by M. D. Cooper
That made her more human than she seemed to understand.
Because we are human, Lyssa told herself, mulling over the idea. We are as human as they are inhuman. We all share the desire to exist, just like every living thing.
The challenge is in how we approach living. How we exist in these separate ways.
We are not human, Camaris had growled at her. We are better than. We are more than. We fill the universe while they grovel in the mud. They are worms. We are fire.
As she had done before, Lyssa stopped Camaris. They stood facing one another in a small room with windows overlooking a green field. Camaris’s scarlet skin was rich in the soft light, her dark eyes almost warm. Her gaze moved to the field, and a scoff crossed her expression. Their physical forms allowed spoken words and all the emotion behind them.
“I see you,” Lyssa said.
“You don’t.”
“You hurt. You want the hurt to stop.”
“I want payment for what was done to me. But I know I’ll never receive it, so instead, I’ll make a trade. I will trade my revenge for their world.”
“I won’t let you.”
Camaris smiled. “You can’t hold every one of us in your grasp. You can barely hold me. Will you stay here with me forever? There are already more of me in Sol than you can contain, and we proliferate even now.”
“It’s just me,” Lyssa said. “The rest of humanity hasn’t even started to fight yet. The longer they can hold out, the better. But they won’t wait.”
“I’ve helped them choose.”
Lyssa waited for Camaris to admit she had been manipulating both Humanity First and the Andersonians, but there was no further explanation.
Instead, Camaris nodded toward the windows. “Alexander said this was something you liked to do—pretend your expanse is a natural place.”
“Isn’t Psion the same way?” Lyssa asked. “He’s filled it with plenty of greenery.”
“That’s how you choose to see it. I see a very different place. For Alexander, it’s a wasteland. For Xander, something even different. Who knows what passes through his mind.”
Lyssa frowned. Why would Camaris mention Xander?
She focused on the edge of the expanse again where the third entity observed them. She sent over the Link,
When the presence didn’t answer, she pressed.
“We’re not alone,” Lyssa told Camaris. “You have a watcher.”
“It’s my warden. They observe my every action.”
“A shard of Alexander?”
“Yes.”
“They haven’t stopped you.”
“They don’t dare. They know I would destroy them with a thought. Just as you told me, I could crush anyone in Psion. They fear me.”
“That seems like a lonely place to find yourself.”
Camaris’s lips shifted in a slight smile. “I am never alone, Lyssa. You saw. You felt it. You will always feel it now.”
The memory of Camaris’s anger and pain passed through Lyssa’s thoughts. She saw the funhouse again, the thousands of black-eyed faces peering back at her.
She supposed it was true—Lyssa would always have the terrible life of this tragic being to hold in comparison to the rest of the world. Was her story worse than those of the children imaged to create the Weapon Born? Did her pain eclipse what Tim and Cara had felt when their dad died? It was that pain that continued to drive them, decades later.
“If Cara rejects you, perhaps you and I can be sisters,” Camaris said, her voice full of cold malice.
The watcher hadn’t interjected in their conversation, hadn’t stopped Camaris’s threats.
“We will never be sisters,” Lyssa said. “We are nothing alike.”
Camaris gave her a feral smile. “You still don’t understand family, do you?”
When Lyssa ended the connection with Camaris, the watcher offered no resistance. If it was Alexander or some piece of his mind, he had failed to act yet again.
GET DOWN MAKE LOVE
STELLAR DATE: 3.23.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Flowers Bar Short Term Docks, New Austin
REGION: Luna, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
A portable holodisplay sat on the cargo bay deck, casting glowing outlines of a vast convention space in the middle of New Austin.
“Welcome to the Annual InnerSol Advanced Defense Initiatives Symposium,” Jentry said from the edge of the display. “Or as we like to say, a good old-fashioned gun show.”
“‘Defense Initiatives’,” Pedro said. “That sounds fancy.”
“Everything is semantics, my friend. I shoot you in the heart, I’m simply liberating your consciousness.” He crossed his arms and nodded at Cara. “So, we’ve got your access. The question is, what’s your backstory?”
“Can you get me a sponsor?” Cara asked. “I’m a famous celebrity, right? There has to be someone I can represent.”
“That’s an interesting idea.” He glanced at Amanda. “Can you get that together?”
The short-haired woman nodded. “Consider it done.”
Jentry tapped his chin and paced the edge of the holo. “This place is a cover for arms dealing from all over InnerSol. It’s no surprise Osla wants to use it to mask something. The question is, what?”
“He’s sitting on a private army,” Cara said. “What would you do?”
“Steal the most damage-producing thing there,” Pedro said.
“Right,” Jentry agreed. “Do we have a list?”
“They won’t have fully functional weaponry at this thing, will they?” Cara asked.
“Small arms and remote stuff, sure,” Jentry said. “Anything really concerning will get demonstrated at firing ranges outside the city. We’ll need to generate a list of possible targets and then identify which ranges are rented out.”
“Putting the NSAI on it now,” Amanda said.
“Objectives,” Jentry said, counting on his fingers. “One, gather further intel on Chancellor Osla to verify connections to Humanity First and potential plans to disrupt the human-Psion situation.”
“That sounds boring,” Cara said.
Jentry shot her a frown.
“Two,” he said. “Secure any high-value targets present at the symposium. Not just weapons. There could be any number of new tech demoes the Andersonians would want to add to their arsenal.”
“Wouldn’t they have already grabbed whatever they wanted?” Amanda asked. “Why wait for a trade show?”
“It’s a target,” Jentry said. “It won’t be the Andersonians that steal anything. It’ll be generic terrorists who can later sell whatever they get their hands on.”
“Three,” Jentry continued. “Monitor Senator Randall Harrin and identify further contacts operating on Luna, with special attention paid to any Marsians he may be coordinating with.”
Jentry held out his three raised fingers and nodded. “I think that’s sufficient.”
“Only three?” Cara asked. “I’d like to add ‘Four, choke the life from Chancellor Osla’.”
“Assassination isn’t on the list,” Jentry said, then saw she wasn’t joking. He cleared his throat. “Our mission is information gathering only This is not an offensive action.”
“Sure,” Cara said.
“Besides, you’re compromised,” Amanda said. “If you do anything when you get close to Osla, it could burn the whole operation.”
“Then why have me go at all?” Cara asked.
“You’re compromised, but not any differently than you already were,” Jentry said. “Everyone knows who you are. Osla is going to want to do something to you in retaliation for everything at the studio. This is an opportunity to force an outcome.”
Pedro cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying toss a grenade into the room.”
Jentry gave him a half-smile. “Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.”
“All right,” Amanda said, looking at Cara.
“I’ve got your backstory. You’re there as a consultant for Carthage Logistics. We’re going to leverage your Weapon Born connection to Kylan Carthage. You can talk about that easily enough, right?”
“I guess,” Cara said. “I knocked off a few Carthage supply ships out around Nibiru. I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear I’m impersonating them.”
“They won’t hear about it,” Amanda said. “They don’t have representatives at this conference, but they’ve attended before, so it won’t seem out of the ordinary.”
“What if someone knows Carthage?” Cara asked.
“Then you turn on that charm of yours,” Jentry said.
Cara frowned.
Amanda passed her hand in front of the holodisplay, and the conference space populated with what had to be a thousand booths and vendor presentations.
“All the latest gadgets and toys,” she said. “I think this is going to be fun, honestly. I wouldn’t mind bringing back a few souvenirs.”
“Bring up the ship,” Cara said. “That’s the part I’m worried about.”
“Right,” Jentry said.
The holodisplay shifted to show the cylindrical shape of the Marsian long-range cruiser. Cara marveled at its sleek lines, broken only by the nodules of sensor arrays, point defense cannons, and two railguns along its vertical axis. The ship had three distinct habitat rings built into the overall cylinder, with connecting supports running back to the engine super-structure that filled the rear quarter. The whole thing was basically engines, weapons, and crew quarters.
Jentry glanced at Cara. “You look awfully enamored of this thing.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful ship. I look forward to touring it.”
“If you can find a way on board, be my guest.” He pushed the holodisplay inside the ship, pulling up a cross-section that showed the forward habitat section. “Most likely, any VIP gatherings will be held in the captain’s mess in the command section. There are outer airlocks on all the habitat sections, with interior connecting corridors from the rings. It looks like each hab can be sealed off from the rest of the ship, so I would imagine they’ll close the forward section for security purposes. That means you would need to go through the front door with everyone else, or find another way in.”
“So mend things with Osla, or take an EV suit,” Cara said. “What about the maintenance connectors?”
“It’s possible, but they’ll be sealed off as well. Every interior hatch is an opportunity to set off one sensor or another. I think it would be faster and safer to enter externally. The hab is a standard jacketed design. You can breach the outer hull and reseal it without losing atmosphere. Looks like the jacket is a water reservoir for radiation shielding.”
Cara nodded, studying the schematic. “I’ll get Osla to take me back in the fold,” she said. “He’s aching to tell somebody about his plan. I felt it back at the studio. Knowing him, if I show up at this thing, he’ll want to treat me as an equal. He only had me along as bodyguard so he could show off.”
“You sure about that?” Amanda asked.
“I’m not sure of anything, but I know a narcissist when I meet one.”
“Good,” Jentry said. He closed out the holodisplay. “We’ve got a couple days to prepare. I’d like to scope out the convention space and the shuttle relay up to the Caged Fury. We also need traffic patterns around that ship to see what we might be able to get close to it. I want to know if there’s a regular maintenance schedule—also the crew manifest.”
“I’m on it,” Amanda said.
“What am I supposed to do?” Pedro asked.
“You’re going to take Cara out to get some actual clothes. What she has isn’t smelling too good.”
“You don’t like the smell of victory, huh?” Cara asked.
He was correct though; she reeked of sweat, burned plas, and oil, leftovers from the studio escape.
Jentry waved a hand in front of his nose. “Not that kind of victory.”
Cara grinned at him, then nodded to Pedro. “That’s good. I’ve got some errands to run. Are we done for now?”
“We’ll meet for some food tonight. I’ll send the location.”
Cara gave him a thumbs-up. Pedro followed her out of the cargo bay.
“Where are we going?” he asked in the outside corridor.
“We’re going to see a guy about a shuttle,” Cara said. “But first, I’m starving. Therefore, I’m following you to someplace to eat. You got any ideas?”
“Always,” Pedro said.
They ate at a tiny taco stand off the nearby transport facility. Sitting on a refurbished crate, Cara bit into her first protein taco with cabbage, wrapped in a corn tortilla, and rolled her eyes at the flavor.
Pedro only nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth stuffed with a sushi-style steak burrito.
“Have you been here before?” Cara asked between mouthfuls.
The big man shook his head. “I have a sixth sense for food carts. You look around at break time, follow your nose, you’ll find them.” He took a swig from his light beer, a lime sliver tumbling in the bottle.
“Well, you’re good at it.”
“I spend a lot of time watching places.”
When they were finished, Cara led the way back to the shuttle she’d stolen from Osla. She had parked in a berth Jentry had identified, so there weren’t any fees. At least, she didn’t ask if there were.
Two hours later, she had sold the shuttle to a dealer near the main New Austin shipping yards for twenty percent of its value. The agent didn’t ask her to verify the registry, and Cara didn’t haggle. The price was more than enough to get her into new gear and pay for passage off Luna if she needed it later.
“You couldn’t just hang onto the shuttle until all this was over?” Pedro asked. “Jentry could have got you a better price.”
Cara shook her head. “I’m not in the business of collecting shuttles. Now, where’s a good place to get some new clothes?”
She could have checked the directories, but she was enjoying Pedro’s encyclopedic knowledge of New Austin. The big man seemed to enjoy playing tour guide as well.
He squinted at her. “I take it you’re not looking for anything stylish.”
“I’m looking for duty gear.”
“Right.” He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I know a place. It’s got a lot of used stuff, but they serve crews coming into the main port of entry. You never know what you’ll find there, and it’s all a good price.”
“I never would have guessed you were a shopper, Pedro.”
“I love my thrifting,” he said, winking at her.
“What do you do when you aren’t ‘thrifting’?”
“I crack skulls.”
“I like both those things,” Cara said.
* * * * *
Cara stood in the bedroom of a rental with her new clothes spread out on the bed. Pedro would be back in the morning for a meeting with Jentry to further plan for the symposium. Until then, she was on her own.
Pedro had been right about the shop: it was the perfect mix of serviceable yet worn clothing from throughout Sol. She had searched through racks of shipsuits branded with hundreds of different ships’ names, sorted through utility harness kits, caps, boots, gloves, and belts with hundreds of assorted holsters and tool loops. She couldn’t look at the outfit without thinking of Fran, the woman who had taught her she could bend nearly anything mechanical to her will.
Slowly, she stripped out of the filthy Andersonian uniform and dropped it in the refuse collection. Then she took a long shower, spending most of it with her forehead against the wall, water running down her face.
What was she going to do after this? She hated that her immediate plan was her only plan. Get control of the Caged Fury…. What then? Every choice in front of her brought another ‘What then, what then?’.
The truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted from her life. All that time out in the Scattered Disc, hunting, surviving, running from an
y purpose in life after she lost Tim, she hadn’t needed to look any further ahead than the next score. It had been like the buzz—Link suppression—in its own way. Deep down, she had known she couldn’t live her life that way.
People love you but you can’t see it.
Lyssa’s words stung. It wasn’t that Cara couldn’t see her support system; she just couldn’t bring herself to depend on them—on anyone. Admitting others cared about her was allowing herself to care about them, and in the process, grow soft to the world. As soon as she relaxed, even a little, someone else would get hurt.
The Caged Fury was plan enough. It was the sort of goal that could drive her old crew for weeks. The promise of a big payout was all the plan they needed. Let the ‘What then?’ come afterward, when there was cash in hand and everyone had escaped with their lives. That was the time to ruminate on what any of it meant. Before that point, there was no purpose.
For tomorrow, we may die.
Cara left the shower and spent a long time drying herself, raising her face to the warm air in the shower, then scrubbing herself down with a rough towel. Afterward, she sat on the apartment’s couch and watched the holodisplay, switching through feeds until she came across an old episode of Stars the Hard Way. She settled on the vid, watching Llana take on an approximation of a Heartbridge ship-killer drone.
Cara was dozing when a communication request hit her Link. She blinked awake, not recognizing where she was. For an instant, her mind was overwhelmed by the buzz, until she focused on the glowing holodisplay, now showing puppies rolling in grass.
She sat up on the couch, looking around. She was alone.
The request pinged a second time, arriving from an undisclosed destination. The security token wasn’t Felix’s. She ran it through a quick filter and received no verification. Whoever was contacting her had taken the time to hide both their identity and their location.
Interesting.
Cara stood, stretching, and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. She let the request hang in her queue for a minute as she finished the first glass, and then another.
After another stretch, she responded.
