Status Quo: The Chronicle of Jane Doe

by Chris Kuhn

  Test time. I held my rifle above the plate and withdrew my hand. It floated in the air.

  Perfect.

  I moved above the plate and pushed myself off the deck. I rose five meters until I hit the ceiling above me.

  Yeah, this will work.

  I returned to the deck, being careful not to stray from my column of non-gravity.

  I walked to the real-time COMMs station and examined its interface. The real-time station was designed to relay communications, (in real time, if you didn't guess) across the vastness of space by piggy-backing the signal used by a race known as the Miliari... Cute little gray fuckers with big heads.

  I sat down to type my message. There were templates available, so I used the one labeled "Urgent Memorandum".

  Seems appropriate.

  MEMORANDUM FOR IMPORTANT COALITION NAVY PEOPLE

  FROM PRIDEMORE CREWMEMBER JANE DOE

  SUBJECT: Minor SNAFU

  1. I have some bad news. You should probably sit down.

  2. We've had a bit of a fuck-up. Udo Adjani has stolen your scary-ass-missiles.

  3. Send help and tacos.

  No. I thought, my fingers hovering above the keyboard.

  That wasn't the message I wanted to send. For one thing, the name Jane Doe made me want to throw up. For another thing, I didn't care if the Navy knew what was going on as long they sent some freakin' ships. I pulled the reactor's status report from the computer and attached it to the message. There were a lot of specific details in there that would be nearly impossible to fake.

  I didn't use a template this time.

  URGENT FROM PRIDEMORE. LIMITED MESSAGING CAPACITY. HEAVY CASUALTIES FROM FREE TRADER BOARDING OP-FOR. DRIFTING. REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.

  I sent the message, broadcasting in the clear, at full power, and on all channels. There was no way it would be missed by anyone. The first part of my plan was done. It was time for the second. I walked back to the disabled gravity plate and pushed off, floating toward the ceiling. I pointed my rifle at the door. I waited.

  And waited.

  Maybe they didn't detect my signal.

  Maybe they don't care.

  Just as I was thinking of an alternative plan, I heard footsteps in the corridor. A few seconds later the door slid open. Two men walked in. The first was Mr. Pullings, of Rapid Detonations, Inc. The room was dark, but his goofy bandolier was unmistakable.

  The second man was Michael Byers.

  Both were armed.

  They moved to the stations at the front of the room, not bothering to look up. And why would they? It's not like you regularly find people plastered to ceilings.

  I could have easily shot them both, but that would have been stupid. I needed information. Dead people weren't good at providing it. But I only needed one of them. I aimed the rifle at Byers' head and started to squeeze the trigger. I paused.

  Dammit.

  As much as I wanted to shoot Byers, he was more likely to have the information I needed.

  I aimed the rifle at Pullings instead.

  More killing. More death. More fun mental knots for future untangling. I fired. Pullings's head exploded as he collapsed to the deck. Byers whirled around, but he didn't look up.

  "Drop the weapon," I said softly, trying to look like I meant business.

  His eyes shot up in surprise, and for a moment it looked like he was going to aim the weapon at me. Bad choice. He caught himself, hesitated slightly, then threw the weapon on the deck. I was sure that no jury would convict me (and no deity would judge me) if I just pulled the trigger. But that wouldn't get me what I needed.

  "Hi, Mike," I said to him instead. "Got a few questions for you."

  He blinked at me, as though he had no idea what those might be. Then he sat down, leaning against the wall.

  "You going to shoot me?" he asked slowly. "After you have your answers?"

  Huh.

  I was, but that probably wasn't the best thing to say.

  "Give me a reason not to," I told him instead. He shook his head.

  "No."

  No?! What the hell kind of an answer is that?

  "Do you want to die?" I demanded.

  "What I want doesn't matter," he replied, "but it might come to that."

  Okay...

  "Let me explain something." I said. "I have one goal right now. I want to survive. Do you understand that?" He nodded. "I don't care about winning, or beating you, or stopping you assholes from stealing those missiles. I do not give a shit." I wasn't sure how true it was, but I thought I could sell it. Maybe not; He didn't answer me. "You know me a little, don't you, Mike?" I pressed. "In all the time I worked for you, have you seen the slightest indication that I was into self-sacrifice? Martyrdom? Is there any piece of evidence in your head that suggests stopping you would be more important to me than my own well-being?"

  "No," he said after a moment, "I suppose not."

  "Then here's where we're at, Mike. If I can crawl into a corner and wait for the cavalry to come, that's precisely what I'll do. But if this ship is going to blow up, or otherwise become an unsuitable environment for hanging out, then I have to start caring about your plans. I have to actively try to fuck with them. I might succeed. I might not. But wouldn't you prefer that I didn't try?"

  He actually met my eyes this time, which I took as a good sign. Come on, asshole. Work with me.

  "Yes." He said finally.

  "Then offer me something," I said. "Give me a way out of this where we both get what we want. Convince me."

  "What could I say?" he asked with a snort. "What words could I use? Why should you trust me?"

  "Interesting problem," I said. "SOLVE IT." He glared at me. "Start with the why," I suggested. "If you can sell me on that, we can probably work toward the rest."

  "My reasons are... complicated," he said.

  "Make them simple."

  He frowned. I wasn't sure if he was deciding whether to tell me or if he didn't know how to begin. He finally took a deep breath and crossed his legs.

  "I grew up on Earth. You probably know that, " he began. I nodded. "When I was twelve, a Gik assassin crash landed on Earth. He'd made it all the way past the Sol defense-net, and crashed in northern France. A little town called Bourges, just north of Paris. My parents had been vacationing there. On holiday, as they'd put it. They'd met a journalist and his son at the resort we were staying at. My parents liked the journalist well enough, but I'd made fast friends with his son."

  "Lovely," I said, growing annoyed, "but can you speed this up a little?"

  Byers shot me a look, and for a moment I was afraid he'd stop talking.

  "Fine," he said. "One night me and the other boy saw something crash in the mountains, so we went looking for it. Not terribly smart, of course, but... " He shook his head. "Anyway, we found him.”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  “He was almost dead, “ Byers continued, “injured in the crash. An alien assassin. Something I would later learn was from a race called the Gik. It was the first time we'd ever seen anything not Human. I mean, you can't appreciate how big that is for two little..."

  "Got it,” I interrupted. “Little boys make friends with an alien... I saw that movie."

  "The Gik assassin was almost dead,” Byers sighed. “We found a local... well, we gave him shelter long enough for him to heal from his injuries. We saved his life, and he wanted to repay the debt."

  "Very touching," I offered.

  "By the time the Coalition finally found us,” he continued, “the assassin had called for his brothers to come and rescue him. I'm skipping a lot of details here, because I assume..."

  "You assume correctly," I chimed.

  "To help him get away, I made sure the Coalition found me instead. The journalist's son chose to go with the Gik assassin."

  "Go with him?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows. "As in-"

  "Yes,” Byers hit back. “As for me... well, I assume you know how this goes. I was captured and t
aken from Earth. They explained to me - a twelve year old - that I'd never be allowed to go home again. I'd seen the truth with my own eyes. I knew that so-called 'aliens' were real." He shook his head. "They couldn't have that. The secret had to be kept. Didn't matter what it cost."

  "So you're pissed off and homesick?" I asked, more confused than angry. "Or are you mad that your boyfriend had all the fun while you were shipped off to military school?"

  "Oh, my friend never forgot about me," he said, shaking his head. "As I worked my way up in the Coalition Navy, my friend built his own... career. Eventually, he started an organization that persists to this day. An organization responsible, at least in part, for your present circumstances."

  "The Free Traders?" I asked. It was barely a question, but he nodded anyway.

  “I hadn't seen him in years,” he continued, “and then I got a message informing me that my long lost friend was the leader of the largest fleet of privateers in the known universe. He wanted me to join him. He promised I'd have more money and freedom than I'd I'd know what to do with. All I had to do was help him secure certain... items... from an experimental Coalition warship."

  "The missiles," I said.

  "Yup,” Byers said, laughing nervously at the absurdity of how it all sounded. The plan was to make the bastards pay. We'd become the Coalition's worst nightmare by showing the people of Earth that they weren't alone in the universe. Blow their fucking lie wide open. I spent the next year wrangling myself onto the Pridemore, and... well, you know the rest.”

  "So Udo Adjani is the real leader behind the Free Traders?" I verified.

  He nodded again.

  "And he's gonna use the missiles on Earth?" I had trouble even asking the question out loud.

  "No, he isn't that crazy. He's just going to threaten to. Unless they do what they should have done a generation ago - tell people the fucking truth. That we aren't alone in the universe, and there's a war going on up here that we're losing against the Brood."

  "And if they refuse?" I had to ask.

  "In that case," Byers said with a shrug, "we'll take the decision out of their hands. Just a couple of those missiles can smash Earth's defense grid, destroy relay stations, crack the Coalition's chokehold on information. We won't hit Earth itself, but we'll make a light show big enough to let everyone on the ground know that they aren't getting the whole story. The internet will do the rest."

  Fuck.

  "So you'd smash Earth's defenses just for the chance to tell humanity about other races and get everyone up here looking for the Brood? That's... a little fucked up, man."

  "No," Byers said. "Keeping it secret is fucked up. More so than it's ever been, because we need help before there's nobody left to do the fighting. Do you really think that the people of Earth are better off, distracted by reality TV stars and fake elections? Or any of the other shit the Coalition engineers to keep their eyes on the ground? Do you think I never wanted to go home again?! Or do you think that maybe, just maybe, finding out about what's going on out here would unite the world and give humanity a common purpose?"

  "Maybe," I said coldly, "but I don't see how leaving your home world defenseless is the higher moral choice."

  He looked at me expectantly. Maybe he wanted me to argue. Or sympathize. Or kill him. But I didn't know what to do with what he'd given me. It was beyond the scope of anything I'd been prepared to process.

  "That's a hell of a plan," I said.

  He nodded at me again.

  "Does your family know?" I heard myself asking like I gave a shit. "What you're planning?"

  He frowned, obviously not expecting the question.

  "No," he said. "I haven't seen or spoke to them since the Coalition took me away. For all I know they're dead already."

  Fair point.

  "Okay," I nodded. "Alright. Let's talk about the Pridemore. What are your plans for this ship?"

  "The ship?" he repeated, then paused before continuing. "The ship is the best piece of evidence to drive home the threat. We intend to let the Navy recover it. That will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the missiles have been stolen, and that Adjani doesn't need the Pridemore, he already has faster ships."

  I stared at his face. I wanted to believe him, but the logic just didn't work. The Free Traders, with Byers' help, had captured one of the most powerful ships their enemy possessed. They might use it. They might destroy it. The one thing I couldn't see them doing was just giving it back. This had to be bullshit.

  Shit.

  I kept staring at him. Something was wrong. Something had changed. He was still sitting on the deck, but he wasn't quite in the same position he'd been in before. He was closer to Pullings' body. To the bandolier of grenades.

  By the time I saw the grenade, it was almost too late.

  Byers hurled it up at me, and I tried to move. But there was nothing to push against. Timing was the only thing that saved me. The grenade bounced off of my chest, fell back to the deck, and rolled under one of the equipment racks.

  Then it exploded.

  The blast threw me outside the range of my disabled grav plate. Suddenly I was four meters in the air and contending with full gravity. I fell to the deck. Hard.

  The air rushed out of my lungs, and the rifle skidded across the deck. I turned, expecting to find Byers standing over me. He'd vanished, presumably back out into the corridor and away to let Udo know shit went south.

  Right.

  He couldn't have known that I'd end up facedown and defenseless. He'd been trying to create a distraction. Guess it worked. I made a bee-line for the door. Please don't be watching. Please don't have a gun. Please, please, please.

  I ran as fast as I could to the nearest intersection and took a right. I glanced back; he wasn't chasing me. I had to keep moving. I had to get away. Far away. I found the nearest crawlspace access and threw myself inside. I made my way down the centerline of the ship, moving to adjacent crawlspaces as the opportunity presented itself, and scrambling madly to put as much distance as I could between me and anyone who might be in pursuit.

  After ten minutes of scurrying through the tunnels, I stopped and listened.

  Nothing.

  Great plan. I thought, trying to catch my breath.

  Superbly executed.

  Log 013: Borrowed Time

  Once I'd made it back to a maintenance room, I pulled the pistol out of my bag and examined it. It was the same model that I'd failed to qualify on in Basic. No more rifle, so this had to work.

  Wonderful. Also, what the hell am I supposed to do now?

  Ignoring the fact that I'd provided a new incentive to kill me, what action was now appropriate?

  Drugs? Booze? Insanity?

  The message had gone out.

  Presumably, the Melbourne would now be alerted to the situation (or at least to the fact that there was a situation). The Melbourne had departed some time ago, en route to the closest Coalition station. After receiving my message, I presumed they would turn around and head back or send other ships. This was all just based on my hopes - I still had no idea just where we were in the timeline of events promised by Captain Wiley during our briefing.

  If I had to guess - and I did - I figured that they'd be back somewhere around nine hours from now.

  Nine hours.

  I had to stay alive on my own for at least that long.

  Despite my adventures in the COMMs room, the basic problem still hadn't changed. They couldn't find me or kill me any more easily than they could before. They had limited manpower at their disposal, and a job they wanted to do.

  How would I play this game if I was on the other team? Would I send a handful of people to hunt me down, thus delaying the accomplishment of my primary goal? Or would I continue the work?

  Probably the second thing.

  But as soon as the work was done, then whatever bad thing was going to happen would happen.

  I thought about the bad thing.

  Udo Adjani was scary, but
he wasn't a miracle worker.

  He couldn't actually use the Pridemore, not for any length of time. Even if she weren't broken, she needed things. Fuel. Maintenance. Trained crew. Keeping her in the sky was a massive logistical operation on the best of days. It wasn't something that these guys could reasonably be expected to do - not without a lot more people. And of course the Pridemore would be a target. A massive target that could never be hidden and would be relentlessly chased by the largest military force that had ever existed.