The Kenval Incident

by Philippe Mercurio

  The seat in which Mallory was sitting, designed for a larger person, made her look frailer than she was. She ran through the checklist displayed on the screens one last time: all systems go.

  “Jazz?” she called out.

  Jazz was the ship’s Natural Intelligence. NIs were constructed from the brains of various evolved species, which meant they were both more rare and slower than Artificial Intelligences. However, their capacity for improvisation compensated for this weakness.

  Mallory didn’t know much about Jazz’s past, except that the human being used to build him had died violently—a knife attack in a seedy neighborhood in Nogartha, which implied that he had been involved in shady deals.

  In the middle of the control panel, a blue light lit up and a masculine voice spoke.

  “Here! O captain, my captain!” replied Jazz, whose sense of humor left something to be desired.

  Too anxious to notice, Mallory asked, “How much will this stay cost us?”

  “Horribly expensive. Enough to break the bank,” he announced, with a tone as cheerful as it was inappropriate.

  She sighed. Officially, the cost of docking was fixed and posted publicly, but there were also a number of “extra” fees, some more easily justifiable than others, which were always tacked on.

  “What vultures!” Mallory exclaimed. “I’ll never be able to afford an extra-solar hauling license if they keep taking the little I make!”

  There was no question in her mind that the astroport’s managers were imbeciles. By gouging her, they were preventing her from acquiring the license required for long hauls. Given that the Sirgan had been designed for prolonged travel, they were depriving her of a major source of income. As a prisoner of this financial vicious circle, she remained restricted to Earth’s suburbs.

  Mallory spoke, to herself as much as to the Natural Intelligence. “How am I going to make it between these idiots and Lebrane, who still owns part of my ship? If only Uncle Max were still alive… Or at least if he had borrowed money from someone honest.”

  As an only child, her father’s death and her mother’s remarriage two years later had left Mallory practically orphaned. Max had noticed his niece’s isolation and had taken the forsaken little girl under his wing. She missed the old man terribly.

  The transport ship was her inheritance. Unfortunately, her uncle had been unable to obtain a bank loan, and Lebrane had been the only one willing to finance it. She still had to buy back the usurer’s share and pay the extra interest, all while turning a percentage of her profits over to this thief. Worse, if she failed to repay the loan, the contract would make him the sole owner of the Sirgan.

  “You’re not getting depressed, I hope?” Jazz scolded gently. “It doesn’t become you. Your uncle wanted to prove his brother’s innocence, but he had an even bigger long-term project: traveling from one system to another, earning his living by transporting merchandise. You are so close to achieving his dream. Yes, it’s true, your accounts are always in the red, but it won’t take long to fix the situation and to get rid of Lebrane. Don’t let money troubles beat you down now!”

  He was right. She pulled herself together. Sooner or later, she would end up resolving the problem. Just as she would find a way to get to the Eridane-E system and restore her father’s good name. Recovering her professional demeanor, she ordered, “Send the payment to the control room and request authorization to take off as soon as possible!”

  Mallory devoted the next two hours to finishing up some maintenance and then retired to her cabin. With the door closed, she stretched her clasped hands over her head. She only stopped upon hearing several joints pop, after which she took off her heavy boots and her form-fitting suit.

  A carefully polished section of the metal wall served as a mirror. Completely nude, Mallory examined her reflection. On her arms, the flowers were barely open and were surrounded by long thorns, proof that she had not yet tamped down her anxiety. To forget her worries, she examined her svelte body, seeking imperfections that didn’t exist. Her arms were thin and muscled. The curves of her thighs led to a flat stomach and emphasized her waist. Small pink areolae completed her modest but harmonious breasts.

  With her black hair pulled back, she examined her face. Under the white light of the bulb built into the ceiling, her thin eyebrows, which sliced across her pale skin, seemed to be the same shade of black as her eyes. Thin and straight, her nose sat above her full lips, which she could transform from sullen to seductive in an instant. Satisfied, she turned her back on her reflection and slid into the shower installed in one corner.

  Under the jet of scalding water, she thought back to her last meeting with Lebrane. She was sure that things would go off the rails sooner or later. However, when the Idernax employees had placed the cargo in her ship’s hold, she had lingered a moment to examine the large crate with her own eyes. The accompanying document listed equipment destined for the mines. The dimensions, also recorded, matched correctly.

  The more she thought about it, the more she wondered what kind of nasty object was actually hidden in that large box.

  Her curiosity got the better of her. Throwing caution to the wind, she turned off the water, dried herself halfway, pulled on her clothes quickly, and dashed to the hold, leaving soapy puddles along her path.

  Ignoring her dripping hair, she grabbed a crowbar and attacked the carefully sealed crate. She assailed one of the sides until it gave way with a resounding crack. Cautiously, she stepped back to let the panel drop to the floor before risking a peek inside. “Empty… A fucking empty shell!” Mallory yelled, beside herself. “What is going on? That piece of shit Lebrane. If he thinks he’s going to get away with this, he’s really misjudged me!”

  Contemplating the disemboweled crate, she realized how right her instincts had been. The Natural Intelligence, able to hear everything in the ship, interrupted her while she was reeling off a string of curses.

  “Captain? Your dear associate would like to speak with you.”

  “Of course,” she added, leaving the hold. “That bastard! What’s he want now? Jazz, I’ll take it at the cockpit.”

  She ran through the interior of the Sirgan on the double, ending up in the pilot’s chair. With an enraged slap at the screen facing her, she accepted the communication. “Lebrane! What are you playing at, you piece of crap?” she demanded, furious.

  The blond with the green eyes leered at her. “Mallory. You opened my package. I thought you would,” he said, as pleased as a cat playing with an agonized mouse. “Right now, Idernax is pressing charges against you for theft of a mineral extraction prototype. It goes without saying that it’s your word against that of a very respectable corporation.” A sadistic smile twisted his mouth, and he added, “Considering your familial antecedents, even the bravest lawyer will refuse to defend you.”

  Inside, she was boiling. The reference to her father’s so-called crime almost erased her last vestiges of patience. However, after several years of interacting with the crooks who infested the solar system’s spaceports, she knew the game well enough to play. Only the tension of her grip on the armrests and the large thorns on her sensitive tattoos gave away her desire to kill him. She took a deep breath and replied, “Okay! Spit it out! What do you actually want? You didn’t put on this show just to get revenge for… yelling at you.”

  His grin widened. “Bravo! I didn’t expect any less from you. Reasonable, without needing to be reminded where your interests lie. You are indeed going to Io, not to drop off a package, but to pick one up. Destined for Kenval, in the Procyon system. A charming little trip of eleven light years.”

  “Eleven point three, to be precise,” the Natural Intelligence noted.

  “Jazz?” asked Mallory with ice in her voice.

  “Yes captain?”

  “Silence, or I’ll unplug you.”

  “…”

  To Lebrane, she said, “Are you making fun of me? I don’t have a license for that kind of work! You know that p
erfectly well!”

  “That’s exactly what I’m looking for. No license, therefore no registration. I need someone who can slip in and out anonymously, even invisibly. Once on Io, one of my guys will be in touch. He’ll give you what you need to leave the solar system undetected. From now on, you’re a fugitive. We’ll not speak again until your ‘mission’ has been completed successfully,” the con man laughed.

  With these words, his image disappeared. Mastering her fury with great difficulty, Mallory returned to the hold. She kicked away the empty packaging and then let off some steam on the old, deactivated training android hanging in a corner. Another gift from her uncle, dating back to the time when he was initiating her into one of his great passions: combat sports.

  Left jab.

  “I will have…”

  Right hook.

  “…your skin…”

  Left leg sweep.

  “…you asshole!”

  And so on until she wore herself out. Breathing hard and leaning forward with her hands on her thighs, she glanced at the gaping crate. A thick metal plate covered the bottom to fool the transporters during handling.

  “Unbelievable!” she swore. “It’s a phantom package!”

  This dirty trick was only meant to have been good enough to fool the surveillance videos. Her uncle wouldn’t be proud of her: she had fallen for the ruse like a little kid…

  With very low morale, she continued the preparations for departure in a daze. When the green light came from the port authority, she executed a brusque maneuver. Spitting out a plume of white flame from each of the ship’s four thrusters, the reactors tore the ship from the ground, leaving a circle of white-hot concrete on the tarmac.

  The Sirgan approached Io at top speed, heading for Mycenae, the main city. A pretentious name for a bunch of prefabricated modules piled on top of each other under a dome. Ten million people lived among its filth in poverty and fear of volcanic eruptions.

  This made for an abundant workforce whose exploitation enriched several oligarchs. They lived in the central tower, linking the surface with the top of the protective shell, which was guarded by a private security company. In the rest of the colony, a completely overwhelmed police force watched the crime statistics double each year. Prostitution, theft, and trafficking of every kind provided the daily backdrop on this Jovian satellite. The workers toiled like slaves in the refineries, in exchange for a salary that wasn’t enough to allow them to escape this domed nightmare.

  Mallory left the controls to Jazz and went back into the bowels of the ship. Max’s old associates were a bad surprise that came with his gift to her, but there were benefits as well. The cabin closest to the hold was set up to maintain a living being in stasis. She initiated the awakening procedure. She had carefully saved a letter from her uncle on this subject. Rereading it while bringing the third member of the crew back to life had become a ritual:

  My Dear Mallory,

  I am writing these sentences in the hope that you will never need them, but I have become an old man, and I must plan for the inevitable. In the stasis chamber you will find Torg, a cybrid. He was created on Panja, not long before the Nageks destroyed that planet.

  The Panjans had been crossbreeding semi-intelligent species for centuries and had created hundreds of distinct lines. They had a dedicated cybrid for each task: some were tall and strong for hard work; others were thin and nimble for delicate activities… Their biological science was so developed that they never needed to create any autonomous machines. At most they would add reinforcement or mechanical tools. Sadly, their uncommon approach to technology led to their downfall.

  Jazz let out a high-pitched sound, interrupting Mallory’s reading.

  “I’ve done some research on the global network. Kenval and its system are nothing like Aldebaran or Antares. It’s the least stable area in the galaxy—a real nest of murderous vipers. Without the Vohrns’ iron fist to maintain control, there would have been a series of wars over planetary control. To top it all off, certain areas are contaminated by a mutagenic virus.”

  “Well then, now we know why Lebrane chose us to run his errands,” she replied resignedly.

  “In short, waking up our furry friend is an excellent idea. Let’s just hope he won’t break anything for once.”

  She smiled. Jazz loved Torg as much as she did. His sarcastic remarks were just a facade. “I’m counting on you to keep an eye on him,” she said distractedly, diving back into Max’s letter.

  … Excellent biologists, but awful engineers, the Panjans didn’t have a space fleet worthy of the name. When the Nageks attacked their system, they were swept away by those fanatics of biological purity. In the name of a primitive dogma, Panja was destroyed: its continents burned until the rock and the oceans had been poisoned. Only a handful of cybrids survived the holocaust.

  Torg is one of them. He was designed as a bodyguard, but he can also be useful whenever you need some muscle. In addition to being loyal, he is affectionate and faithful, even a tad possessive. You’ll see what I mean when the time comes.

  As an independent hauler, you’ll have to deal with unscrupulous scumbags. Rest assured: your new friend is capable of taking on a dozen men as easily as a child knocking down a toy army. With a companion like him, no one will be able to stop you from exposing the truth about your father. Take care of Torg, and he will watch over you in return. It may be the last gift that I’ll be able to give you.

  Your uncle,

  Max

  Mallory refolded the letter. True to the old man’s words, Torg had proven to be up to the task. He had quickly become a full-fledged member of the ship’s crew. His only flaw was that he sometimes suffered from claustrophobia. On board a transport ship, this could become a problem, which accounted for the amount of time he spent in stasis.

  Once the indicator lights turned green, she unlocked the special cabin. When Torg emerged, he stretched out, attaining such height that he seemed too big to fit inside the small compartment. A colossus at more than eight feet tall and 410 pounds, he was covered with thick black fur striped with red. Metallic reinforcements connected by strips of steel formed an exoskeleton that protected his joints. His semi-spherical head sat directly on top of his torso, like an enormous hump rising between his wide shoulders. His blue eyes, as wide as saucers, provided him with an enlarged field of vision—a feature that compensated for his lack of neck.

  He stretched out an arm and ruffled Mallory’s hair affectionately with a hand endowed with two rows of three opposable fingers. Retractable steel claws as sharp as razors extended from the exoskeleton. His grip was strong enough to tie knots in a titanium bar.

  “Good morning, Torg,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, but I’m starving,” he grumbled in a deep and surprisingly warm voice.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I thought you might be hungry, so I have enough to fill you up. Follow me to the galley.”

  Once seated in the on-board kitchen, Torg voraciously attacked the food she had laid out for him. With each mouthful, his wide head tilted backward to reveal a large mouth filled with pointed teeth. He enthusiastically gobbled down meat, a mix of luco and macar—vegetables imported from Deneb—six pounds of protein cubes, and several quarts of glucose. Just enough to satisfy his appetite.

  The thorns on Mallory’s skin receded and were replaced by scarlet roses in full bloom. Sitting next to him, she felt her fear drain away. She didn’t know what awaited them on Io, but with her warrior teddy bear, she was ready to confront an entire army.

  III

  ENCOUNTER

  AFTER being searched, identified, and scanned from head to toe, Mallory and Torg stepped through the airlock into Mycenae. The astroport’s dome clung to the one protecting the capital of the volcanic satellite like a soap bubble on the surface of water. An aperture opened periodically at its summit, allowing ships to enter one by one. It would be impossible to land there undetected…


  While Mallory and Torg were walking away from the ship, she received a message from a dormant mailbox. The text, scheduled for delivery upon her arrival, appeared in front of her eyes. It was a series of coordinates. Her navcom recorded them and, to guide her, superimposed a glowing line on her field of vision. She moved forward through the maze of back streets, followed by Torg.

  The smell was atrocious, and the place was crawling with people. They had to elbow their way through the crowd to reach their destination, a prefabricated unit that passed with difficulty for a building. To the right of the entrance, protected by a metallic panel, a list of numbers was displayed on a grimy screen. Mallory pressed the correct button and the device emitted an old-fashioned tune. It stopped when a face appeared behind the dirt covering the screen.

  A voice deformed by the poor quality of the intercom spoke. “Ah! Beauty and the Beast! Not a moment too soon. Third floor, end of the hall on the right.”

  The door slid open with a grating noise like a knife scraping the surface of a dinner plate. Instinctively, Mallory moved closer to Torg.

  This was no time to lower her guard. The whole affair had begun too badly to not be cautious now.

  When they reached the apartment in question, an individual with a noticeably athletic build welcomed the pair. He brought the two new arrivals inside without taking his gray eyes off them.

  The apartment contained just one room furnished with a worn mattress on the floor, a table, and a rusty chair. Mallory studied their host, trying to take his measure.

  No longer particularly young, he seemed nevertheless in excellent condition, towering over her by at least a head. His angular face was adorned with a three-day beard. His cropped, salt-and-pepper hair revealed a scar beginning at his right temple and ending in the middle of the back of his neck. He wore an unmemorable, traditional suit composed of slacks and a charcoal gray jacket.