Iridian bit her lower lip for a second before replying, Twenty-four-hour schedule here. Vesta always has work for humans, or always had in the beginning . . . Damn it, you can overthink this subvocal thing if you’re not careful.
Worth it? Adda asked as they followed Sloane to a table in the corner of the VIP lounge, which four inebriated individuals with knives on their belts swiftly vacated. They all gave the captain an abbreviated spacefarer’s bow on their way out the door.
Beside her, Iridian nodded subtly as they settled at the table. Their system was still transmitting more information than they intended. Adda would have to find out if Pel’s surgeon would let her into the implant suite to adjust the settings. Since she and Iridian had made the implants themselves and gotten them installed outside the NEU’s medical records system, an appointment with a hospital technician would get her fined and registered, at best. The body modder who’d installed them was too creepy and too distant to go back to.
The golden-skinned bartender, a human woman when the AI bartenders in the dance floor bars worked just fine, was halfway to their table when Sloane typed an order into the table’s order pad with an air of despondency. The captain sent another message by comp, then leaned back in the chair and deliberately placed both hands on the table, like it was either that or overturn it. “Kidnapping and coercion.”
“Pardon?” Adda asked, at the same time Iridian asked, “Say again?”
“The task set to us, despite Liu Kong’s high-minded description, amounts to kidnapping the target and . . . maintaining ver until ve signs an exclusive corporate contract with Oxia.” Those sounded like Liu Kong’s words, not the captain’s. The corporate euphemism for “imprisonment” was disgusting.
Several epithets that didn’t sound like English or Mandarin, except for anally prolapsed mutant goat fucker, whispered through Adda’s ear implant from Iridian, without indication of which descriptors applied to the CEO and which applied to the goat. Adda made a note to add a broader translator to the implants’ comms package.
“This I . . . We can’t . . . We don’t do this kind of job, Captain.” Iridian was so rarely at a loss for words. Sloane sort of half smiled, half frowned at her. “You’ve got what, three hundred fighters just in this station? Don’t we have enough people to throw Oxia off the ’ject?”
Despite Iridian’s protests, Adda expected that she’d do it if Captain Sloane insisted. But there had to be ways in which this operation could be carried out without violence.
“Three hundred and fifty combat-trained individuals, as of last week,” Sloane said, “and a number of specialists I could acquire on short notice.” Adda noted the increase on her comp. “They, with sufficient financial arrangements, may be able to remove Oxia from Vesta. But as I confirmed during our previous operation, it would cost trillions to hire a fleet to match theirs.”
When Sloane had been requesting ship after ship as reinforcements to combat the ITA and the Ann Sabina’s escort ships, the captain had been gauging fleet strength and organization. Adda was still looking for access to Oxia’s off-site records repository, where Oxia must’ve hidden the detailed records of their fleet complement. Sloane’s method of gathering information for the fleet strength estimate was less precise, but more expedient.
“We simply don’t have that,” Sloane continued. “Vestans would suffer under a siege, or a bombardment as Oxia ships targeted our headquarters with missiles from all over the solar system. Should we fail—”
Adda was so surprised that she interrupted the captain before she could stop herself. “The NEU and ITA would allow Oxia to attack an independent station?”
Sloane frowned. “The ITA would attempt to intervene, on the grounds that my crew is a massive nuisance on the reliable routes, which are their jurisdiction. They will find any excuse to oppose us, especially since they feel that Oxia is a stabilizing addition to this ’ject. Incentivizing them to reconsider requires conditions which . . . I have not yet put in place.”
“And the NEU has problems with us anyway, so I figure they’d side with Oxia.” Iridian sounded like she was sad about that, and Adda couldn’t blame her. She’d fought for the NEU against colonial secessionists during the war. As an Earth native, people expected Adda to support the NEU just as strongly. But the NEU had caused most of the problems that provoked the secessionists, and it hadn’t protected her mother, who’d died in the prewar violence when Adda and Pel were children. That didn’t inspire her loyalty.
“The NEU will recall that Vesta was neutral territory until the NEU occupied it. Even if the NEU had military presence to spare, which they do not, they wouldn’t station troops here. If they commit any forces, it will be for show. And as I was saying, should we fail, I’d be forced to relinquish crew leadership to someone more amenable to Oxia’s desires, then killed to prevent me from rivaling the new leadership. So, we will do as Liu Kong asks and convince this scientist they’ve chosen to cooperate.”
Only the ITA or NEU had a realistic chance of rivaling Oxia, and coercive contracts were the only kind in use, even in the NEU. Neither organization would expend the resources it’d take to stop Oxia from contracting a pirate crew under duress. They’d help enforce a megacorporate contract as a default position, unless they just arrested everyone involved.
This was the first time Adda had considered the position of the Vestan natives, although Sloane had obviously given them some thought. Did they enjoy living under Oxia? Had they enjoyed living under the pirates’ rule before Oxia took over? What was possible, and what did they want? She’d have to do some research before she let herself believe that manipulating these two stations’ political systems was anything other than selfish survivalism.
The song pounding through the dance floor speakers increased dramatically in volume, and its lyrics “I want control” underscored Sloane’s point. The VIP room’s door closed behind Tritheist, reducing the music’s volume without eliminating the bassline entirely. “I thought you’d found a way out of the contract, Captain,” the lieutenant said. They’d left a chair open next to Sloane, and he took it.
“I found a possible way,” said Sloane. “Lawyers are reviewing it for hidden dangers, and several have already been revealed. It’s amazing the trouble a broken megacorporate contract can cause. They’re recognized more widely than any law. You should be wondering why you didn’t have to sign one.” The captain met Adda’s and Iridian’s eyes and raised an eyebrow slightly, asking without asking “Do you understand?”
Oh. Adda looked at the table instead of meeting the captain’s gaze. Sloane kept our names off the contract, she clarified for Iridian, who had assumed her professional soldier expression instead of one Adda could read.
The whole crew could’ve been forced to sign. Instead Sloane had convinced Liu Kong that the captain was the only member who needed to be legally bound to the megacorporation. Sloane’s agreements with Adda and Iridian were verbal, as were the captain’s arrangements with Tritheist and the experts who Sloane dispatched on crew operations. Except for the security force who guarded Sloane’s headquarters, everyone was paid by the job. They could do whatever they wanted otherwise, as long as they dropped it when Sloane ordered them to.
If either party didn’t want to deal with that, they went their separate ways. Megacorporate contracts only allowed the corporation to dissolve them, and if one ignored megacorporate orders, one could easily become unemployable in one’s industry or “employed,” sans enough of a salary to live on, for many more years than originally expected.
Iridian’s expression twisted into one of defeat, or mild disgust, as she subvocalized, Something else we owe the captain for. Free room and board, out of contract work that actually pays, and now this. Aloud, she said, “Thank you, Captain. And where does that put Adda and me? I mean, so far as there is a crew, we’re on it?”
Sloane blinked at her and seemed to refocus from watching something far away, as if both the switch in topics and questioning of their c
rew position were a surprise. “I wouldn’t have offered you a home here otherwise. I’m not interested in maintaining four to six lovable misfits whom I’m expected to wait upon before each operation.” The captain’s tone had become one used to repeat a message delivered many times before. “To succeed, we must be flexible enough to take on opportunities when they arise and complete them expertly. If my first choice of experts isn’t available, I’ll find somebody else who can do the job. Thus, my crew is a network of capable individuals who, when they’re not working for me, are welcome to do what they like. And yes, I’ve made arrangements that should make you more available than most to do what I need done. Does that answer your question?”
The fact that the captain had been patient and interested enough in their compliance to deliver that explanation was more informative than the explanation’s content. “Yes, it does, Captain, thanks.” Iridian still looked uncomfortable, probably from having requested the explanation or from accruing a larger perceived debt with her new boss. Either way, they still had an operation to plan.
Captain Sloane sighed heavily. “Yes. Well. Even though this is clearly not our usual venture, we can complete it successfully. Ms. Aku-Chavez will join us for medical supervision, and Ogir’s available for reconnaissance. I see this as a simple abduction, although the encouragement to sign the contract will be . . . unpleasant. One of these individuals should put that stage behind us within forty-eight hours.”
The captain rested one gold-gloved hand on the table’s comp cradle. Two names and head-and-shoulder projections appeared on the tabletop. The figure on the left, labeled Enosh Jiménez, showed an older man of Spanish or Latin descent, tired or saddened by something off-cam. On the right was Cesta Rusnak, a white woman a bit older than Iridian with a crooked smile that made Adda feel hunted. She was familiar with the sensation, and it gave her chills.
Tritheist ordered a drink and scowled at the projections. “One’s a psychopath, and the other would be better off if he were.”
“True,” Captain Sloane said. “They’re excellent in certain roles.”
Are we going along with this? Iridian demanded over her and Adda’s implanted comms. They’ll torture ver, or fuck with vis brain, until ve signs a corporate contract. We should be finding a way to stop the Oxia fleet.
Not necessarily. Which addressed all of Iridian’s concerns at once, although their connection may not have communicated that. Adda’s mental notes for improving their system were multiplying. “Has anybody just offered ver the contract?”
“You disagree with my assessment of the situation.” Captain Sloane’s confrontational tone made Adda freeze for an instant.
She’d have to persuade the captain. Which one did by pointing out how one’s position also advanced an initiative the other party cared about. What did Sloane care about? “Your crew has a reputation for relatively humane treatment of targets.” She spoke slowly, working the details out as she talked. “I only found two kidnappings attributed to you, and the Mars one was actually perpetrated by an NEU counterinsurgency unit, as far as I can tell.”
The captain smiled, the first since they’d met with Oxia’s CEO. “I wondered about that. Send me the evidence. But your point in this case?”
“The direct approach will damage the crew’s reputation.” Adda tapped at her comp to send the relevant documents. “Oxia avoided blame for the printer theft by making sure all credit went to you. That seems to be how they handle all of their less-legal activity, so although I can’t confirm it without access to their primary data center, wherever that is, we have every reason to assume they’ll handle this . . . hiring issue the same way. If we make time to come up with other options, I think we can do better.”
Sloane frowned, probably realizing that by “We can do better” she meant “I can.” The captain nodded to Tritheist, who tapped at the comp in his black glove until Adda’s buzzed with a new message. “You have three days. Oxia will take that long to finalize their employment contract for the target, and then we are expected to execute it. We’ll engage our expert, start surveillance, and . . . will the Casey be available? She’s ideal for this sort of thing.”
“That’s an unnecessary risk,” Iridian said. “We can’t count on her—it—to do anything we ask.”
Captain Sloane blinked at her for a second while Tritheist swore. Adda would’ve delivered that news with a bit more preamble, but Iridian had been dreading every trip with the intelligences for weeks. Another long journey in one might’ve been too much for her to bear. “So you’ve been lucky with the shipboard AIs all this time?” Captain Sloane asked.
“They seem to be fixated on us,” Adda said. “They cooperate when they want to. We know that they want the rest of humanity to assume that they’re still zombie AI, but I believe they want more than that.”
“We don’t know why the Casey’s helped us this far,” Iridian agreed. “It has to have a reason. The awakened ones always do. It’s what makes them dangerous.”
Captain Sloane stared at them for a few seconds more, then burst out laughing. It sounded mentally unhealthy. “And here I was, thinking you ladies couldn’t bluff worth a damn. My mistake.” Adda was just starting to smile at how well the captain had taken the news when Sloane met her eyes, then Iridian’s. “I won’t make that mistake again. But we’ll continue to take advantage of the AI’s need for human occupancy as part of their cover, when you feel they can be counted upon.”
Scrolling through operational information Tritheist sent to her comp, Adda passed a cam still of their target. Dr. Blaer Björn’s bright blue eyes stopped Adda cold for a moment. No, she did not want to force this person to sign Oxia’s exclusive corporate contract so that, in effect, she and Iridian didn’t have to sign corporate contracts of their own.
Iridian continued her argument against asking for the Casey’s help, as if she had any way to prevent the Casey from learning about their plans. Adda used her comp to call up a portal she’d created to track the awakened intelligences’ activities. The Coin stayed within easy transmission range of Vesta, although the other two intelligences came and went.
And the Casey was expanding here, introducing parts of itself into the many zombie intelligences in Vesta’s stations. It knew everything the zombie intelligences knew, could trace the information to its source, and was tracing it constantly. It would know everything about this mission already. It might have known ever since Sloane accessed it, or since some unwitting tech assembled the data on an Oxia server.
It had already decided whether and how to assist. Human preference would have little effect on what it did next.
* * *
Pel and Adda sat in a tiny exam room in Rheasilvia Station’s Keawe-Affinity Hospital, in two seamless chairs that were flash-cleaned a hundred times a day. A nurse had administered eye drops and gave him a pill-size vital signs monitor to swallow. But until they started anesthesia, he could walk away. “It’s not too late to cancel this procedure,” Adda said.
Whether she wanted him to or not, the choice was his. “No,” he said. “Seriously, quit talking about that, I’m freaked enough as it is.”
“I’m jealous.” Iridian was studying the meter-tall diagram of a pseudo-organic eye projected on the wall. “My comp’s not even EMP-proof. Hell, the composite these things are made of is stronger than my skull.”
“Counting on it,” Pel said. “I used to get in fights all the time, you know. The new eyes have to be tough.”
“You mean you used to get punched in the face all the time. That’s not exactly a fight.” Adda mentally replayed what she’d said and grimaced. That was how he’d been blinded in the first place, and here she was bringing it up again.
“Yeah, don’t do that anymore,” Iridian said to Pel in the same teasing tone, although she met Adda’s eyes for a moment as she spoke. “The shielding’s good, but not that good.” Implants can do awful things when they break. Iridian probably hadn’t meant to tell Adda that part, because she still
sounded cheerfully excited when she asked, “Do you think the doc would let us watch her put them in?”
“Oh, I’ve met her! She likes me. I’m sure she’ll let you.” Pel grinned. “She sounds hot. When you see her, you’ve gotta tell me if she is.”
“I’ll pass.” Adda couldn’t watch someone replace the eyes that had been looking to her like she knew everything since they were little brown beads in Pel’s pink baby face. It made no sense to feel like he was losing something essential. The pseudo-organic eyes would do more for him than the originals ever could, even if the surgeon repaired them instead of . . . “I’ve got to add a few things to our comms project. And adjust settings. The implant unit’s machines are better for it than ours.”
She managed to finish the sentence before a sob shook her. This was an embarrassingly irrational reaction, which she hoped she could attribute to how little she’d slept during the action against the Ann Sabina. Pel had an amazing opportunity, with the money the three of them had earned on Sloane’s crew, to become more than genetics made him. The procedure should be safe enough. Implanting the throat mic beside the blood vessels in Iridian’s neck had been much more dangerous.
She startled when Pel bumped her arm in the course of reaching out to hug her. “I got this, Sissy. Even my therapist says I got this, and ve’s more pessimistic than you are. The doctors know what they’re doing. I’ll be fine.”
Iridian followed her to the implant calibration lab instead of watching Pel’s operation. When Adda’s worrying distracted her from the project despite the sharpsheet and a half she consumed to prevent that, Iridian asked questions about the comm system code Adda was analyzing in one of the implant unit’s workspaces. The hospital workspace generators had so many user assistance functions that she felt like she was ordering a particularly complicated drink instead of fitting an expanded translation algorithm into software for implants already inside her head.
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