by Amie Kaufman
Her companion raises his commlink. Flicks a switch.
And every camera in the bay dies without a whimper.
HEIMDALL CHAT: HANNA DONNELLY
Donnelly, H: For a guy who asks me out a lot, you’re pretty good at standing me up.
Guest389: For a girl who turns me down a lot, you’re awfully good at pretending like we’re married.
Donnelly, H: Why am I standing alone in this corridor? Dunno if you noticed, there’s a pretty big shindig on right now. I can’t be late. Tick tock.
Guest389: Hey, YOU switched times on ME first, remember? I’m just being fashionably late now.
Guest389: Is it working?
Donnelly, H: If by “working” you mean “killing a sale,” then sure.
Guest389: Killing a sale, huh? So I guess I’ll just sell these ten grams of prime bliss to someone else?
Donnelly, H: You’re the one who’s late, there’s no need to be an ******* about it.
Guest389: You have that effect on me, Highness.
Donnelly, H: My locator block will end in a couple of minutes, and I’m going to be missed. Are you going to be here or not?
Guest389: Yeah, look, sorry. Other biz got in the way.
Guest389: I’m on my way right now. Gotta go back to hab and get stuff, then I’ll be right there.
Donnelly, H: You don’t have it on you? What the hell, Nik.
Guest389: I don’t carry the **** in my pocket just wandering around the station, Highness. I’m running, okay? Sprinting, no less. So congrats, you still get the boys all sweaty.
Donnelly, H: And they say there’s no romance in your soul. See you soon.
Guest389: Did you dress sexy?
Guest389: Hello?
PERSONAL MESSAGE: PIRATE IM SYSTEM-HEIMDALL
Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)
Ella Malikova, Civilian (unregistered)
Date: 08/15/75
Timestamp: 17:56
Pauchok: cuz?
NikM: sup lil spider I’m bizy
Pauchok: cuz where are u
NikM: omw to meet her highness my pockets full of joy, why
Pauchok: wuz evrything ok when u left bay 17
NikM: yeah, wuz fine. Docking system was acting up. why?
Pauchok: Cams all over heimdall are going down
NikM: i’m looking @ a hallway cam right now. it’s still tracking movement. LED is still on
Pauchok: well I’m not getting the feed. Someone’s cut me out
NikM: ella, this station’s a piece of ****. System’s crawling with more bugs than Double G’s pantaloons after his bachelor party. It’s prolly just a network fault
Pauchok: can’t raise dad or the others on IM.
NikM: well maybe you should suck less :)
Pauchok: hey, i got the fierce skillz. I dance Heimdall’s webs like a dancy…spider…thing
Pauchok: DANCY
NikM: mebbe your dance moves aren’t as fierce as you think li’l spider
Pauchok: Come back to the Hub
NikM: i got biz, cuz. I’ll be there soon, k? then you and me celebrate TD in style.
NikM: you, me, four soundproofed walls & five hours of drunken karaoke >:D
Pauchok: nik I got a bad feeling.
NikM: hey, my voice isn’t THAT cringe
Pauchok: i’m serious
NikM: ok fine, it is that cringe. I’ll be there in 20 yeah?
Pauchok: nik…
NikM: cuz I got biz. Station doesn’t stop spinning just because you get the crawls, feel?
Pauchok: …ok
NikM: <3
Pauchok: <3
Pauchok: cuz?
NikM: ya
Pauchok: b careful
HEIMDALL CHAT: HANNA DONNELLY
Merrick, J: Hey, beautiful. Sorry I’m running late, we’re just leaving Command & Control now. How’s the party?
Donnelly, H: Not there yet, nearly on my way. My party treats are running behind schedule.
Donnelly, H: Keiko will be there, probably Claire. Hang out up the back with those fine ladies until I make it.
Merrick, J: Um.
Merrick, J: What? You still went to meet Malikov? Didn’t you read my email?
Donnelly, H: No, I didn’t have time. I had hair that’d turn the noblest hero to stone, Jax. It could’ve killed the goddamn Kraken.
Donnelly, H: It’s fine, I’ll just slip in and pretend I was standing with the girls the whole time, Dad won’t notice.
Merrick, J: Um. He will notice. The first thing he’ll do is ask me where you are.
Donnelly, H: He’ll be giving a speech. I already heard it twice at home, I know what it says.
Merrick, J: So where the bloody hell are you?
Donnelly, H: I’m waiting on my friend, he’s late. Should be nearly here. Then I’ll be straight into your arms.
Merrick, J: Your friend. You mean your drug dealer.
Donnelly, H: I thought you’d want me to be a little more discreet on whisperNET.
Donnelly, H: But fine, yes, Nik is running late. I assume if you’re leaving C & C now you can’t extend the block on my locator beacon, so I’ll just make sure I’m moving in time.
Donnelly, H: Try and be less ****ed by the time I arrive. I’d like to try and enjoy the party.
Merrick, J: Jesus. Yes…look, I’m sorry. I’m tired.
Merrick, J: Just please hurry? Your dad leans on me hard enough as it is. If he found out where you were, and what I did to cover your tracks, we’d be done.
Merrick, J: I care about you, okay?
Donnelly, H: I care about you too? Sorry, didn’t realize it would stress you out this much.
Donnelly, H: I’ll hurry, promise.
Merrick, J: Okay.
INCIDENT INCEPT: 08/15/75
LOCATION: JUMP STATION HEIMDALL (COMMAND & CONTROL BUILDING, MAIN ATRIUM)
OPERATIVE IDENT: RAPIER
_________________________________
It didn’t need to be this way.
They were the words playing through my head through this whole thing. Like some old media disk stuck on infinite loop. Motor jammed. Needle bent.
It didn’t need to be this way.
I was still on duty in Command & Control when the announcement went out across the PA system—Commander Donnelly wanted all staff present in the atrium for his Terra Day speech. Chief Isaac Grant gave us the nod and we started locking down systems, shunting alerts to our whisperNET accounts in case anything disastrous happened in the ten minutes it’d take Donnelly to raise his glass and thank us all and wish us a happy TD.
Yeah. In case anything disastrous happened…
Chief Grant looked exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping too well. Worried about his family back on Kerenza, I supposed. It’d been over six months since the colony went dark to “avoid UTA detection,” and he hadn’t heard a word from his wife or daughter since. Must’ve been hard. He showed me a photo of his daughter once. Cute. Not sure about the pink hair, though. What was her name? Katy? Something like that.
I sometimes wondered if she was dead—if she died in the attack, or among the refugee fleet. I told myself there were probably still survivors on Kerenza. Maybe she was one of those. I still thought about the idea that he’d never see her again. Wondered what he’d do if he knew who I was. What I’d done. What I’d allowed them to do.
I’d already cut the live feeds from the station security cams through my ghost system, spliced them with looped footage of empty corridors and empty bays. Situation normal aboard Jump Station Heimdall. Nothing to see here, folks. Certainly not a fully armed squad of BeiTech Special Ops goons marching along the corridors toward Command & Control. No sir.
No one could see the mess they left in Docking Bay 17. Sprayed across the walls and dripping through the floor. A MÉDECINS SANS ÉTOILES biotainer stood in the bay, twenty-four personnel tubes stowed inside. Room for one operative with full kit in each one. All of them empty now. Like the eyes of Hands
ome Mike Malikov and Soraya Een Hajji and the other House of Knives thugs they left cooling on the deck behind them.
“You’re going to miss the party,” Grant said, smiling at me. “Come on, people, you’ve worked enough for one day. First round is on me.”
I plastered a fake grin on my face and left my station. Walking down the corridor beside the chief, chatting about nothing in particular, knowing full well what we were headed toward.
I told myself this was war. Whether Grant knew it or not, whether any of those people on Kerenza knew it or not, they signed up for war when they signed on to that colony. This station. This company.
But it didn’t need to be this way, like I said.
We assembled down in the C & C atrium. Outermost floor of the structure. The sight never failed to amaze me. Bubbling waterfalls and lush greenery. Stone borders around rippling pools lit by all the colors of the spectrum. The walls and floor were clear as glass, thousands of panes of transparent plasteel, reinforced with titanium weave.
And beyond them?
Stars. Countless stars. Constellations and clusters and the Yggdrasil Nebula slowly spinning past the windows as Heimdall rotated around the wormhole at its heart. That subsonic hum felt just beyond the edge of hearing. That infinity waiting just above your head. When I first got here, I was nervous about sleeping on top of a rip in the fabric of spacetime. I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep without it now.
The party was in full swing. Music thumping through the roof. Light show bouncing off the plasteel below us. Staffers and civis mingling, ice miners and colonists and traders—pretty much everyone left on the station for Terra Day had showed up. The ethanol and stims were flowing fast. I saw Sarah McDuling dancing on a table, Sinclair and Morley making out in a corner after having circled each other for five months. Reichs and Roth were engaged in their regular debate about the perils of new-wave fascism, the volume turned up to ten now that they both had a few under their skins. Warm bodies and smiling faces and laughter. All of them, so alive.
If everyone plays chill, I told myself, they’ll stay that way.
Someone shoved a glass into my hand. Impromptu toasts rolled among the C & C crew. Vilma Gonzalez kissed my cheek, wished me happy Terra Day. Her cheeks were flushed and warm, and her lips lingered just a little longer than they should’ve. She looked me in the eye and touched my hand and smiled. Asked if I wanted to go somewhere quieter. I couldn’t see Chief Grant anymore, wondered where he’d gotten to. But then Commander Donnelly took the stage amid scattered cheers, tapping on his vox implant for attention. The music dropped out and he began his speech.
Loyalty and duty. Commitment and perseverance.
Breaks for applause. Raised glasses and “Hear, hears.”
None of them had any idea.
No idea at all.
And then the elevator doors opened wide.
Gunfire cut the applause to ribbons.
And all of it went to hell.
The walls around us were triple-reinforced—even though regs said nobody was allowed to carry a sidearm in the atrium, no amount of small-arms fire was going to punch through the panes. Still, when the shots started ricocheting off our stars, my first instinct was to look down and freeze. Waiting for the universe beyond to just dive inside. Partygoers began screaming, ducking, falling over each other in a panic as the audit team spilled out of the elevators and secured the room. Falk’s team knew exactly who the SecTeam members were, moved quickly to neutralize them, dropping Bateman, Lucker, Legrand and the others with disruptor shots before anyone could blink. Kim Rivera, who ran the dojo, went down as she lunged for the nearest gunman, muscles spasming and eyes rolling up in her head.
The team was outfitted in heavy tactical armor. Greaves, boots, vests, goggs, helmets, weapons. All black. No ident, no corp logos, nothing. Only Lieutenant Falk wasn’t wearing a face mask and helmet at this point—I recognized him from the briefing Director Frobisher had sent me. Callsign: Cerberus.
He was tall, heavily built, Norse blood. Ice-blue eyes. Blond hair shaved into a short fauxhawk, tuft of hair at his chin. He was built like an ice hauler, towering over almost everyone in the room. Biceps bigger than my head. The kevlar and plasteel plating he was encased inside creaked in agony when he moved, like he was about to burst the seams.
He stalked out into the middle of the atrium and just stood there. His team fanned out around the room, VK burst rifles out and ready, introducing anyone who looked at them sideways to the business ends. But Falk was stone-still. There was a strange smile on his face, faint, pulling his lips into a subtle curve—like he was laughing at his own private joke. Screaming and panic and tears all around him. He just stood in the middle of it. Smiling.
Eventually, the panic died down. The more sober partygoers brought their friends under control, stopped the screaming, the crying, the whispers. Must’ve taken five minutes. The whole time, Falk didn’t move a muscle. Like he was drawing all that chaos into him. Drinking it dry. Until that atrium was so quiet I swear you could’ve heard a ****ing pin drop.
Falk looked around the room. Still smiling. Eyes like ice.
When he spoke, you could feel it through the floor.
“Who is in command of this jump station?”
Soft murmurs. Eyes searching. I couldn’t see Chief Grant anywhere, but Commander Donnelly was still up onstage in his dress uniform. To his credit, he’d kept his head through the initial invasion, shepherded his people down off the dais, urged them to be calm. He was an officer, used to the snap decisions of command. He knew he was outgunned and outmanned, knew by their look these people were professionals—obviously they were here for a reason. He figured diplomacy was the way to go.
Falk spoke again.
“Who is in command of this jump station?”
Donnelly stepped forward. Stared Falk right in the eyes.
“I am.”
Falk’s pistol was out of his holster and trained on Donnelly in a split second. The shot cracked loud as a thunderbolt off the walls, the hollow-point almost took Donnelly’s head off his shoulders. Brain and bone. So much blood you wouldn’t believe it. The commander’s corpse dropped to the floor, feet still kicking, heels scraping on the deck like he was trying to dance. And then the screaming started again. Rage mixed in with the panic now. Rage and grief and fear. But Falk’s team was ready for it. Ready for all of it.
People who screamed too loud were pistol-whipped or hit with disruptor blasts, dropping to the ground in convulsions. Anyone who stepped toward an audit team member was dissuaded with a shot to the kneecap or a rifle butt to the jaw. The walls rang with it—metal hitting meat and meat hitting the floor. Stink of blood so thick I swear I could taste iron in the air.
And through it all, Falk just stood there. In the center of that room, arms slightly outstretched, that smoking pistol still in his hand. That faint smile still curling his lips.
The panic died slow. Boiling fear and rage reduced to a simmer. Gonzalez was crouched beside me, clutching my arm as if to hold me back. I realized my hands were fists.
Quiet fell. Quiet so deep it was deafening. And into that quiet, Falk spoke again.
“Who is in command of this jump station?”
Nobody replied this time.
Everyone knew the answer now.
Hanna Donnelly’s pacing when the footage begins—Nik Malikov is late, and she’s nearing the time she’ll have to give up on him and head for the Terra Day reception without her party treats, or risk her father noticing she wasn’t present for his speech. It’s 18:15, a quarter hour after starting time.
She’s a teenager of medium height, medium build, nice curves. Blond hair back in a braid, blue eyes narrowed in irritation, movements precise—that’s the black belts right there, trust me. It’s a wonder Malikov likes to tango with her so often. Just saying.
She’s wrapped in one of those jumpsuits that all the Core kids are wearing, though here on Heimdall she’s a little ahead of the tren
d. Black fabric with SmartTrim down the seams, which she’s currently got tinted sea green. She makes a sharp turn at the end of her lap of the corridor, just in time to see Malikov come strolling around the corner. Camera A:17b12 shows he paused to get his breath back after the run before joining her (shouldn’t be smoking, chum).
Donnelly stalks toward him, pulling a wad of exchangeable notes from her pocket and holding them out wordlessly. No point in making a traceable credit transfer in a situation like this. When you’ve got business like Malikov’s, a foldable polymer blend is the only way to go.
“Nice to see you too, Highness,” he says, pocketing the ISĦ and making a show of patting down his pockets, like he’s not sure he remembered to bring the dust. “Is this any way to treat your humble servant?”
“Humble,” she repeats, laughing. “And I thought you’d run out of jokes. Hand it over. You think I dressed up like this just to wait around for you?”
“Hard to say.” He gives up the search, folding his hands behind his back as he starts walking a lap around her. “Let me get a look at that outfit from all angles so I can be sure.”
She shifts her weight in a quick feint, and he takes a step back, grinning but wary—he remembers the allegedly-broken-arm incident, apparently.
“Hand it over,” she insists. “Nik, I swear I’ll—”
But she doesn’t get any further. Malikov reaches into a hidden pocket and, with a deep bow, pulls out a slightly crumpled corsage, set with six tiny white blooms.
“What the hell’s that?” Donnelly asks.
Malikov gives her a dimpled half smile. “Jasmine, obvs.”
“I thought you said to get flowers out here you’d have to give up your right…” She gestures at his crotch. “…you know.”
“I got a spare.” He shrugs. Holds out his offering. “Happy Terra Day, Highness.”
Donnelly blinks. Shakes her head. “Nik, I can’t—”
She’s cut off by the crackle of the all-station public address system—a calm but unfamiliar male voice, and Falk’s idea of a joke. “Attention, all Heimdall personnel. This is not your captain speaking…”