Insidious

by Michael McCloskey

  Chris wondered if he’d finally have time for women here on the station. He’d been working so hard for the last few years he barely knew the other sex existed. He couldn’t so much as breathe wrong at work around a woman without risking some kind of disciplinary action. Wasn’t Synchronicity supposed to be more of a social setting? But it had a whole set of rules of its own. The manual said that physical contact with the opposite sex was only allowed in your quarters. That seemed obvious enough, since the rules said you couldn’t take off your suit anywhere else, anyway, barring medical emergency. But how could such a thing be possible when they could only meet outside in the gear?

  One at a time, the people in front of Chris stepped through a gray metal door. It was dark beyond the portal. Chris felt too nervous for any small talk with the others. When his turn came, he stepped through the door.

  A gloomy corridor received him. Arrayed along either wall before him, sets of gear hung flat against the wall, illuminated by gentle directional lights that showed the suit without dispelling the dimness of the walkway. Chris looked at the first gear on his left. A dark gray webbing of some smooth fiber held the black plastic plates together over elbows, knees, and back. A thick extra layer of plastic covered the left shoulder. The head covering looked like a medieval helmet of black and blue plastic attached to the back plates like a hood. Blue metal rings were woven into the webbing around the ribs.

  He stepped forward and counted twenty suits in all. They were all dark with blue accents like the first, but each one had several unique aspects. Different helmets or gloves or extra plates combined to make each suit different from the next.

  How the hell was he supposed to choose? The manual said that you chose your gear the first time you arrived on the station. It didn’t say anything about ever being able to chose a different set if you decided you didn’t like your first choice. What if he damaged it? What if it felt unbearably uncomfortable? What if he discovered he had made some awful faux pas with his choice?

  Just take the pill.

  Chris grabbed a set of gear that had a plastic mail mesh over most of the torso with a small ridge of blue spikes along the spine. The black eye plates were triangular, like jack-o’-lantern eyes.

  “Please follow the green line to your changing room,” a voice instructed through his link. Chris obeyed and selected a door on the opposite side of the one through which he had entered. Beyond there he saw another dark corridor with rows of doors. He stepped to the right and followed the indicated path into a closet-sized room with a tall mirror on one wall and a stack of boxes against the other.

  Chris put on the suit. He felt like an actor climbing into an animal mascot suit. He cursed under his breath. If they’re going to make an idiot out of me, it’ll be soon now.

  The suit felt much airier than he had expected. Chris realized that the suit had cleverly hidden spicules around his face and body that allowed air to flow in without directly revealing any of his flesh.

  The visor of his helmet fed him the view outside through his link as if he’d turned his own body into a remotely controlled probe. He chafed against the ridiculous indirection the video loop introduced.

  Someone could influence the data, too, and make me see things that aren’t there. Maybe that’s what this is all about?

  He stood and regarded himself in the mirror. He looked robotic, he decided, peering through the one-way transparent material over his eyes. The suit stiffened his limbs, although it did bend at all the major joints. His gloved hands looked like they were covered in black scales with armored ridges on the knuckles.

  He turned and stared at his clothes for a moment before he realized they went in one of the boxes. He put everything into a box, including his original shoes.

  “Please deposit the clothes box in the indicated slot,” a voice told him. Chris found a slot in the wall that his link overlaid with green arrows. He pushed the clothes through reluctantly, as if saying good-bye to his old life. He held onto his one-charge stunner in his palm.

  “Please follow the green lines to your quarters. You will be allowed to acclimate to your new room for the rest of the day. Normal activities will resume tomorrow.”

  Chris took a deep breath.

  “This is crazy,” he whispered to himself. He half-expected the green line to lead him onto a stage where everyone would laugh at him, the naive newbie who put on the freak suit without questioning anything. “See what people do just because they’re told?” someone would announce. “We need to learn how to question everything. Question everything and never cease searching for new ways to contribute to VG’s success …”

  He pushed the daydream out of his mind. If that was what was about to happen, so be it. He’d get through the ritual and someday he’d laugh about it with the other execs while the newcomers put on suits to amuse him.

  Chris trudged through a long corridor following the green line. The gear altered his stride making him feel clumsy. He passed one other person, also wearing gear, walking the other direction. He didn’t say anything. The green lines directed him down a connecting side passage. He glanced at a directory through his link. He saw a map of one hundred quarters, swimming pools, racquetball courts, and other facilities. He noticed there were no public eating areas—a bad sign. The manual said you eat your meals in your quarters. If this was a joke, someone had gone to great lengths to feed his link the bogus map with all the right details.

  At last, the green line came to a door. It was arranged on a long wall with a lot of other equally spaced doors, like the entrance to a hotel room. The door opened for him.

  Chris stepped into the room uncertainly. Through the visor feed, he saw a luxurious albeit low-ceilinged room. Plants grew from elegant tile vessels built into the corners. The walls were lined with mirrors, presumably to give the feeling of a larger space in the limited volume available.

  Then he realized these were his quarters. The rule about the gear didn’t apply here. He pulled off the thick helmet and looked around the room. It didn’t appear any different from what he’d just observed through the visor. Other than the low ceiling, he decided the room looked as nice as any five-star hotel on Earth. His link registered a wide set of options. One was a control for changing the color and decor of his room, but he decided he liked the space as it was. He dropped his helmet onto a long, soft couch and pulled off his sleeves and torso armor, which he put on the couch next to the helmet. He decided to look around more.

  He stepped into the bathroom. The walls and floor were decorated with a substance like dark gray marble. The same material formed a large sink in front of another mirror. He reached out and touched the sink. It felt smooth and cold like real polished stone.

  A black-haired girl wearing blue appeared in the mirror, standing behind him.

  “Shit!” Chris exclaimed.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  The girl dropped to one knee, her head bowed.

  “Uh, oh, that’s okay, you surprised me.” Chris waited a moment, but the girl did not move. “It’s okay. You can stand up. Who are you?”

  “Your servant, sir,” she said. Slowly, she stood. She wore a simple silk robe. Her beautiful eyes and dark skin spoke of Chinese lineage. Chris found her attractive.

  “Oh. I didn’t know we had any help here. You in the manual?”

  “What?” she asked, looking up at him with innocent brown eyes.

  “Never mind … you’re young. What’s your name? Do you work for VG?”

  She looked flustered. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I am your servant.”

  “Oh. What’s your name?”

  She kept looking at the floor. “I am your servant … Cinmei.”

  Chris thought she seemed reluctant to part with her name. He suspected she had a strict set of rules to adhere to much as he did. He hadn’t read anything about any personal servants in the manual.

  He walked to the main room. The young woman followed.

  “This is a nice place. It’s q
uieter than I expected here,” he said. Chris stepped toward the bedroom entrance. He saw a large, low bed and a set of dresser cabinets.

  “Well, I’d like to dismiss you for now. I’m fairly tired, and I’d like to grab a nap. I can send for you …” Chris frowned. “I don’t see your link’s service.”

  Cinmei looked down again. “No, sir.”

  “They block your link?”

  Cinmei shook her head. She pointed at her head and then flicked her finger away in the nonverbal sign for no link.

  She doesn’t have a link?

  He looked away from her. She was held here without a link working as a private servant for whoever took the room. Chris couldn’t escape the truth.

  The executives of VG kept Chinese slaves in Synchronicity.

  He turned and walked to the couch.

  Just take the pill.

  “Something wrong, sir? Anything I do?” Cinmei asked uncertainly, following him to the couch.

  Chris now knew what Synchronicity really was—a deep space fortress where the laws of Earth meant nothing. He’d never realized how far gone Alec Vineaux was. He’d degenerated beyond eccentricity to true criminal behavior.

  Cinmei settled closer and massaged his shoulders. She worked her strong fingers into his bunched muscles with the vigor of a trained masseuse.

  Chris thought about his 16,000 ESC per year. He glanced at Cinmei’s figure in the wall mirror and decided he wasn’t going to breathe a word about it to anyone.

  Three

  A sleek black courier ship approached Thermopylae’s inner runway. Aldriena Niachi sat in the pilot’s couch, but she only watched, her delicate hands folded before her as the Silvado’s computer directed the landing. The small plane attacked the spinning runway much like an atmospheric landing.

  Aldriena felt a gentle vibration as the landing gear contacted the station. The control systems of the courier tackled the task with superhuman finesse. The courier ship’s cockpit sat inside a rotating capsule to keep the pilot comfortable under whatever acceleration was being applied, so Aldriena faced the back of the plane as it started to spin with the base.

  As the courier slowed relative to the runway, it began to spin with the base, pushing Aldriena farther into the soft couch. Finally, from the Silvado’s external cameras, it appeared that the base had stopped rushing by. Sitting on the runway, feeling about nine-tenths the acceleration of Earth gravity, the courier taxied back into a berth to connect with the giant space station.

  Welcome to Thermopylae on behalf of the Bentra Corporation. Please keep the following conventions in mind during your visit …

  Aldriena ignored the piped babble from Bentra. She stepped up from her pilot couch and adjusted her mind to the new angle of acceleration.

  She slipped out of the pilot’s module and walked into the cargo area behind the cockpit. The tiny courier’s belly could hold the volume of about four small cars, but there were only two cargo containers strapped to the walls, each small enough to be carried in one hand. She opened a small floor compartment and pulled out her gear.

  Aldriena unzipped her Veer skinsuit and let it drop to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her transparent undersheers. She stared down at the ugly plastic gear and sighed at the waste. No admiring eyes would fall upon her smooth brown body once she donned the gear. Aldriena knew how to leverage her beauty to such advantage, but the dorky suit would nix that. She wouldn’t be able to get on Thermopylae without it. The gear was black, which was a plus, but from there it went rapidly downhill. It had a ridged, almost scaly exterior and a broad, flat plate across the chest that submerged her femininity. It had blue detail work here and there, an announcement of her lowly rank at the station. Another reason not to get into it.

  But she slipped into the thing anyway and resumed her work.

  Aldriena unstrapped the first container, her personal travel case, and put it in the exit way where the station ramp had attached to the courier. Then she moved to the other case, her real cargo. She freed this strong black case from the wall. It swung hard to her side, nearly pulling her arm off. The container pushed her musculature and balance beyond comfort with its unusual mass. She packed more power into her small frame than most would expect, but the case was heavy, and the gear’s bulk wasn’t helping.

  She staggered to the exit and snatched up her own case, grateful for its minor counterbalancing effect. She snorted inside the facemask, imagining how she must look. A random person on Earth might mistake her for a tacky humanoid bellhop robot carrying a tourist’s luggage up to the honeymoon suite of a cheap Goth hotel.

  As soon as she stepped into the base, her Cascavel linked in and started snooping around. It was two links in one, completely modular. She used the normal link most of the time, and it adhered to all the official protocols obeyed by most links made anywhere. The Cascavel’s alter ego, a tiny stealth link, wouldn’t be spotted in most scans as it nestled next to the civilian link in her skull like a remora on a shark, except in this case the remora was the predator.

  The Cascavel came complete with a powerful hacking suite, loads of storage, and advanced optical capture abilities wired through her eyes. It could record even a glimpse of sensitive information from great distances. Aldriena stole a glimpse of the security laser mount above her, wondering if she would see a flash if it fired.

  Quit being so melodramatic. It wouldn’t be an optical wavelength weapon. Besides, you know they’d want you alive. Pump you for information first, then …

  Aldriena terminated her line of thought and regained full placidity. It wouldn’t do to trigger the HIT and make the ugly daydream into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  The Cascavel connected using a series of one-time codes her company, Black Core, had purchased from a Bentran traitor. Right now, the ex-Bentran man was probably soaking up the sun on some Brazilian beach, enjoying the payout he’d earned by helping out Black Core with insider information. Or he’d been whisked back home by Bentra for planting the fake info, and Aldriena was about to be captured and interrogated.

  All in a not-so-honest day’s work.

  The code seemed to function. There was still the problem that the man wasn’t on her courier. Black Core had registered him as a passenger, in case Thermopylae’s computer would crosscheck the use of the code with the presence of the employee. But the cameras would reveal that he hadn’t come on board.

  An active AI core would catch the oversight in a second and have Aldriena stuck to the bulkhead with a glue grenade. But Thermopylae couldn’t have a superintelligence active for longer than hours at a time, it was simply too dangerous. There had been too many close calls. Even the arrogant corporate leaders had learned or died. Rampant AIs were like nuclear meltdowns: they happened, but each time one occurred they bolstered mankind’s resolve to get it right next time—or else.

  A green line overlaid a debarking lane, leading her straight ahead. Aldriena ignored it and moved off to the far right lane. Inside the mask, she gave herself a small smile. One of life’s little pleasures.

  She came to a station and threw her cases down on the countertop. It looked like wood but took a good hit. The wall robot didn’t move. It had to start up since she’d picked another lane than the one the station had booted for her.

  “I’m heeeeeeere,” she said. The wall checker bot came to life. It had two long, thin arms with spherical joints and delicate three-fingered hands. A fist-sized sensor suite mounted on a tentacle slid out to get a look at the luggage.

  She paced the room as the machine pored over her personal case, keeping everything aside in the large box. Then the screener opened the cargo case and viewed the shiny bars.

  “These items. Identify,” it said.

  “That’s the loot,” she said.

  “Is this synonymous with the entry ‘platinum bars,’ which is on the cargo manifest of the vessel Silvado?”

  “Yes.”

  “The shipment has been logged. Your blue status is confirmed despite
a long absence.”

  “Thanks so much, I’d hate to have to fall all the way back to indigo,” she said sarcastically. Despite a deep competitive streak, she’d only managed to work her way up to blue so far, since she spent most of her time away from the deep space stations. She ground her teeth.

  Aldriena waited until the robot started to point out her sidearm.

  “There appears to be—”

  Aldriena slapped the weapon onto the counter. She’d scratch the damn faux wood yet. The gun looked like a retro-styled stunner trying to imitate an old auto pistol. The robot’s voice skipped, abandoning its request.

  “This item. Identify,” it said.

  “One-shot stunner,” Aldriena lied. She didn’t mention its function as a Circle Four blinder. She had given it the uninspired name C4B. Circle Fours were overbuilt and tough from top to bottom, but where there was money, there was a way. Her sonic weapon would break the audio pickups of security robots, and she knew it could shatter the camera lenses of a Circle Four right through their protective plastic bubbles. She believed it capable of doing the same to most other security models.

  The gun was expensive, but Black Core had enough money to give its operatives good weapons. Especially ones assigned to Project Insidious.

  The slender-armed robot dropped the weapon into her small box as it always did.

  “You are cleared. Welcome to Thermopylae.”

  Welcome to wacko world, Aldriena echoed to herself.

  She snatched up C4B and holstered it in her gear by dropping it into a webbed holder affixed to the inside of the armor. Her own curves left plenty of a gap for it to fit comfortably behind the flat torso plate.