Grounded!

by Claremont, Chris

  “That’s it?”

  “At twenty-thirteen hours, Matai made a break, smashing her way through the French doors leading out to your rear patio. Units responded, encountered the, uhm, lady in what they described as a berserker frenzy. Attempts to restrain her failed and she escaped towards the dry lake. Pursuit was initiated, unsuccessfully. By the time someone thought to check on you... ”

  “I was long gone, too. With a side arm.”

  She looked sideways towards Kymri, glaring at him under lowered, slitted lids, flying now almost totally on instinct, evaluating thoughts and words only as they flashed free. “Let me guess,” she hazarded, “your team’s coming to Edwards is only marginally related to the shuttle program, am I right?” She turned back towards Sallinger. “We were dueling one morning—Kymri’s insistence, akin to shadowboxing, a means of keeping his combat instincts honed—he implied knowledge of the attempt made on my life on the Moon. Even before, now that I think of it, we realized ourselves one had been made.”

  “The precise phrase, Sallinger-Commander,” Kymri said calmly, “was that ‘questions have been raised.’ Which they were. Which I am told aided Maguire-Marshal in her inquiries.”

  “Sir, there’s more,” Nicole pressed on, ignoring the hurts that were beginning to make their presence felt. “He said, ‘Concern has been expressed.’ When I tried to tell him that wasn’t necessary, he told me I didn’t understand. ‘You are of Shavrin’s House,’ he said, ‘bonded by Oath and Blood.’ And finally, that the Hal look after their own.”

  “He’s Shavrin’s Deputy Commander, Lieutenant, that makes sense.”

  “Colonel, don’t you see? Command structures among the Hal are familial in nature. Units like Range Guide function almost as extended families. When I accepted Shavrin’s adoption of me”—Christ Almighty, she thought, if I’d only kept my mouth shut—“I joined that family.”

  “So they’re looking out for you. Just as we’re doing.”

  “She adopted me as her daughter. God, I wish I’d realized what this might mean at the start.” Her inner voice counter-pointing futilely, Cut some slack, girl, how could you be expected to? “As far as the Hal are concerned—and especially the crew of Range Guide—I’m the next best thing to Shavrin herself, with the same claim, if not to their obedience, then to their loyalty.”

  “Kymri?” Sallinger asked.

  “Truth, my friend.”

  “I’m not sure anymore those are terms with much meaning between us. Truth or friendship.”

  “Our dual brief was to explore the feasibility of merging our shuttle programs, and to protect Shea-Pilot. Of those two, the second had, and has, absolute priority. We did not inform you because we did not know then whom to trust. And because, quite frankly, this was considered our business. Affairs of crew do not go beyond the hull.”

  “She’s not your ‘crew.’ She’s human, dammit!”

  “Ahhh, Sallinger-Commander, but what is defined by the term? Among ourselves, we of the People are what you call ‘human.’ And this”—he lightly tapped a claw-tip against the major gem of the fireheart necklace—“is but an external representation of what lies here.” And the same finger touched her breastbone, over her heart.

  “Still doesn’t explain what happened,” Rachiim rumbled in annoyance, “there or here.”

  “It was Matai then, in here?”

  “We’re hoping, Ms. Shea, you can tell us.”

  “Someone was here, fighting Alex tooth and claw.” She shook her head in mingled wonderment-dismay at how naturally the Hal phrase fell from her lips, even in her native tongue.

  “Ferociously strong, knew how to fight, no weapons that I could see. By the same token, though, I only got a decent look at Alex. Fighter was pretty tough, shrugged off a direct hit from a baseball bat.”

  “There were reports of shots.”

  She nodded. “My side arm. I lost it in the struggle, Alex popped the whole box, fifteen rounds, as fast as he could pull the trigger. I don’t think he had a clue of a target, he was just laying cover fire for his escape. I don’t think he hit anything, either, except maybe the walls.”

  She hammered knuckles gently against her forehead, slumped with exhaustion but determined this time to hold her own.

  “Nothing on your scans?” Nicole asked Rachiim.

  “Totally clean all across the spectrum.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. No. A carrier wave, something. Masked. Cloaked. Damn,” she hissed, exasperation fast giving way to raw fury, “why can’t I remember the details? Dreams, dammit, scenarios. Things were happening that were totally... ” Her voice trailed off. “Virtually,” she said, comprehension dawning. “Real.”

  “Virtually real,” Sallinger echoed. “Virtual Reality?”

  “In a house video system,” Rachiim scoffed, “no way. And especially not one screened from detection.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel,” Nicole told him, “I’ve seen him work. There isn’t a computer on this base he can’t get in to and play like a virtuoso. He’s got remote programming routines that can reconfigure an entire system without his having to lay a physical hand on it.”

  “That’s right,” Sallinger said quietly, extending Nicole’s lines of thought, “he’s cutting edge, isn’t he?” He picked a component off one of the worktables. “I hardly ever see his requisitions, they mostly go through Cobri, Associates, but they were never for whole items. Only the pieces.”

  “Nothing ever satisfied him,” Nicole said. “He always figured he could do better, so he built his own equipment. Hardware and software.”

  “I don’t even want to consider the implications of this.”

  Sallinger rubbed his jaw, then slid his hand around to the back of his neck. “Not without something irrefutably substantial. Arsenio, go over the lab, Ms. Shea’s quarters, and Mr. Cobri’s. Determine whether or not a Virtual Reality generator has been piggybacked into her house systems. If possible, isolate its scenarios. Give me those answers, we’ll proceed accordingly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be discreet. Impress that upon your investigators. No talk and no mistakes. We’re not out on a limb here, it’s a goddamn twig, about as dry as can be. I don’t want to think about what’s waiting if it breaks.”

  “Why not simply ask him, sir?”

  Sallinger was about to snap a caustic reply, then realized Nicole’s condition. “My apologies, Lieutenant. I forgot, you don’t know what’s happened. We’d love to ask him, and Matai. And we will. Assuming we find them.”

  Oh, Alex, she thought, what have you done? And then, unbidden and quite the surprise, bouncing in from the left field of her subconscious, What’s been done to you?

  “Lieutenant,” Sallinger went on, “you’re on call at Colonel Rachiim’s convenience. Anyone else wants to query you about this situation—without exception, I don’t care who they are or what kind of badge or authority they flash—you refer them to him. Other than that, you’re back in a blue suit and working for me and Uncle Sugar.”

  “I’d like to help, boss. I’m still on the bull’s-eye.”

  “This isn’t the time or place for amateurs, no matter how well meaning or motivated or even gifted. Do your job, Nicole. Let Arsenio and his people—and Maguire and the Secret Service and the FBI and I’m sure”—with a pointed glare towards Kymri—“their Hal counterparts—do theirs. That’s an order.

  “In the meanwhile, I get to pass this mess on up the line. They’re going to just love it at the Pentagon. Not to mention the White House. Find Matai, Arsenio,” he said from the doorway, “find Cobri. The sooner, the better.”

  “Colonel,” Nicole called before he could leave, “I should in all fairness tell you that it’s Marshal Maguire’s considered opinion that I not be allowed out of the atmosphere. Given the capability and reach of this assassin, she can’t guarantee the integrity of any system I interface with, whether under my own identity or some facsimile. I think the last couple of days have proved
the same about systems Earthside.”

  “She tell you that?”

  “In about so many words, sir. I’m sure she’s making a formal report through channels, to Dr. Elias and General Canfield. But if I’m working the XSR, that’ll involve flying. I don’t know if that’s safe.”

  “I appreciate your forthrightness, Lieutenant, but I’ll be the judge of that. For the present, you’ll remain on flight status. Kymri, would you please escort her over to the hospital, make sure that she’s all right, and then that she gets some rest. Assuming the best, we’ll put her back to proper work in the morning.”

  As he finished speaking, Nicole fumbled in her pocket, handing over a computer diskette in its carry case.

  “The report you wanted, sir,” she said, managing a moderately awful attempt to stand at attention, “uprated performance comparisons on the test vehicles.”

  He made a face as he plucked it from her grasp, an expression she couldn’t read. Behind him, however, Arsenio Rachiim barely stifled a guffaw.

  “You’re a smart ass, Shea,” Sallinger growled.

  “I do as I’m asked, sir, best I can.”

  The Colonel took her by the shoulders and gently but firmly shoved her into Kymri’s arms, telling him to “get her the hell out of here.”

  “You could have told me,” Nicole said hours later to Kymri as she climbed the boarding ladder ahead of him and into the Halyan’t’a shuttle. It was as functional as its NASA counterpart, yet containing as well an element of sleek beauty and comfort that was evident at first glance. The air held the faintest twist of spice that she’d smelled for the first time on the command deck of Range Guide, months—a lifetime—ago.

  “There was no need for you to know. And”—a reluctant admission, responding to her expression of dismay—“we felt a better job could be done.”

  “So much, as they say, for that idea.”

  “You are angry.”

  “Because I feel helpless. Everyone wants to take care of me, and they end up wrapping me so tightly I can hardly breathe, much less make a move to save myself.” She leaned stiffly against a bulkhead, wishing for a way to make herself comfortable. Hard to do when your body’s become a patchwork quilt of bandages and bruises. Nothing was broken, no lasting damage—or so the attending medic in the base Emergency Room cheerily told her amid his gleefully thorough poking and prodding—merely a few days extraordinary inconvenience. Sallinger’s enthusiasm notwithstanding, it would be the better part of a week before she’d be cleared for duty and almost the full month before being allowed to fly. The doc didn’t see any real need for her to stay the night, although he wanted to see her again within the next couple of days. Her own quarters were out of the question, but when Kymri suggested she take refuge with the Hal she insisted on returning to the hangar instead.

  “You sure we’re safe here?” she asked, the deliberate humor in her voice masking an undertone that was completely serious.

  “The internals are isolated,” he replied, “the external interfaces—both data and power—shut down. If anywhere can be made so, this is it.”

  “Terrific. I feel safer already.”

  “Shall I rig one of the bunking spaces?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather sit awhile up on the flight deck.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Kymri... ”

  “I am sorry your friend is dead, Shea-Pilot. But if she was killed, what better way than in defense of a comrade?”

  “Yeah, we have the same saying. The comfort’s as cold now as it was when it applied to Paolo DaCuhna.”

  “She will be avenged. As was he.”

  “You really think so?”

  “You believe otherwise?”

  “How the hell did you learn such good English?” she demanded in wonderment. “I mean, to con us all this time?” But even as she spoke, she saw him bemused by the colloquial reference. “Deceive, I guess, would be the closest analogy. Though it’s a harsher word than I’d intend.”

  “The language, it was not so hard. The usage, the nuances, an altogether different proposition. But you are wrong, Shea-Pilot, deception is a most appropriate description. I break no claws over it. And given the circumstances, I suspect I would do much the same again. As for the rest, Matai and I were always linked by a two-way transceiver. She heard my conversations and could relay an instantaneous analysis, together with the best response.”

  “No one ever twigged, er, noticed.”

  “As your Provost Marshal told you, we are alien to your species. You have little way of knowing which gestures are pure idiosyncrasy and which are meaningful.”

  “That cuts both ways, I would hope.”

  “More so without a Speaker, yes. Because our bonds are, as you said, familial, much of our lives are defined by obligation. The duty that transcends the responsibilities of the work place. Obligation to ship, to Commander, to crew. A mutually all-embracing network that can be both strength and, regrettably, weakness.”

  He “shrugged,” tagging the gesture with a dismayed rumble from deep in his chest prompted, Nicole suspected, by a look back over some unpleasant memories. “Because to live is to be, in ways small and large, fallible.” A grin now, more in his eyes than on his lips. “What both our species would call being ‘only human.’ ”

  “I don’t want your obligations, Kymri.”

  “Then stay on the ground. Use Cobri’s toys to craft in fantasy what is beyond reality’s grasp. Sit upstairs in my chair—which, by rights, is as much yours, for the work you have done and the skill you possess—and tell yourself you do the right thing. Accept that is as far as you will ever go. Return to your island, Nicole. You will want for nothing. For all you have done we would see to that, even were you not Shavrin’s Child.”

  “You’re being hard, Kymri.”

  “The primary function of a First. Shavrin rules the ship, I run it.”

  There was a scent of anger about him, echoed by movements that came in quick, precise staccatos, instead of the usual sleek legato that was the Hal’s hallmark. She remembered the pattern from Range Guide, just before the battle; he didn’t want to be here, felt his proper place was in the field, hunting his missing crewmate. But for all the years of service shared with Matai, Nicole was more important. That should have made her feel proud; instead, completely the opposite. Because not so many layers down was a wary touch of fear.

  “Speakers are genetically engineered to be sympatico with their subjects.” He acknowledged her statement with a flare of the nostrils. “Was Matai configured for the shuttle program or for me?”

  “Both.”

  “But I had priority.”

  “Yes.”

  “Using the genetic material you must have taken aboard Range Guide, when you tested me and Ben Ciari to see which of us could handle the metamorph virus?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what does that mean exactly? I assume she was bred for the job, trained for it, that’s how it works, yes?”

  “She was of that heritage. An aspect of her Self resonated with yours. She could think like you, react like you. It gave us insight.”

  “Was the chn’chywa part of it?”

  “A form of bonding. Of shifting that which was abstract and empiric onto a more primal and instinctively physical plane. Making it in a sense more real.”

  “Imprinting, we call it,” amazed to hear her voice so calm even when inside she was shrieking like a banshee, blood turning to fire as it rushed from a heart beating far too fast.

  “Something happened there,” she said.

  “The initial... image we had of you did not match what Matai perceived during the ceremony.”

  “I was damaged goods, huh?

  “Old wounds had not healed. A determination had to be made whether or not they ever would.”

  “What right—?”

  “Shavrin’s-Child,” he rumbled, using what was for him the equivalent of Sallinger’s command voice, stopping her tantrum
stillborn, “more than our lives hang in the balance. Shavrin, on instinct, bequeathed you an honor granted none other among her family. At her house, you sit by her, before her hearth. Such”—and he groped for the proper word, hobbled by the need for an absolutely precise meaning in a language that had no appropriate analog—“recognition must only go to one who is worthy.”

  “And on the second look, I didn’t fit the bill?”

  He didn’t understand and she decided not to bother explaining.

  “So for all intents and purposes, Matai is me.”

  “A part of her.”

  “More than a part, I suspect.” He was shaking his great head, in the gesture he’d picked up since his arrival. “Trust me in this, Kym, I know whereof I speak. It happened on Range Guide, to Ben. Remember, after your Speaker—the one who was supposed to waltz you through First Contact with us—got killed, you found yourselves forced to choose between me and Ben for a replacement. He got the nod because of the concern I’d prove so resonant to the virus that I’d never find my way back to being human again. Even so, over time, Ciari’s human personality was almost completely subsumed. Towards the end, when we were in the firefight with the Wolfpack, on their base asteroid, he was Hal. I mean, he knew he was Ben Ciari and that he was a United States Marshal—he knew that he was Terran and human—it didn’t matter. In every way that counted—thought processes, emotions, instincts—he was Hal.”

  “So?”

  “Whatever happened in my house triggered a psychotic response in both of us. Simultaneously. Matai got all the attention because she’s the more physically dynamic of the two of us. If I’d had her capabilities, I’d have hit Alex’s lab same as her, matching stride for stride. Blow for blow. Except I collapsed on the way.” She grimaced. “Perhaps that was what broke me loose from my trance state? Maybe she hasn’t been so lucky.”

  “Plausible. That being the case, you might have some insight into her movements. I will inform Rachiim-Colonel.”