-20-
Max was leaning over Tanya’s chair as she worked, smoking his vapour pipe and muttering in her ear as she tried to pull up recovery data from the Erebus’ personnel path trackers. Ed Rufus didn’t have to stay with them, but he felt obliged and the billets had an old pool table in the room. He and some of the rig workers tested their shots quietly behind Tanya’s work station. They drank from a bottle of cheap rum which they poured into various sized jam jars, the glass spotted with grime and age where they’d been left on dusty shelves in unused parts of the facility for decades. The potency of the alcohol was sure to kill anything growing in them. They drank joyously.
‘What’s this here?’ Colonel Max Elba asked pointing towards the sheet-screen ahead of them as it displayed a three dimensional schematic of the Erebus and a red ribbon coiling and entwining around various areas, knotting and twisting about like the manifold fretwork of some intoxicated arachnid.
‘You’re looking at Scott Barnes’ ambulation pattern,’ she explained, ‘basically a record of everywhere he has stood on the piezoelectric floor panels of the Erebus. Every part of the Erebus he has been during his time there, every step he’s taken and how long he was standing in one place or moving to another. The panels recognise his signature by recording things like weight changes and foot pressure. People have a particular way of walking which is characteristic to them. The computer’s discrimination programs recognise all these variables. There’s even a point where everybody on the ships gets heavier, a ratio that’s constant for everybody. I’m not assuming they all ate the cake either, it’s probably because they got close to the Charybdis black hole.’
She sighed and pushed back her fringe, continuing to give the Colonel a run down on the data. ‘As you can see it’s just a pattern, but from it, we can see which departments of the ship Barnes was in, we can see which areas he’s visited and what times according to the ship’s internal clock. But...well...the clock does sort of go weird after a while and...I think it gets confused. Probably due to the radiation leak because look what happens to the pattern here.’
She illuminated the knots and coils of paths around the Erebus and Max scratched his head in confusion.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘Sir,’ she said clearing her throat and turning over her shoulder. ‘This pattern shows that Barnes was in two areas at the same time on more than a few occasions. He was in two different parts of the Erebus at the exact same time, hundreds of metres apart. He is upstairs on the bridge command and the computer terminal can confirm he logged in. There...’ she pointed to one of the lower engineering areas, ‘at the same time, he was also down in engineering passing through a door. The door activation history correlates with the pattern to confirm that the origin was real.’
‘How can that be?’
‘I’m not exactly sure,’ she said with a mild laugh, ‘technically it can’t be, right?’
‘Realistically it can’t be,’ Max said, ‘practically it can’t be. Is it a glitch?’
‘It gets weirder,’ she said, ‘the patterns are the same for other crew members. They literally are in multiple places at once.’
‘How do you explain that?’ Max asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she sighed irritably, ‘I’ve got an idea though. I think the ship’s internal clock is broken. It is possible the data converged with the shortcomings of the elapsing time records and we’re looking at two different moments overlapping. It could be caused by damage done to the ship. But the data itself is accurate even if the chronometers are screwy. That’s definitely Barnes tread pattern, that’s definitely Penelope’s, there’s Serat.’
‘Does the same happen with Serat?’
‘Yes,’ said nodded. ‘There’s a moment on day ninety five where his tread pattern can be seen in his personal quarters and also appearing on the bridge command.’
‘Maybe you can check the clocks,’ said Max.
‘Yeah,’ she sighed sitting back, ‘well, I think we better get the Erebus research engineers to do that and report their findings.’
‘I’ll request a report,’ he said.
-21-
‘Mister Lewis I’ve tried to reach you now for the fourth time regarding my son Kyo-’ Sonja said evenly as she spoke to the Q-net’s screen. The text before her read Audio-Mail Only, Pierce Lewis had contact settings whereby only his private contacts knew how to reach him. He had a right to it; personal privacy was sacred in Cerise Timbers. But she knew he could only duck her calls for so long.
‘I would deem it good manners if you would at least get back to me about this issue.’
Kyo was stood awkwardly by Sonja’s side with his hands in his pockets.
‘If you continue to refuse to see me I will take this further and we can arrange to meet via the local Federal forum. Please be advised. You can reach me at the hospital. My work contact node is registered on the Q-net.’
Sonja touched the screen and closed the call window, returning the Q-net to its general inquiry and news board. She turned to her son and smiled softly.
‘Want something to drink?’ she asked.
‘I don’t want to get others involved in this,’ said Kyo.
‘But he can’t be allowed to go around doing this to people,’ Sonja said angrily, pushing a thread of her hair behind her shoulder. Her office space was large, a part of a diagnosis and prognosis ward where the doctors assessed patients. There were a few sick people in the other rooms outside her office space, some with broken limbs, and others with more serious issues. Each was being seen to by somebody, having a conversation or simply resting under medication.
‘Yeah but it could make things worse,’ said Kyo, ‘if not for me then for the Lewis family. I know a lot of people are already pissed off with them.’
‘With good reason,’ Sonja piqued. ‘That boy’s at least three years older than you; you’d think he’d pick on someone his own size at least.’
‘Well…he’s strong,’ said Kyo. ‘And angry for something.’
‘Leave this with me,’ Sonja said, walking to her window and looking out at the patients. ‘I need to see some people. Have you any plans for sundown?’
‘I think so,’ Kyo said. ‘I think Pania has something planned.’
‘Would you like to meet me and Dak for something to eat?’
Kyo shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
Sonja sighed. ‘I don’t want you at that hangar all the time,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t trust Edge.’ She explained. ‘He’s a trouble maker. An Atominii thug.’
‘Nah he’s not so bad,’ Kyo smiled, ‘he’s just misunderstood.’
‘Well I’ve heard some stories about him and his friend Professor Laux.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘I heard they’re wanted men.’ She said, ‘by some dangerous individuals.’
‘But they’re not bad people!’
‘I didn’t say they are bad,’ Sonja explained sternly. ‘I said they’re wanted by dangerous people, Kyo. I don’t want you involved.’
‘I won’t be,’ he said. ‘I just stay with Pania mostly.’
Sonja worried her brow with his finger and thumb.
‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Pick your friends carefully, son. I worry for you, so does your father. Anyway. Think it over. I have to get back to work…’
‘So what then, I just stop seeing them?’ Kyo argued with his arms wide. ‘I just have no friends, is that what I do? Lock myself up.’
‘Don’t exaggerate-’
‘Well I’m confused here,’ Kyo said, growing flustered. ‘Are you telling me not to see them? Are you shadow bossing me?’
Sonja steadied her own anger. How had it escalated to this? She wondered why he was so defensive about this subject, and why he wouldn’t hear her out.
‘We hardly see you!’ Sonja finally said. ‘And yes, in this instance, I’m bossing you Kyo! I don’t want you to see them.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve been through this,’ she argued. ‘We don’t know Edge, and if you can’t see what’s wrong then you’re not old enough to make good judgements.’
‘Hell if I’m not, I’m old enough to vote!’ He growled. ‘I’m old enough to help out around the city; I can get to know people. I can make my own choices y’know. Isn’t that what this city is about? You always tell me we’re free to do what we want so let me do what I want…’
‘Carrying equipment and running errands for Laux got you into this mess with Hattle. Is that what you want?’
‘No!’ Kyo shouted back, ‘Hattle got me into this mess with Hattle! And I won’t let that asshole win by you not letting me see my friends.’
Kyo hurried for the door and his mother called.
‘Wait! Kyo wait a second!’
And he stopped.
‘You know why I worry, don’t you?’
‘Sure,’ he said flatly, ‘because I’m a gene-freak.’
‘No!’ She tried, but Kyo was swiftly gone.
*
It was about Thirteen-Twenty, C.A.L.C time by Laux’s watch. There was quite a commotion out on the air zone. The Professor sauntered into the daylight, welding goggles still banded to his forehead.
Some Mercs had organised a welcome committee, and there were people gathering on the runways. He saw trike buggy hang gliders swooping down, their wheels bouncing across the runway as they came in. He could hear their fan motors even from where he was, and he watched the arching sails deflate as the pilots hurriedly climbed out of the trike buggy cages and stalled the fans. Some air zone assistants hurried to gather the glider material from the runway as two or three more came down. Laux leaned against the hangar door as he watched the show. He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. He’d seen gliders up and down in the air all the time and it never called for such an exhibition. He adjusted an audio-amplifier to his earlobe so he could listen in on the conversations in the area. But the verbal activity was scrambled and he was only getting the occasional word.
‘Damn it!’ He cursed twisting the small device.
He heard voices muttering nearby claiming they were on the way. Laux wasn’t sure who the Atomagod they are but he had a feeling it was worth making the fuss over.
Then, jubilant cries and whoops of joy among the crowd, a smoke signal was set off in the surrounding field, puffing out misty green clouds. Then applause rattled into the sky. Laux squinted to see another vessel descending through the pale clouds, much bigger than a glider. It was a sleek machine forged to resemble the tear shape of a peregrine falcon in a dive, slender, sinuous with an untarnished silver fuselage. The long cadonavis had a single booster at the back, two rotational articulation engines built under the short flanked wings. The pilot window was a narrow slit at the front. As the cadonavis came in for a landing the V-TOL engines aimed down not far from the smoke signals and descended gently onto the horizontal plain of the air zone. A loading ramp descended from the belly of the ship while the cabin door by the cockpit unsealed and smoothly dropped down, unfolding to construct a twelve foot ladder to the floor. A long line of people emerged from the ship and Laux watched the gathering greet them with crafted gifts from Minerva Meadows. Everyone in Cerise Timbers, including the republican military all did their part in serenading their Russianomai guests with wreaths, necklaces and mead.
Pania emerged from the hangar, putting her other fingerless leather glove on.
‘Is that them?’ she asked.
‘Uh I think it’s the Russianomai fighters from the hardlands.’ Laux commented, reaching up to his right earlobe and twisting the audio amplification device, struggling to get it working. ‘Damn this contraption. I think they are here for the fight.’
‘Good,’ she nodded. ‘Where’s Biter?’
‘According to his quantics he should be here any minute.’ Laux said, checking his Quantic-W armband for a real-time location map.
*
Hattle slammed his fists together, the resilience of his gloves firm. Pierce Lewis popped a gum-shield in the Hattle’s mouth promptly and locked gaze with his strong and determined son.
‘Knock him out,’ he said.
Hattle bit down on the Ethylene polymer still warm from the boiling water and he felt it moulding around his teeth.
‘Don’t show him mercy.’ His father instructively went on. ‘You punch the shit out of him, just like you did with the Bear.’
Hattle nodded again, a morsel of fear emerging at the mention of his father’s training tactics. ‘You’re going to win. Give it meaning. Remember why you fight? You know why! These fucking anarchists won’t reward you for your victory, which should piss you off even more. Kick the crap out of that Russianomai bastard and make sure he knows that back in the Atominii hardlands he may have a championship belt and medals that we here can never take from him, but he’ll go home with his pride shattered. Make those medals to him seem meaningless. Let him know that his championship is a hollow title, because you still breathe his air and you are the rightful champ!’
Hattle nodded.
‘Show that little cock sucker what we’re made of here in Cerise Timbers.’
Hattle nodded.
‘Don’t you lose; you’ve more to fear from me than him.’
He nodded again, eyes fixed ahead, staring directly through his father, focussed on the fight before him.
‘Good. Knock him out Hattle.’
The ring was a huge circular platform centred in an arena already crowded with the welter of faces.
Due to the nature of the relationship Cerise Timbers had with their Russianomai guests, the fight had few supporters for the Russianomai team, so in a gesture of good courtesy, Cerise Timbers called for their city martial arts enthusiasts to support the Russianomai champion here to challenge Hattle. He could see the arena was fairly separated with away supporters and home supporters, chanting on the two fighters.
Just then, the announcer finally opened an introduction for him.
‘Please put your hands together for our fighting champ, The-Uppercut-Kid! Hattle Lewis!’
Hattle jogged the aisle to the cheers and jeers of the crowd. He wore a silk hooded black boxing coat, eyes beset on the platform, fists pounding together like he was trying to spark two huge boulders of flint. Stepping gracefully between the ropes, Hattle threw up his arms and made a quick dramatic introduction, shadow boxing and spinning out mid-air round house kicks. Hattle smiled around his gum-shield, and began masticating lightly on the waxy material as he raised his fists back to the air to reaffirm his ignoble entrance.
Kyo watched through the bobbing cheering heads beside Pania who called to Kyo through the racket, leaning to his ear.
‘Is that him?’ she asked. ‘Is that the same guy?’
‘Yeah,’ Kyo nodded, ‘that’s him!’
‘What happened to his face?’
‘He looked like that when I saw him,’ Kyo shouted back. ‘He must fight a lot.’
Suddenly, Edge Fenris shouted amongst the myriad chanting observers who sang and howled in a glossolalia of encouragements; he turned to look down at Kyo, patting his shoulder hard and screaming with a toothy smile. ‘SMASH HIS FACE!’ He called. Kyo tried to quell his reproachful feelings, but Edge encouraged him to shout.
‘SOMEBODY HAS TO FALL!’ He chanted, ‘IS IT GUNNA BE YOU CARROT TOP?’
Pania rolled her eyes at Edge as he jumped up and down, loudly lampooning the fighter’s entrance.
‘And now our away fighter,’ said the announcer, ‘the Raw Dog from the urban swallows of barren lands, where the wind blows like hot ice, please welcome, Vadim, Raw-Dog.’
A procession of young woman strutted down one of the entrance isles between the seating rows. Revealing and skimpy, dressed in sequin mini-skirts and breast supports badged with the team’s insignia, they spun and marched. The dance was rapid, fast to the beat of heavily percussive music. And a fire breather cartwheeled at the back and let out a lo
ng venting breath of flames. Hattle was warming his calves, jumping up and down lightly, laughing at the spectacle. Finally, his Russianomai opponent walked down his aisle towards the ring and saddled over the ropes, resting one of his enormous gloves on the turnbuckle. He wasn’t boastful or charismatic, nor was he as light on his feet; rather he was calculating, saturnine and enigmatic. He’d let the dancers do the rest. Hattle bounced around the ring on his tip-toes, shadow boxing to warm up, skin glistening with a film of moisture, as though silver filings had poured from the rooftops. The Russianomai was large for his age, only seventeen, a year younger than Hattle, yet he was slightly bigger with more defined muscles. He had a short Mohawk shaved haircut, his nose thick, leading down like a brick wall from his big forehead. The guy must have taken part in many street fights, Hattle thought gleefully. And as two of the women removed his hooded robe, the Raw Dog stepped up to Hattle.
‘Where the wind blows like hot ice?’ Edge said to Kyo, ‘who wrote that crappy zinger?’
‘Yeah but you gotta hand it to him,’ said Kyo, ‘that was a heck of an entrance.’
Vilen Krupin spoke into the boy’s ear as the fighters touched gloves and found their corners. Krupin was a paunch man who wore a dark red sport shirt with black and green segment design features combined into it, and he had a black Cashmere jacket and dark grey denim jeans. Krupin was shaven almost bald save the millimetre whiskers of hair that darkened his skin around the sides of his head. His face was dour, unpleasant, smiling only to show off his gold tooth or, when he was wearing them, his silver dental grills. The boy nodded along to the coach, hanging on his every word. Hattle taunted the Russianomai with winks and smiles and scornful laughter. The Russianomai was staid, determinant, and vengeful. When the fight began the crowd roared as the two fighters circled each other, vultures around an unseen pray and cautious to take the first swipe. The Russianomai was steady; his technique was forward with well planted feet always firmly on the ground, firmly to his centre of balance, while Hattle hopped around lightly. The Russianomai jabbed and struck Hattle hard on the brow. Hattle made distance and side-sprung. The Russianomai jabbed again, feinting before quickly landing a hook to Hattle’s cheek. The Russianomai‘s points were starting to elevate as he caught Hattle’s ribs with a sharp undercut. Hattle’s fighter suit displayed a fracture for the audience to recognise. They shouted with zeal, they roared in extol for blood. And both Pania and Edge were ecstatic.
Chaos Cipher Page 20
