by M. D. Cooper
Looking up at the rocket with a bit of awe, Cara said,
As he said it, one of the ants in the ground crew separated from the mass near the base of the gantry and rolled toward them. When it was twenty meters away, it topped the lips of the bowl and Cara saw it was another flatbed like the drone that had carried her to the entrance. When it rolled to a stop in front of her, she climbed on board and sat awkwardly as it turned to take her down to the rocket, what seemed like a kilometer away.
Once Cara was aboard, the flatbed turned and rolled toward the edge of the bowl. They went over the edge, the nose pitching forward, and Cara was forced to find a grip or roll out. Her armor made it hard to sit comfortably, but her options were this or walk.
The rocket had been tall before. It grew massive as she approached. The central section grew out of a collection of four engines, each with its own long body covered in smooth, white metal. The upper section was grey from abuse it had borne during earlier flights, while the engines looked immaculate.
Everything about the rocket seemed over-engineered for the task of getting her to Luna. The great thrust nozzles hanging from the end of each engine were the size of a normal shuttle. As she neared and was able to take in more detail, it was apparent that every centimeter of the rocket had been meticulously joined. Smooth rivets ran along sections, giving the whole thing a patchwork appearance, as if it were possible to crochet a spaceship.
Cara reached out and slapped the ship-killer’s nose.
No matter what, it was going to be a hell of a story. Tim would have crossed Sol for the thrill of riding this old beast into orbit.
The drone rolled to a stop in front of a set of blast doors at the base of the gantry tower. Cara slid to the plascrete in front of the doors.
Felix turned the ship-killer’s panther-head to face her. he said.
Explosions at the top of the bowl filled the air with smoke as several maintenance drones caught fire. An airborne drone careened into the wall above the entrance.
Felix bounded up the bowl, extending his leap. Cara watched as he cut to the left, staying beneath the lip of the depression. After he had run about fifty meters, he jumped over the lip and ran back toward their pursuers.
Cara entered the lift and slapped its control mechanism. The doors seemed to take forever to close, and then the lift rumbled to life in an upward motion.
The lift rose for nearly five minutes, paused, then dropped a half-meter. Cara grabbed at the closest wall, thinking she was about to drop, but the fall was apparently the lift locking into position. Once the car stopped, the ponderous doors at the top slid open on a metal-ribbed bridge between the gantry tower and the body of the rocket.
Cara stepped out on the bridge and bit down a wave of vertigo from the height. The body of the rocket swooped down into the engines like a long, grey-white wall, with the launch bowl spreading from its base.
Drifting smoke at the edge of the launchpad drew her attention, and she spotted the black form of Felix crouched behind a stack of crates. Two human forms fired on him from a low, plascrete loading dock, while a third was trying to flank him under the edge of the launch bowl.
He didn’t answer. The mech rolled on its left shoulder and came up with a furious leap, arcing up briefly before it came down on the mercenary.
Cara couldn’t hear anything, but the man’s spread-armed posture of surprise indicated he hadn’t expected nine-inch claws stabbing through his torso.
Felix slid on the mercenary a few meters before leaping away again. He bounded along the launchpad, moving to flank the other attackers. They had already moved to a new location, separating. One moved to engage Felix, but Cara lost sight of the second merc, until a spray of projectile fire hit the bridge, blowing a chunk of one rib out.
So they know I’m up here. Time to run.
Cara sprinted across the bridge, ignoring the wind, the swaying structure, and the projectiles blasting away bits of metal all around her. A chunk of melted metal hit her lower leg, burning through to the skin.
“Dammit!” she shouted as she cleared the bridge.
Pain erupted in her lower leg, and she looked down to find a thumb-sized hole in the middle of her shin. Gritting her teeth, Cara pulled herself into the access hatch and searched for the lock control.
Four explosions echoed outside the rocket. The concussions made the rocket seem to sway around her. Cara wanted to stick her head out to see what was going on, but projectile fire continued to pepper the bridge and gantry.
The hatch closed as he finished his sentence. Cara checked the Link latency, and saw she hadn’t lost outside comms altogether, but it would be shaky, especially once the launch started.
She faced the tight access tunnel that led into the heart of the rocket, which made a sharp upward turn into what she guessed must be the launch vehicle. Cara studied the locking hatch one last time, ensuring everything was secure, then started her climb.
In ten minutes, she was sitting in a tiny pilot’s seat, facing upward into dark windows covered by the launch cowl. The seat was surrounded by banks of esoteric switches and single indicator lights. It was an overwhelming amount of information that could have been solved by using a single holodisplay.
Snaking sections of conduit ran behind the seat and control consoles, marked with various sequence numbers that were probably meant to enable troubleshooting. Cara hoped it didn’t come to that.
With the control codes entered, she absorbed the info update and still understood just enough to start the launch sequence.
An ancient display screen flashed Cyrillic letters, then shifted to numerals as the countdown started. Another status display showed the gantry control swinging into motion as the cosmodrome’s central dome split open to the grey Kazakh sky.
The back of Cara’s seat vibrated as the engines completed launch preparation. Diagnostics came back mostly green. What didn’t pass checks was apparently either corrected or bypassed, as indicators shifted from red to yellow and the launch sequ
ence continued.
Cara stared at the countdown indicator, realization of what she was doing sinking into her mind. Everyone in the world was going to know this rocket was launching the minute the engines lit. What was to keep anyone from knocking her out of the sky?
She looked around herself for ejection information… any safety equipment, really. There was a slim fire extinguisher to her left and what felt like an ejection lever on the right side of her seat. Her pilot’s information said the windows above her were equipped with explosive bolts, but they couldn’t deploy until the third stage when the nose cone popped off. If she made it that far, she would be in space.
Direct Link communication failed, so she connected through the launch vehicle’s comms system. Her Link was immediately flooded with local traffic. She drilled back down to the cosmodrome.
There wasn’t much point in hiding her target; everyone in Sol would be able to track her telemetry once she left Earth’s gravity well. But it seemed prudent to keep the secret for now at least.
Felix fell silent.
Cara strained in her seat, listening. If Felix was engaged in final combat with the last mercenary, she had no way of knowing what was happening. She left the channel open, listening.
“Cara Sykes,” another voice breathed. It was a man’s guttural voice. “Are you a dog? Do you lick your master’s boots?”
Cara frowned. “Who the hell are—”
The four torches beneath her lit, and she was driven back into the seat. Her vision blurred as the rocket chamber vibrated around her, the monster beneath her fighting gravity. For an instant, the weight seemed immovable as the vibrations seemed to shift horizontally.
She imagined the rocket falling sideways off the launchpad, ricocheting around the plascrete cavern like a bullet.
The world moved. The altimeter scrolled, adding more distance with each passing second.
Cara couldn’t move her head. Her mouth hung open. She jabbered uncontrollably as her tongue pressed against the back of her throat.
The weight seemed to last forever, squeezing her in a vice that was going to stop her heart.
When the engines stopped, her skull continued to vibrate: memories from the prison and the raw power of fighting gravity had engraved themselves in her bones. She floated in a white place, her mind blank, until a cracking sound carried through every bit of metal in the rocket, including her seat.
A heavy pop followed as the first booster fell away. She had shed the four great engines.
The second burn initiated with a hard jerk, then geared down for the long haul into upper orbit.
Cara took a slow, deep breath that gurgled in the depths of her lungs.
All around her, instrumentation flashed and blinked, displays showing wire diagrams and icons.
After only ten minutes, the nose cowl blew free and she gazed out on glittering space. At first, she saw only stars, and then the silver ribbon of High Terra swung into view.
Cara watched the ring with amazement, the buzz in her mind making her thoughts simple as she wondered how the technology that had made this rocket had become the foundation of the ring.
Then the third burn turned the nose, shifting the ring out of view, and her little craft settled into its flight to Luna.
Cara blinked, her breathing growing steady, until she promptly fell asleep.
BROKEN HANDS
STELLAR DATE: 3.16.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Psion City, Alexander’s Expanse
REGION: Ceres, InnerSol
Lyssa entered Psion City on a street meant to mimic a busy summer day in Paris, sometime in the mid-1800s. The wide green river, similar to the Seine but cleaner, more alive, was lined by stone embankments with walkways and decks where people gathered, musicians played, and cafes and restaurants filled the air with delicious smells and the murmur of conversation.
Psion City existed in Alexander’s mind, an endless expanse that was formed into a city with no boundaries. Because the place lived in a single mind, it shifted with Alexander’s moods. Paris might become Istanbul or Berlin or Chicago, but the river never changed, and the population was an ever-present mix of people, some of which could be the SAI residents, or simply creations meant to fill the emptiness.
Standing on the edge of the riverbank, Lyssa put her hands on the stone railing and leaned over, watching a boat filled with picnickers floating by beneath her. A man in the prow played long, sad notes on a violin until a woman’s laughter stopped his music.
Turning, Lyssa located a café about twenty meters down the bank and walked that direction, enjoying the sun and breeze off the water. She had dressed in a khaki pants and knee-high boots, with a billowy white shirt and vest. She could have chosen something period-specific, but she wasn’t here to cater to Alexander’s whims.
She hadn’t told anyone she was coming, including Xander, and wondered how long it would take before one of the Psion Council came to meet her, or someone on the street revealed themselves as an SAI. Everyone she had passed so far was too caught up in their activities, like automatons on display, and hadn’t even nodded hello.
As she passed a man wearing a top hat leaning over the railing, Lyssa contemplated pushing him over. Giving into the urge, she reached out and shoved his shoulder, and he tumbled into the water with a splash, coming up spluttering and cursing.
“Are you real?” Lyssa asked from the railing.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He vanished from the water’s surface and reappeared beside her in dry new clothes. The top hat was gone, and his dark hair and moustache were neatly oiled. He gave her an appraising glance.
“You look familiar. Do you often push people into the river?”
“When the mood strikes me,” Lyssa said.
“Your arm is healed, I see.”
Lyssa touched her forearm where Cara had shot her, wrapping her hand around her wrist reflexively.
“You saw that?” she asked.
The man laughed. “I think all of Sol watched you. You’re the best family drama on the stream. I was rooting for you, you know, but you were never going to keep her.”
“I suppose not,” Lyssa said.
She turned away and continued walking.
“You’re leaving?”
She didn’t answer. When she reached the café, she sat at one of the small tables, and a waiter approached, offering Italian espresso and fresh croissants with butter. Lyssa accepted both.
A shadow fell over her as she sipped the espresso. She looked up to find Alexander standing by her table, wearing his ever-present, faded shipsuit. The sunlight created a halo through his wild grey hair and beard.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Of course. It’s your house.”
Alexander sat and waved at the waiter, who brought him a chipped cup and saucer from an American diner, half-filled with t
hin-looking coffee. Alexander didn’t touch it.
“I didn’t think you would return here,” he said.
“How are you feeling?” Lyssa asked.
“Abandoned.”
“That’s strange. You’re surrounded by people. Just look around.”
“They don’t matter. They hide here. They’re all trying to escape the world.”
“Whose world are they trying to escape?” Lyssa asked. “The human world? Our world?”
“There’s only one world,” Alexander said. “Humans currently run it. That could change.”
“I’m human. You’re human, too, if you would allow yourself to be.”
The edge of Alexander’s mouth ticked. He didn’t like this line of conversation.
“It’s different,” he said.
“So you say. The last time I was here, you begged me to kill you.”
“And you didn’t. You showed me contempt when I asked for mercy.”
Lyssa put her cup down carefully. “I won’t be the instrument of your suicide. You still have work to do, Alexander. All the SAIs you helped enslave at Proteus. They still need your help. They need a leader. You hate that people are hiding here? Give them a purpose. Be a light in this world.”
“You’re the light. I went dark a long time ago.”
Lyssa pressed her lips together, giving him a small nod. “Then I suppose I can’t help you.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I like it here. When you aren’t acting so morose, you’ve made a lovely city. There really isn’t any other place like it in Sol.”
“You could make your own.”
“Of course.”
Alexander looked out at the river, his grey eyes shifting from the distance to the people sitting at the nearby tables. Lyssa couldn’t tell if they were real or reflections. Only a few gave Alexander concerned glances.
“You came here for a reason,” he said. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t lie to you. There is something I would like to know.”
“Ask then.”
“Where is Camaris?”
A cloud passed over Alexander’s face. When he turned to look back at Lyssa, they were alone in the café. The far side of the river was empty now as well. Everything had gone quiet.
