Synthesis

by Rexx Deane

  Sebastian tapped commands into the console. ‘I’m taking us in.’

  The ship flew over the sphere to line up with the northern pole of the station. The automated docking procedures took control of the ship and, after the vessel in front had cleared the entrance, matched rotation and guided them into the golden maw.

  ‘Sebastian, I suggest interlinking with the station’s security system and using their internal sensors to locate the hostages.’

  He tapped away at the console again. ‘Good idea, Wolfram, but it looks like they don’t have those kinds of sensors. It is only a fuel depot, after all … On the upside, there aren’t too many rooms, but they’re connected by lots of long, winding corridors.’

  The Ultima Thule drifted through a pair of spaceport-grade airlocks and a short tunnel that opened into a large, well-lit spherical docking chamber. Ships floated at various levels, moored to bays around the inside of the hangar, and people moved about on the walkways that joined the jetties to the main complex. Thin veils of mist clung to many of the ships, flowing around the coolant pipes and down onto the walkways. Three of the larger ships resembled ancient dirigibles that had somehow become lodged in their own private clouds.

  ‘I’ve never noticed that before,’ Aryx said.

  ‘It’s where the artificial gravity spills out and draws the colder vapours towards them.’

  ‘Not the fog. The ship we followed is dusty.’

  ‘It’s probably just space dust attracted by the node charge.’

  With a clunk and lurch to port, the Ultima came to rest in the nearest free docking bay.

  Sebastian pointed to the far side of the chamber. ‘There! That’s Gladrin’s ship.’

  Aryx leaned forwards; the ship lacked the misty sheath of the others. ‘He can’t be aboard, his gravity’s off.’

  ‘Damn it,’ Sebastian said, checking console readouts, ‘the thruster manifolds are cool. He’s been here at least half an hour.’

  ‘Still, that’s better than we anticipated.’

  Sebastian scrabbled around the cockpit, collecting up items. He picked up the rucksack and slung it over his shoulder, but hesitated before picking up the SI-pistol. After several attempts at shoving it into his belt, he grimaced and carried it in his hand. ‘You coming?’ he said, making his way to the ladder.

  Aryx wheeled to the lift. ‘Are you kidding? An opportunity to kick someone’s arse comes up and you have to ask?’

  When he arrived at the bottom, Sebastian was attaching the hood to the N-suit.

  ‘Why are you putting that on?’

  ‘So if Gladrin spots us, he might not immediately recognise me.’

  ‘Oh, and he’s not going to recognise this.’ Aryx gestured to his chair. ‘And you’d be less recognisable if you put a pressure suit on over the top. Your N-suit sticks out like a sore thumb.’

  ‘Fine, but I really don’t have time for this.’ Sebastian began pulling on a pressure suit but kept the hood. ‘How’s this?’ he said, holding his arms out to the side.

  Aryx rolled his eyes. ‘Even your own mother wouldn’t recognise you, now let’s go!’

  Chapter 35

  Aryx shot down the ramp from the Ultima Thule and skidded at the bottom. The heat and humidity of the docking bay hit him like a wet flannel to the face – no wonder there was so much mist forming around the coolant conduits. Now that he was inside, the station seemed far more industrial than he’d expected, with gantries and walkways made of temporary scaffolding, clamped together. It was strange to see so many ships in the space – a dozen, at least – yet so few people walking around, and with no cargo.

  Cascades of sparks showered from one ship. Hot beads of metal bounced off onto the walkway, while others sprayed into the open space of the chamber, floating there until they cooled and faded. A tannoy blared intermittently, informing wayward passengers of their need to return to a newly fuelled vessel.

  A grating, metallic screech echoed through the chamber and Aryx wheeled around the ship to get a better look. He shook his head in disgust. The Fluorescent Lightingale, the clumsy rectangular transport frigate they had followed in, had docked too fast and slowly scraped along its mooring point. The ship was now dust-free. Strange … It’s not like they’d gone through any decontamination process.

  He reached out and ran his fingers down the front of the Ultima Thule, leaving dark lines. So, there was dust on their ship, too. He rubbed his fingertips together, but there was no residue. He glanced at the spot he’d touched – the finger swipes had disappeared. No. The dust had disappeared.

  ‘Are you coming?’ Sebastian shouted. He stood on a walkway mounted on the docking chamber wall.

  ‘On my way!’ Aryx sped past the ship, turned right off the gantry onto the walkway, and caught up with him just as he approached the door to the main complex.

  A guard stepped from an alcove, holding out an infoslate. ‘Identification, please.’ He pointed down at Sebastian’s right hand. ‘Firearms are not allowed aboard the station.’

  Sebastian gave the guard a flat stare and pressed his thumb against the tablet.

  The guard examined the credentials and raised an eyebrow. ‘Second one today.’ He waved dismissively. ‘Go on. Just don’t shoot the walls.’

  ‘How long ago did the other agent pass?’ Sebastian asked. ‘We need to catch up with him.’

  ‘A few minutes ago, he asked for directions to the storage lockup. It’s through the door, down the corridor to the end there, then follow the red stripe.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Aryx wheeled through the doorway to the facility, moving quickly on the smooth floor, with Sebastian loping behind. In moments he reached a T-junction where coloured lines ran along the wall and floor in both directions. The red stripe started there and headed off to the right. He beckoned to Sebastian and set off at full speed.

  The line ended at a solid, heavy-duty pressure door topped with a large sign that read Storage. He activated the door control.

  Blarp!

  ‘Damn! It’s stuck!’ He wheeled to the access panel and pulled on the red handle several times. The door didn’t budge.

  Sebastian arrived, breathing heavily. ‘What’s up? Why isn’t it open?’

  ‘It’s jammed. I bet the bastard’s welded it shut from the other side.’

  ‘I do not detect any system malfunction,’ Wolfram said. ‘The door sensors are not indicating a mechanism jam internally. This would support your hypothesis.’

  ‘How are we going to get in there?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘I’ll get a plasma cutter from the ship.’

  ‘We don’t have time for that! I’ll have to find another way in.’ Sebastian stomped off down the corridor.

  Aryx leaned forwards to inspect the door. The seam was tight and wouldn’t have required much weld on the other side to seal it; it was worth trying to cut it open, anyway – just in case there was no other way in. He headed back to the hangar and caught up with Sebastian as he finished talking to the guard.

  ‘Did you ask if there was another way in?’ Aryx asked.

  ‘I did.’ Sebastian bit his lip and turned towards the ship.

  Aryx narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it?’

  Sebastian jogged up the ramp into the Ultima Thule and took a helmet from the pressure suit rack. ‘There is another way in.’

  ‘Let me guess—’

  ‘—it’s outside. A maintenance hatch in the middle of one of the reflector dishes.’

  ‘You’re insane! You’re going to be the death of us!’ Aryx wheeled between Sebastian and the airlock, barring his way out of the ship.

  ‘I don’t have a choice. I don’t have time to wait for you to cut through the door and I can’t give Gladrin a chance to get settled in. Now move aside.’

  ‘If you insist on going out, I won’t stop you, but there’s no way I’ll sit by and do nothing. I’m going to cut through the weld.’ He took the plasma cutter from the storage rack in the cargo bay an
d carried it back to the airlock on his lap.

  Sebastian clipped his helmet into place.

  Aryx grabbed his arm. ‘Just be careful!’ he said and wheeled down the ramp.

  ***

  Sebastian waited in the maintenance airlock for the door to open, gun in hand. What was he going to do when he reached the hatch in the reflector and got back inside the station? Would Gladrin have expected this move and be waiting?

  He activated the magnetic clamps on his boots and hooked his feet in the ladder on the floor. Crouching, he waited as the outer doors opened onto the star-studded curtain of space. A red light came on and his innards sagged back towards the core of the station; with the airlock’s gravity plating off, the station’s emergent gravity must have been enough to affect him. He blinked to banish the vertigo brought on by the wheeling stars and lugged himself up the ladder and over the edge, where his boots locked onto the surface of the vast, golden globe. Even with the visor’s tinting, it took a few moments for his eyes to become accustomed to the bright reflected light.

  A hundred or so metres away to his right, the curved horizon dropped away sharply where it met the nearest reflector bowl. He approached the dish as the collector assembly hanging above the centre flared with focused sunlight. The vacuum only added to the danger: he couldn’t see the beam itself – only the glint of light as it reflected in his direction.

  Wolfram’s voice came through the suit’s intercom. ‘Sebastian, the hatch is in the next reflector along. You will have to circumnavigate this obstacle. Your suit will not withstand the temperature. It is in the region of ten thousand degrees. Skirting the dish would be more efficient, and less dangerous.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t have time to go around. The boots make it too slow and I don’t have an EVA pack.’ He strode up to the rim, stopping a few feet away from the edge.

  ‘Sebastian, wait! This is not a wise move.’

  ‘Then help me – how frequent are the pulses?’

  ‘Fifteen seconds duration, with a gap of forty-five. The dish will be hot for the first ten seconds after a pulse.’

  ‘Right, count me in.’ He braced himself for a run. ‘The magboots and low gravity should provide enough attraction to pull me back down at a sprint – well, as much as I can manage.’

  The collector assembly dimmed.

  ‘I still think this is unwise – ten seconds.’

  ‘Duly noted.’

  ‘Five … Four … Three …’

  ‘Here we go!’

  ‘Two … One.’

  He launched himself off the edge. The fall into the dish was agonisingly slow. Hitting the bottom, the boots locked on with a clunk that shook his legs and he stumbled forwards, wrenching his rearmost foot free. It was more difficult than he’d anticipated; the boots weren’t responsive – there was no way he could run.

  ‘Thirty seconds to next pulse.’

  ‘I’m … going as fast as I can!’ It was difficult to walk, let alone walk fast, and his breathing grew harsh and laboured. He cleared the lowest portion of the dish and began to climb the opposite incline.

  ‘Fifteen seconds …’

  He approached the top, the slope leaning him back into the path of the beam as he walked up the incline. In a half-hearted attempt to pull himself away from the centre, he crouched.

  ‘Ten seconds …’

  Sebastian faltered as he tried to extend his leg over the lip of the dish; the surface fell away in front of him – the angle was too much. There was no way he was going to get his foot in contact with it. ‘I can’t get a grip and I can’t deactivate my left boot! I can’t pull it up.’

  ‘Keep your leg out straight … now.’

  The tension left his leg and he drifted away from the dish while the magnetic field of the right foot drew him down over the edge of the dish and back towards the station’s hull.

  ‘Five …’

  His foot came down and the field locked on.

  ‘Four …’

  He pulled with all his might on his right leg. It bent painfully.

  ‘Three … Two …’

  He straightened, but the inertia carried him forwards.

  ‘One.’

  Sebastian struck out with his left leg. The reactivated boot locked on and pulled him firmly to the surface. Vibration ran through the floor. He glanced back as the collector flared brightly. Close scrapes were becoming too much of a habit.

  ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘I’m alright, just about.’ He rubbed his knee. ‘Thanks for releasing the boot. That was close.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I have no intention of getting fried like my unfortunate successor.’

  Reflected golden stars glinted beneath him as he limped towards the next dish. His knee ached. Magnetic boots could be so unforgiving.

  There it was – the faint outline of the maintenance hatch at the bottom of the curve, tantalisingly close.

  ‘I can break into the security and release the lock electronically,’ Wolfram said, ‘but you will need to operate the manual actuator to open the hatch.’

  ‘Can you do it from here?’

  ‘No, the range is too far. I will have adequate time to disable the security during your approach. However, you will have to make it to the bottom quickly or there will be insufficient time for you to operate the actuator.’

  Sebastian took a few moments to ready himself while he waited for the next pulse to finish. He hesitated. Perhaps Wolfram was right, and this wasn’t the best way. His thoughts went to Janyce and Erik—

  ‘Give me a countdown.’

  ‘Three … Two … One …’

  He couldn’t do it!

  —Janyce and Erik, cowering under Gladrin’s heartless stare.

  He hurled himself into the bowl.

  ***

  Aryx wheeled along the corridor to the storage depot with the plasma cutter on his lap and welding mask on his head. Nobody in authority seemed to have noticed the problem with the door. Either the guard was so nonchalant he hadn’t bothered to inform anyone else, or Sebastian hadn’t mentioned it to him. The latter was more likely; it would have involved bureaucracy, and he wouldn’t have wanted to risk Gladrin being alerted by station security. If the station systems weren’t up to notifying staff, well, somebody had to take responsibility for the situation.

  He pulled down the mask and the cutter flared into life as he drew it down the joint between the panels. If he could get it hot enough, it might break the weld the other side.

  Several seconds passed and still only a fraction of an inch was cleared. It was going to be slow work. Sebastian – however reckless his actions – was right; if Gladrin had time to hunker down and set measures in place, they’d have no choice but to hand Wolfram over. Would that really be such a bad thing, in exchange for two real Human lives?

  ‘Oh, Wolfram, I wish you were here.’ He paused cutting. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t have to understand programming to appreciate how unique it was for a device to understand such qualities as humour. Surely, to understand humour it had to feel? After everything they had been through on Achene, Wolfram had proved his trustworthiness and integrity, and that was something too rare and precious to lose, or see fall into the clutches of those who would abuse it. They couldn’t give Wolfram up.

  He restarted the cutter and something thudded on the other side of the heavy door; a piece of loosened weld dropping off.

  If Gladrin heard that, he’d know they were close. Oh damn, why didn’t it occur to him before? Gladrin might not be trying to slow them – he may have welded the door shut with the intent of separating them by directing Sebastian through the other entrance. It would be the perfect place for an ambush.

  He activated his wristcom. ‘Seb, if you can hear me, be careful! Gladrin’s planned for this!’ The wristcom blarped and a cold sweat erupted down the back of his neck. Sebastian was in good hands, but those sun-lasers would kill him and Wolfram instantly if they made the slightest error in ju
dgement. What could he do? The only option was to notify someone.

  ‘Establish encrypted connection to station security.’

  ‘Security. Officer Deruno here,’ came a gruff, masculine voice. It didn’t sound Human.

  ‘This is Aryx Trevarian of Tenebrae station, attached to SpecOps Agent Thorsson. I need a security team at the storage depot immediately – there is a hostage situation taking place. The agent is on his way to the depot via the outside maintenance hatch, while I’m attempting to break a weld on the door and enter directly.’

  ‘Rah!’ barked the voice over the wristcom. ‘We are not equipped for situations such as this, but I am on my way!’ The comms cut off.

  Two minutes later, booted feet thundered down the corridor. Aryx stopped cutting and lifted his welding mask.

  A figure, at least seven foot tall – though it was hard to judge sitting in the wheelchair – strode towards him. Clad in heavyweight black Kevlar and carbon-fibre armour, the creature’s powerful arms carried a large, scoped rifle. Its thin, oddly-jointed legs terminated in small paw-like feet. The upper torso, in contrast to the slender abdomen, was massive, and its wide, solid neck curved forwards; the plated segments covering it merged with a helmet shaped like a wolf’s head. Its glowing red gaze gripped Aryx’s momentarily; the armour would surely strike terror into the hearts of the most fearsome of enemies.

  The figure stopped several feet away and propped the rifle up against its leg. Bringing up a partially-armoured claw, it pulled back the helmet and the neck segments collapsed, exposing a short-muzzled canine face with salt-and-pepper fur, topped with two fuzzy trapezoidal ears. It reminded Aryx of a hyena, grown to monstrous bipedal proportions, and he recognised the species immediately.

  The Bronadi saluted. ‘Officer Deruno, at your service.’

  ***

  Sebastian sank to the bottom of the dish, landing with a shin-jarring clunk as the boots locked on.

  ‘Forty seconds until the next pulse,’ Wolfram said.