Nova Igniter

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Very well, then. I will keep you apprised of the situation here. If you can do so without endangering yourself, please let me know what you are doing and what, if anything, I can do to help. Given how long it took for our association to blossom into something more, I would be very cross with you if you vanished into the inky void of space without so much as a ‘by your leave.’”

  “You and me both.” He stood in the doorway of the car. “So, are we at the kiss good-bye stage, or—”

  Preethy grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him into another kiss. “May it bring you luck.”

  “Right… yeah…” he said dumbly.

  She smirked and shut the door. He watched the autocar drive off.

  “Wow… Dating a CEO-type is kind of a different beast…” he said.

  He tried to shake the grin off his face and wipe away any lingering lipstick as he stepped through the door to the hangar. Like virtually every other part of this slice of Operlo, the hangar was relatively new. This novelty was reflected quite clearly in its unique design. Many of the oldest hangars still had residual design elements from the earliest days of aviation. Massive doors on the front and back for vehicles to taxi in and out. Multiple individual hangars isolated from one another to facilitate prefabrication and cut down on the damage should there be an explosion. Nowadays one hundred percent of air vehicles and the vast majority of “land” vehicles were capable of vertical takeoff and landing. Propulsion systems and fuel composition had matured to the point that explosions were rare, and even if they had been still common, the materials and fire suppression available for buildings were such that all but the worst detonations could easily be contained.

  The new hangar took all these facts into consideration. Ships entered and exited through roof hatches. The hangar facility was a huge grid of tightly packed chambers, navigated entirely indoors like low-cost storage lockers for apartment dwellers. It was effectively a land-bound equivalent to the docking bays in orbital facilities. Lex was sad he’d missed the classic era of marching up to a big, arched, corrugated-aluminum structure and heaving the door aside to reveal his ship. But the crisp feeling of air-conditioning was more than enough for him to embrace progress.

  A man turned the corner ahead. He had Squee held at arm’s length while she attempted to stretch her neck the nine additional inches it would take to lick his face.

  “Mr. Alexander?” he said.

  “You know anyone else with a black-and-white fuzzball like that, Carlos?” Lex said.

  “You leaving the planet today?”

  Lex trotted up and rescued him from Squee’s affection. “Yep. Hope to be back in plenty of time for the championship. Why, something up?”

  “It’s happening again,” Carlos said gravely.

  “What’s happening again?”

  “The thing.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than…” Lex paused. “Oh, you mean you’re hearing things again?”

  “Yeah. Scratching and such. Every time I check on the SOB it stops. But things are moved around. Someone’s screwing with me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Carlos,” Lex said.

  He continued toward the bay that held his ship. Carlos trotted along beside him.

  “I checked and double-checked all the entrances and exits. None of the doors have opened. There’s been no access, not even through the overhead hatches.” He counted off on his fingers. “I checked the corridor cameras, nothing. I checked the audio, and there’s the same things I remember hearing. I checked the motion-detector logs, nothing outside the bay, but something inside the bay. Can I have permission to check the security footage in your bay?”

  “If my ship is fine, then I don’t care.”

  “It’s driving me nuts!”

  “Look, like I said, I’m heading out for a few days. So that’s a few days where the ol’ haunted ship won’t be bothering you.”

  “I know you think it’s harmless…”

  “That’s because it is harmless.”

  “We’ll see if you feel the same when you pop the door open.”

  Lex stepped up to the interior doorway to his personal bay. He waved his slidepad in front of the door. It hissed open, receding into the wall. Sensors helpfully clicked on the overhead light panels. Thanks to the retractable hatch that dominated the ceiling, the panels were clustered in the corners of the room. It produced a curious effect, casting shadows at odd angles that certainly served to underscore the spooky atmosphere Carlos had been describing. And, in Carlos’s defense, what was waiting for them inside the hangar was certainly enough to put a sane person ill at ease.

  Crates of assorted supplies had been popped open and emptied. Their contents were laid out on the floor in increasingly complex patterns. Larger components like struts and cables were coiled or angled into precise grids on the ground. Smaller components like nuts and bolts formed complex mandala-like designs. One particularly ambitious arrangement of washers traced out a smiling kitty cat. The only thing completely unaffected was the ship itself. It sat in the center of the hangar, a bit undersized for the size of the chamber. The glorious black coloring was completely free of scratches or dust. The only peculiar things about it were the massive chains attached to the docking hard-points, which made it look more like a caged animal than a vehicle.

  “There, see? See?!” Carlos said. “People have been vandalizing your hangar. And I don’t know how they’re getting in.”

  “It’s fine, Carlos. No damage done. Don’t worry about cleaning it up. I’ll deal with it later.”

  “Mr. Alexander, it’s my job we’re talking about.”

  Lex dug into his pocket and revealed a pair of poker chips. He dropped them into the frazzled maintenance worker’s hand. “Here. I thank you for the concern. You’re doing a great job. I’m going to load up and get moving. Give me a ping when I’ve got exit permissions, okay?”

  Carlos gave Lex an uncertain look, then slowly backed away and shut the door. Lex locked it and turned to his ship.

  “Coal, you’re upsetting the normals again,” he said.

  Interior lights illuminated within the SOB’s cockpit. An external speaker crackled at low volume. “Hi, Lex. I’m getting better with the fine control of the tractor beam.”

  He set Squee down and tiptoed across the assorted designs. The funk pranced about, inspecting anything that might have a distinctive odor.

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said. “Impressive.”

  “The kitty cat is my favorite. I did it from memory.”

  “You’re an AI, Coal. Doing something from memory is exactly equivalent to me looking up a reference.”

  “This in no way diminishes my artistic achievement. Algorithmic art is still art because all art is algorithmic. And also, cats are cute.”

  “Granted. But the guy who takes care of this place is Carlos, and Carlos isn’t used to ships being guests rather than equipment.”

  “Carlos needs to learn more about his guests. Except don’t let him in here, because he’d probably clean up my room, and I just finished decorating.”

  “Yeah, the thing is, most ship AIs are basically a way to press buttons when your hands are busy, not a delightful little scamp with too much time on her hands.”

  “I don’t have hands, Lex.”

  “Figuratively speaking. And while we’re on the subject, didn’t I turn you off? Didn’t we have a big conversation about how I felt bad leaving you locked in a dock, and you told me that I could just turn you off and it’d be like no time was passing for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why are you on?”

  “Oh. Last night I got a return-beacon activation code that woke me up.”

  “What’s a return-beacon activation code?”

  “There’s some software hooks in here designed to recall the SOB to Big Sigma if particularly dire circumstances arise, or I suppose if Karter makes the arbitrary decision to d
o so.”

  “Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “Considering how deep in the code it was, it was probably something Karter either didn’t want you to know about or simply forgot he made. Fortunately, I decided it wasn’t necessary to respond to it. And then I made the kitty out of washers. Do you really like the kitty?”

  “Yes. It’s lovely. Do we know why the beacon was activated?”

  “It is a toggle. ‘Come home’ or don’t. No information besides the coordinates, which match Big Sigma.”

  He sighed. “The signs that something is terribly wrong are really starting to pile up. How are we set for food, water, and toiletries?”

  “Fully stocked. Except for peanuts.”

  “What happened to the peanuts?”

  An external hull light flicked on to illuminate another complex pattern laid out in the shadow of a crate. This one was of a fox.

  “The shades of brown were just perfect for my little foxy,” Coal said.

  “You can’t just spread food on the floor. You’ll attract ants.”

  “Ants have yet to be introduced to this habitat.”

  “Roaches then.”

  “Processing… Roaches have indeed been introduced due to lackluster cargo-sanitation protocols. Dispatching scanner drone to record my masterpieces for posterity.”

  A small black orb popped out of a recess in the SOB and focused, one by one, on the pieces of art. When she was finished, Lex grabbed a broom and swept up the food.

  “Have you been in contact with Big Sigma at all?”

  “Only the beacon. Why?”

  “Me and Mitch got hammered with ominous spam in huge quantities, and Michella’s referenced our little jaunt through time.”

  “That shouldn’t happen.”

  “I agree. And now Ma isn’t answering when we call.”

  “That shouldn’t happen either. Does this mean we are going for a ride?”

  “Yes. We are heading to Big Sigma just as fast as we can to hopefully discover that nothing at all is wrong and I can get back here and earn my long-overdue trophy.”

  “It is exceedingly unlikely that nothing unfortunate has happened or is happening, based on current information,” Coal said.

  “I know, but let me have my foolish optimism for at least the duration of a flight.”

  “As you wish. Travel time, corrected for current thrust upgrades and standard intuitive route-shortening, is one point three five six eight days. I shall schedule a reminder at that time to alert you to the fact that I correctly speculated that we were indeed in the midst of an incident.”

  “I look forward to the ‘I told you so.’ Now let’s get moving.”

  #

  Michella’s desk was a neon forest of glowing screens. Whereas most people were more than content using the holographic expansion of the old-fashioned 2D user interfaces on a single display, Michella had managed to cobble together a network of three screens. Their displays overlapped and interleaved in a way that made them a perfect digital counterpart for the heap of scattered pages, booklets, and other notes covering her desk. It served as equal parts filing system and security system. On one hand, it kept all Michella’s most crucial notes right at her fingertips. On the other, it ensured no one would ever be able to steal a scoop from her, because no one else could make heads or tails of what she was doing.

  The door thumped open, and a neatly dressed man with a tray of steaming cups backed in.

  “Jon! Good, I was wondering where you were,” Michella said without looking up. “I need you to start chasing down some people. The sort of data I need isn’t the kind you’d want sitting in a mailbox. No digital trail. Voice-only sort of stuff.”

  “Hi, Michella. Good morning. Oh, no worries. I was happy to come in three hours early. And you’re very welcome for the coffee,” Jon said with a shade more theater than was called for.

  “Sorry. Been working. Thank you. Did you get my messages?” she asked.

  “I got at least five of them. Fortunately for you the line at the coffee place was long enough that I was able to actually chew through some of them.” He looked over her desk. “Where should I put this?”

  She glanced up, saw the state of her desk, and used a datapad like a spatula to scoop up a few dozen sheets of handwritten notes. She shoveled them onto the top of a file cabinet. “Put them there.”

  He set down her coffee and blew on his own. “You know, we got you that filing cabinet as a joke. You’re literally the only person I know who still uses pen and paper for anything. I really didn’t think you’d fill it up.”

  “Pen and paper is how I think,” Michella said.

  He picked up a sheet and took a seat. “This says ‘VectorCorp Steve.’ Then it says ‘Single-Malt Scotch’ with two underlines.”

  “Right, right. Buy a bottle of that stuff and send it to him, would you? He got me some info, and I need to make sure he knows I’m grateful.”

  “You’re working a guy in VectorCorp for info? That’s what you had me doing.”

  “It’s all about working multiple angles, Jon. What’d you get?”

  “Let’s see…” He thumbed through his slidepad. “The distributed denial of service attack that affected small parts of our network was handled with speed and efficiency—”

  “Cut past the corporate buzzwords and back-patting.”

  He sputtered his lips for a bit. “Blah, blah, blah… Here we go. They say ‘the distributed attack was just that, distributed. Exhaustive transmission tracing has turned up no meaningful origin patterns.’ Then they go on to talk about how strange it is that it was an attack seemingly against an individual rather than organizations.”

  “Standard corporate line. Same thing Steve got me.”

  “See, if you’d waited for me to show up, you wouldn’t have to buy booze to bribe someone.”

  “It was worth the chance that he might have had something else I needed.”

  “So what do we think this is?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I know that VectorCorp is either unwilling or unable to help out.” She sipped her coffee. “You had them do a mocha, right?”

  “With extra chocolate. The usual order.”

  “Why can no one get this drink right…” she grumbled. “Whatever, it’s still caffeine.”

  “Speaking of ‘no one can get this drink right,’ you talked to Lex?”

  “I did,” she said, continuing her habit of addressing others without looking up.

  “How did, uh… how did that go?”

  “Same thing happened to him. He had a little insight into the picture, but nothing we could use.”

  “Right but how did it go socially.”

  “It wasn’t a social call, Jon.”

  He held his tongue, though his eyes were quite loudly expressing their disbelief.

  “If you’re going to say something, say it,” she said. “I’ve got work to do, and I don’t need you dancing around things.”

  “You guys were on the cusp of getting engaged at the end of last year, and now you haven’t spoken for months. I would think that a call after all that time might have had something, I don’t know, human in it?”

  “I’m not interested in discussing it with him, so I’m certainly not interested in discussing it with you.” She shut her eyes and shook her head. “This isn’t working. Time to do it the way we did in the exams.”

  “I used to just do the ‘pick C for every answer’ thing.”

  “I would go to the bottom of the exam and work up.” She efficiently gathered up the scattered pages on her desk and dropped them in a pile in the corner.

  “What’s the equivalent of going to the bottom of an investigation?”

  “Checking the oldest leads I have and seeing if anything’s come of them,” she said.

  “You just started this investigation yesterday. How old could the leads possibly be?”

  “No, no. You’ve got
to look at the bigger picture. This is a me-and-Lex problem. And me and Lex have got a history with all sorts of stories.” She cleared the displays in front of her and started swiping up new files. “We’re taking this back to the Neo-Luddites.”

  “The Neo-Luddites? They’re not even yesterday’s news. They’re the news from like two years ago.”

  “They also hate me, Lex, and everyone from Big Sigma. They are technology focused and thus might have the means and inclination to launch a cyberattack, and no one’s been paying any attention to them. Get your slidepad out. I’m sending you a contact list and the notes I have for each of the sources. Start with the ex-military and the corporate espionage people.”

  Chapter 2

  For something that had been his bread and butter not so long ago, it had been relative ages since Lex had done a long-haul sprint. He’d spent years honing the state of mind necessary to endure the multihour stretches of max-speed transit outside standard transit corridors followed by the brief blinks into standard space. It took a special sort of brain to be able to juggle the potent combination of boredom and anxiety that comes from spending half a day in constant danger of being blasted to bits by a rogue asteroid fragment, not to mention the frenzy of occasionally shaking route-enforcement agents during the brief breathers.

  Of course, in the old days he’d passed the downtime with books, music, mindless games on his slidepad, or snacking. Now he had an entirely different way to busy himself.

  “Granted, you probably could be more useful if you were still armed with a fusion bomb, but I’m really not comfortable just toting one around for no reason,” Lex said, scratching Squee behind the ears.

  “It wouldn’t be for no reason. It would be for me to detonate at an appropriate time,” Coal said.

  “Yeah, but history has shown that you have a much different threshold for ‘appropriate time to self-destruct’ than I do. Especially since mine is ‘never.’”

  “Maybe you should be more open-minded.”

  “It’s not being open-minded that I’m worried about, it’s ‘expanding cloud of atomized plasma-minded’ that I’m against.”

  “I would classify you as ‘no fun’ if not for the fact that technically your prerequisites for fun include not self-detonating.”