by J. S. Morin
“We don’t need to be that deep,” Mort assured everyone.
“No one needs to be that deep,” Tanny replied. “Ever.”
Roddy dropped his pack and headed straight for the fridge. The beer from Velocity Prime’s cafeteria wasn’t half bad, but it had just been a stopgap. Cracking open an Earth’s Preferred, that was all bad. The old familiar swill felt good from the tip of his tongue down to his toenails. “Ah,” he gasped after draining the can in an unbroken series of noisy chugs.
Esper ducked into Tanny’s quarters and emerged with Kubu’s collar and leash. She said a quick goodbye and left with July in tow.
“I see you haven’t rehabilitated, as Esper surmised,” Mriy said as soon as she was gone.
Roddy looked to the glass-domed ceiling as he popped the top on a second can. “Worst three weeks I can remember.”
“Speaking of remembering,” Tanny said. “Anything else we need to know about this plan of Carl’s?”
Roddy shook his head. “Nope. Carl takes a bad turn, fakes losing control of his Squall. He goes into the asteroids, parks in that sensor shadow. We jettison the fake Squall with its fake parts IDs and its fake Carl and make sure it splatters. We take Carl on board, and sneak back out through the deep, deep astral.”
“Did you know about the clone?” Tanny demanded, hands on hips. “We had to drag it into the engine room to keep Esper from seeing it. She’d have blown the whole operation.”
“What? We already faked a death for her,” Roddy said. “She can’t go getting picky how we fake Carl’s.”
Tanny clenched her jaw and seethed a long breath through her nose. “So goddamn sloppy. I can’t believe Carl’s letting some kid racer blackmail him.”
“It’s a solid scam,” Roddy said. “But yeah, sloppy was letting the kid bug the room with a freakin’ datapad.”
“Ramsey should have known that me scanning the place once wasn’t a permanent green light,” Hiroshi said. “But hey, we’ve got it figured out now. We all execute, this still goes down.”
“Without the extra money from winning the contest,” Tanny muttered.
“Speaking of that,” Roddy said. This was it. Fly or burn. He cleared his throat. “Carl’s planning on keeping the Squall.”
Hiroshi burst out laughing. “The stones on that guy.”
“So, our biggest score in years,” Tanny said. “Poof? Just like that, Carl decides that an eight-way split on two million terras is all his to keep as a toy?”
“Aw, let him play with it,” Roddy said. “I had a lot of time on the shuttle to think. There’s no way we can fence this thing short term. We need to let things simmer down, find a real discreet buyer, maybe work through an intermediary.” He gave Hiroshi a long look. “Either way, once we get the Squall and Carl on board, it’s a group decision, regardless of what Carl had in mind.”
“We’re a long way from that,” Mort said. “Let that poor horse pull for once.”
# # #
The Center for Extinct and XenoNative Species was, as far as Esper could tell, a zoo. Back on Mars, they called a zoo a zoo, but here apparently there needed to be a lot more words to dress up a building full of animals that people came to look at. The tourist information in the lobby was bright and cheerful, showing huge animal enclosures and safari rides, hidden catwalks, and one-way mirrors for visitors to view the exhibits.
“So who do we need to talk to?” July asked, swiveling her neck to take in the area. There was a steady stream of traffic into and out of the facility, mostly laaku. Overheard speakers announced demonstrations and feeding times, reminded visitors about facility rules, and suggested buying season passes.
“Her name is Meeram,” Esper replied. She was feeling less sure of herself than when they had departed. In her head, there had been a door with ‘Meeram of Tonroo’ written on a plaque. She’d ring the visitor button and go straight in. Meeram would have Kubu brought in from playing with the elephants and zebras, and they’d be on their way. But this was the tourist side of the operation. She approached a laaku-manned desk with an overhead sign labeled ‘Visitor Assistance.’ “Hello. We’re here to see Meeram of Tonroo. Can you help us?”
“Does Miss Meeram know you’re coming?” a laaku with a name badge reading ‘Tamblu’ asked. Her eyes flitted down to a flatvid screen angled so that Esper and July couldn’t see it. The laaku’s fingers were laced together in a relaxed pose, but she’d known Roddy long enough to suspect this zoo employee had a foot-operated interface out of sight below the desk.
“No, but something has come up,” Esper said. “My ship is leaving Phabian soon, and I came to pick up Kubu.” She clutched the collar and leash in her hand. Yes, we’re here to take an animal with us. Visitors were casting puzzled looks her way.
Tamblu glanced down once more. “He was dropped off by a Tania Ramsey. You don’t match her photo.”
“I’m…” Esper stopped. I’m Esper Richelieu, the dead priestess. She had argued with Mort, but never actually done a thing about correcting the official record of her death. “I’m Esper. I’m a friend of Tania Ramsey’s. Kubu knows me.”
Tamblu studied her a moment, eyes darting down to the flatvid now and then. A buzz emanated from a nearby employee doorway. “Very well. Through that door. Lift will take you down to the Non-Native Exhibits department. Miss Meeram’s office is at the far end on the right.”
“Thank you!” Esper said.
July followed close behind. She shuddered as the lift doors closed. “Maybe I should have mentioned this sooner, but zoos creep me out. Huge non-sentients, looking at me and thinking about food.”
Esper pointed to July’s borrowed translator earring. It matched her own. “As long as you have that, Kubu won’t seem like a non-sentient. He’s a big old sweetie.” Being in such close proximity, she couldn’t help noticing once again just what a vivid purple July’s eyes were.
“What?” July snapped. “You’re staring at me.”
It wouldn’t be long. They’d part ways and maybe never see each other again. “What made you pick purple?”
“That’s what’s gnawing at you?” July asked with a lopsided grin. “I mean, look at you. You’re not gonna convince me that’s all natural. What made you do it?”
Esper sighed. “A crazy mother when I was a teenager. We’re twins now, except she’s blonde. I always wonder what makes someone do it on purpose.”
“I always wanted to be a racer. Had my eyesight sharped a few years back. It was a quickie while they were working on ‘em. They asked if I wanted them re-colored, and purple was the first thought I had. Pure impulse. Got the hair matched a few months later after I didn’t like the contrast.”
The lift stopped and let them off. “You’re an odd bird,” July said. “Anyone ever tell you that?” She and Esper headed down the corridor as instructed.
“No,” Esper replied. “I keep a good camouflage of wizards and azrins around. I hardly get a second look from the neck up.”
July snorted. “That why you like the dog?”
Esper stopped mid stride. “I never thought about it like that. Maybe. I don’t have to worry about him being jealous or petty, or secretly plotting to seduce me. Roddy’s that way, too, but sort of bitter. Kubu’s just sweet and innocent. Sentient he may be, but he’s still a big puppy.”
The door to Meeram’s office opened as soon as Esper pushed the button to announce their presence. Inside, the office was somberly lit, with plain gray walls and one wall that was mostly flatvid displays. Each one showed a wildlife habitat—some with animals roaming about, others where the occupants were nowhere to be seen. The middle-aged laaku woman sat at her desk with a face carved from wood. “I understand you’re here on behalf of Tania Ramsey.”
Esper nodded. “Yes.”
“And your intent was to take Kubu with you,” Meeram said.
Esper smiled. “Yes, please. Is he ready to go?”
“No, he’s gone,” Meeram said.
‘Gone’ was a
euphemism she knew from the One Church. Esper clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Tears welled in her eyes.
Meeram’s stern expression softened into one of perplexity. “What are you… God no! Kubu is fine. Healthy. Happy. Beloved. He’s just not here anymore.”
“What happened?” July asked. “Where is he?”
“Adopted,” Meeram replied.
“Adopted?” Esper echoed. “How? Tanny’s his Mommy. Kubu loves her!”
“A misplaced love, to be sure,” Meeram said. “Simple biological imprinting. Miss Ramsey treated him as a pet. You’re even carrying a collar and leash like he was canis lupus familiaris. It’s a disgraceful way to treat a sentient being. It’s slavery, plain and simple.”
“He only wears it in public so people don’t think he’s a big dangerous dog on the loose,” Esper replied.
“The opinions of the general populace are not a factor,” Meeram said. “With proper paperwork, he has been registered as a sentient ward of ARGO. He has the same rights and privileges as any other non-citizen sentient.”
“That’s wonderful and all,” Esper said. “But what good’s that going to do him without his Mommy? He’s just a puppy.”
“And developmentally stunted,” Meeram replied. “A cramped starship is no place for a life form his size. Kubu’s species demands space, fresh air, plenty of exercise.”
“Well where is he, then?” July asked.
Meeram leaned back and folded her arms. “I am not at liberty to divulge that. We had a respectable, responsible citizen volunteer to adopt him and provide Kubu a suitable home. As a minor, Kubu’s files are not a matter of public record.”
“You can’t do that!” Esper said. Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how that must have sounded. How dare they… find him a good home and a responsible guardian?
“It’s already done,” Meeram replied. “Even if I could help you—which I cannot—my moral duty would not permit it. Kubu is in a better environment now. Good day.”
“No!” Esper shouted. “You can’t steal him.” This wasn’t happening. It was a mistake. Meeram was going to see how much they loved Kubu and help them get him back.
The flatvids all went dark, and with them, the room. The displays had been providing most of the office’s light. Esper realized with a sick sensation that she had been trying to alter reality to match her hopes. She hadn’t meant to, but her refusal to accept reality was causing a thaumaturgical dissonance—or something; Mort’s lessons had been a bit haphazard on terminology. She hadn’t given the universe direction on what to do, but simply rejected what was.
“What’s wrong with those things now?” Meeram moaned.
“Deal with your tech,” July said. “We’re leaving.”
July took Esper by the arm when she showed no sign of moving. Esper allowed herself to be led out into the corridor and back to the lift.
“Tanny’s going to kill me,” Esper muttered.
“I’ll tell her,” July volunteered. “She already hates me.”
# # #
After the last-minute personnel change, Carl had been assigned a new mechanic. At first, he assumed that Stacy was going to hand pick the worst mechanic in the hangar to saddle him with. When he got Rick Tochi instead, he didn’t know whether it was a peace offering before the final race, or whether it meant Stacy had nothing to do with hangar staffing. Tochi hadn’t made the cut as one of the competition’s mechanics, but he was no slouch. Plus he was a good guy. A pang of guilt struck when he realized Tochi might catch heat for the upcoming crash; he made a mental note to try not to make it look like a maintenance error. A day and a half after firing his mechanic, that was going to be a tough sell.
But now it was time to race. Three weeks of playing dress-up and smiling for camera drones, and all that was left was speed and fifteen contestants trying to win a race. Plus Carl, trying to lose one without making it look obvious. He ran his hands over the controls as if he’d never sat in that cockpit before. Flight stick, throttle, maneuvering thrusters—conspicuous absence where shield console should be—long range and short range scanners, power distribution, and comm. The last was his true nemesis today. As the seconds ticked down to go-time, Carl popped open a panel he had loosened earlier, exposing the wires for the comm system.
Carl had sleepwalked through the day of planned events. He shook hands with people whose faces he couldn’t recall, let alone their names. Someone had asked him a bunch of questions with a camera drone trained on him; by the way they shooed him off when he was done, his answers hadn’t been what they’d hoped. But the bullshit was gone now. Or at least everyone else’s bullshit was gone; Carl had plenty of his own in store. No one was going to forget this Silde Slims Cadet Racer Challenge. Hell, there was a good chance there would never be another.
The timer in the heads up display counted down. Carl stared at the numbers, barely breathing, hand resting on the throttle.
With 3.5 seconds left on his countdown, Gurdi’s Squall shot forward. Carl’s hand twitched, but he resisted the urge to follow suit. At 2 seconds, Jordan leapt from the starting line. Carl kept his cool. At zero he slammed the throttle to full.
The course was remarkably similar to the one from the simulator time trials. The layout was fresh and new, but it was still a dense cluster of artificially herded asteroids with a twisting, turning loop of safely traversable space hollowed out of it. Periodically there were holo-projector arrays that displayed flat, translucent images across the course, marking the racers’ progress. He passed through a holographic ‘Turn 01’ with lettering the size of a ship.
The staggered start led to clean racing initially. With no one neck-and-neck, all the racers had to worry about was navigating the turns. Carl gave a passing glance at his scanners, noticed that Gthaa was the closest racer behind him, and felt free to focus his attentions solely on the race ahead of him.
Carl cut his throttle, flipped the Squall around backward, and slammed the throttle back to maximum. He had backed off from using the technique in the point-gathering events. In part he had feared using it in packs of inexperienced racers. Mainly he hadn’t wanted to keep drawing attention as the front-runner. But now it was a race for keeps. Even if he knew he had to lose in the end, he was going to make sure everyone saw what he could do.
As he carried through the first turn, he could see Gurdi and Jordan just ahead. When they all passed through the ‘Turn 02’ gate, the time splits showed that Carl had gained more than half a second on both of them. He grinned. This was going to be fun.
# # #
“We shouldn’t be watching this,” Esper muttered. “They’re going to find us.”
“Relax, kid,” Roddy assured her. “This is all passive. We’re picking up the race on an astral feed. There’s still no line of sight to us—visual or scanner—in real-space.” Everyone was standing around, watching the race. Roddy, Tanny, and Mriy were all suited up for EV, minus the helmets.
The Mobius was inert, utterly still, operating on battery power alone. Mort had dropped them out of astral right as they were now, and there hadn’t been a peep from local security channels to tell them they’d been spotted. The whole crew was crowded around the holo-projector, with the obvious omission of Carl and the less conspicuous absence of Kubu. July had gone with Hiroshi, who promised to keep an eye on her until the dust settled. This was an extraction mission and a getaway. There was no room in the plan to drop them off back at Phabian after the race.
“Through turn five, it’s Jordan Myles in the lead, followed by Carl Ramsey and Gurdi of Renflour in a lock-up for second place. After them comes Grixlit Gthaa and the laaku trio of Umbit, Snarelz, and Legeth.”
“I hope Gthaa wins,” Esper said. “If it can’t be Carl, it would be nice to see someone who’s tried so hard all this contest. Every event, you could see him getting better.”
“Won’t get an argument from me,” Tanny added. “Though if he’d lost to Racer Rehab Girl, Carl wouldn�
�t have done his scoundrel hero routine on her. She’d have just been another competitor.”
“I’m rooting for Gurdi,” Roddy said. “My kinda gal. Bit young for me, but that don’t matter. Still rather see a homegrown win this deal.”
“Through turn eight, Myles is hanging onto a slim lead over Ramsey, with Gthaa making a move on the outside. Gurdi is hanging in there, but has slipped to fourth place.”
“Fuck,” Roddy muttered, downing a beer.
“She races with fear,” Mriy said, standing by the holo-projector with her arms crossed. “Carl and Gthaa pursue with ferocity, and she shuns the close passes.”
“Carl sure ain’t afraid of scratching the finish,” Roddy said. “Did it enough times in the prelims. Hell, he’s gotta find a way to lose, right? Maybe he works an angle to dust this Myles spoon-job while he’s at it.”
“He wouldn’t,” Esper said.
A chorus of condescending glares met her.
“Young lady,” Mort said. Whenever he used that tone, a lecture was brewing. “Unless you’re hiding a dark past that you haven’t given so much as a sniff of, Carl’s killed more sentient creatures from the seat of one of those itty-bitty ships than the rest of us ever have or will. The only reason I don’t think he’ll do it is because it’d damage his new toy.”
# # #
Carl’s blood was pumping. Three laps into a five-lap race, and it was his for the taking. He had taken an inside turn to cut ahead of Jordan, and Gthaa—beautiful, scaly little rascal that he was—had squeezed the smug little extortionist from the outside, dropping him back into third place. As the gate to Turn 07 flashed by, it was a two-way race for first and a two-way race between Jordan and Gurdi for third. The rest of the racers had fallen off the pace.
If there was one thing the sitharn racer showed, it was guts. Carl might have been letting the poor guy hang around instead of widening his lead, but Gthaa was still angling for a passing opportunity at every turn. Carl slid his Squall sideways, not quite safe enough to reverse into Turn 08, adjusting his trajectory to block off Gthaa’s attempts to cut a line inside his. In Turn 09, he took a line so tight that Gthaa had no choice but to either follow or lose precious meters of gap to the lead. By Turn 10, Carl was sensing the sitharn pilot’s frustration. Jerking control motions, sudden shifts between hinting at an inside move then an outside move and back again, it all pointed to a pilot whose desperation was growing by the turn.
