughout the ship. Thankfully, these villains were unsuccessful in their goal — the damage, though serious, could have been far worse.
“However, until these criminals are brought to justice, for the protection of the public, enhanced security measures will be put in place throughout the ship. No doubt some of you have already observed these measures. I’ll explain them here clearly now and explain why there is no cause for panic.
“A security perimeter has been established along 9th Avenue. No traffic will be allowed south of this perimeter except when authorized by the ship’s security forces. Applications to cross this security perimeter can be obtained from the security officers operating on Level 4 at Europe and 9th. They will begin accepting said applications at noon today. Priority will be given to those separated from family members and those separated from their homes. Please be patient with this process.
“The lawful government of this ship is still in power. Government officials will experience some difficulty crossing the perimeter, and we apologize for their displacement. However, I want to make perfectly clear that these security measures are temporary. When the culprits behind this attack are brought to justice, and the critical areas of the ship are repaired and secured, the security perimeter will cease to exist. In the meantime, I would ask everyone to please cooperate with all security officers you interact with.
“Security forces are currently seeking two specific people we believe to be responsible for this attack. Arrest warrants are currently issued for Bruce Redenbach and Laura Stein, members of the ship’s maintenance department. If you’ve had any contact with these individuals, please report it to security at once. Additionally, please report any other unusual activity that you think may be a threat to the ship’s security.
“With your help and support, I am confident that we will be able to get through this, and I sincerely thank you for your patience.”
A soft click announced the end of the message. A few seconds later, every data terminal on the ship beeped to indicate that the full text of the captain’s statement had arrived in their inbox, along with still images of Laura and her friend Bruce and a recording of Bruce sprinting through the Bridge, gun in hand.
Sergei fought to control his reactions. He’d had contact with the two most wanted criminals on board the Argos. In one case, quite a bit of contact. He couldn’t imagine Laura getting involved in this. Well, he could imagine it, but it took some flexibility. As for her friend Bruce — that seemed…really, extremely plausible.
But what did this mean to him? He had never advertised it, but his relationship — was that the word? — with Laura was no secret. And Koller certainly knew about it. If they were looking for Laura, they would be looking for him, as well.
Unsure of what to do, Sergei did nothing, fighting with the saliva in his mouth. Even aside from the part about Laura, there were other parts of this that weren’t making sense. Like the fact that the security officers had been recalled before the attack occurred. And that dorm room they were in beforehand — what did that have to do with a terrorist attack? It was like Thorias had known this was coming. Despite Helot’s assurance that the civilian government was still in power, Sergei saw precious little evidence to suggest that that was the case. If it was, why hadn’t the mayor delivered the message himself? T
hat guy loved an excuse to talk.
§
In the control room, Helot looked at the gathered crowds on the monitor screens.
“You think that worked?” Curts asked from behind him.
Helot didn’t spare a look for the tiresome man. “I don’t know, Curts. Maybe we should look at these glowing rectangles and find out?” To his credit, Curts chose to ignore the insult, a skill most cowards had. The mousey engineer stayed mute, avoiding eye contact and watching the screens with his head bowed. The crowds in the garden well and on the streets around the bulkhead doors weren’t dissipating. But they weren’t growing, either. Close–ups showed confused people, milling about without any real purpose. If they were angry, they weren’t outwardly angry.
“Looks like you bought us some time,” Curts finally said.
Helot knew that was never in doubt. The question was, How much time? Someone amongst the cattle would be able to figure out that the bulkhead doors had closed before the ‘terrorist attack.’ And about the two thousand naval and security personnel who had all migrated south at the same time. Finally, there was the mayor, the oily wonder. Thorias had men searching for him, but in the confusion, Kinsella had managed to disappear. Helot wasn’t optimistic they would find him. The mayor had probably scuttled somewhere well out of sight.
“Shouldn’t you be working on something?” he snapped at Curts. That was unfair — the engineer could do much of his coordination from this room — but Curts scurried away regardless. Helot watched the little bastard’s retreat with disdain. It had been ten years since Curts had approached him with the schematics to the ship and its disconnects, revealing in a casual way that he knew what it was capable of. Shrewdly, he had come with no threat of blackmail. Only an offer to help, to assist with the preparations that Helot wouldn’t even confirm were taking place. The help was needed; it would have been difficult for the naval personnel to complete their work unnoticed without Curts running interference. But it was the cowardice the man displayed that grated at Helot. He wasn’t doing it because he believed in what Helot was doing. He hadn’t even asked why. He was just doing it to save himself. Willing to betray and abandon his friends and coworkers and shipmates. That wasn’t the kind of person Helot needed on Tau Prius. That wasn’t the kind of person Helot wanted anywhere near him.
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