Gemina

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Gemina Page 7

by Amie Kaufman


  Wonder how long he’s been saving up that one.

  The words hang in the air as Donnelly and Malikov stare at each other, twin pictures of wary confusion. For an instant, hostilities are suspended.

  Falk continues: “Your station is now under our control. Understand that we are professionals, here to do a job, and wish no harm to any of you. Cooperate, and you will be safe. Resist, and you will be…less safe.”

  The color drains from both their faces. Donnelly draws in a long, slow breath that would do any of her martial arts teachers proud. Malikov stows the corsage, pulls out his palmpad and stabs at the screen—presumably he’s trying to open a channel to his cousin, but it looks like he gets nowhere.

  Falk’s still talking. “If you are in Alpha Sector, please assemble in the atrium. All other sectors, your exit portals have been sealed. You will remain in place and wait quietly for further announcements. Follow instructions immediately, and to the letter. Personnel in Alpha Sector, you have five minutes. Please do not make us come and find you. That would be…unpleasant for all concerned.”

  “Holy ****,” Malikov breathes.

  “No.” Donnelly’s whispering, trembling. “My father, my father’s in the atrium, my friends are there, and Jackson…”

  “…You can’t be thinking about going down there.”

  “I have to.”

  “Are you dusted? Who knows what they’ll do to you?”

  “I’m not going to hand myself over, I’m not completely stupid,” she snaps. “I need more information, and I’m not getting that standing here.”

  “Look, just stay here, hide. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  “Right.” She snorts. “You want me to outsource this to you? They’ve got my dad.”

  “And if you head in there, they get you, too. We need to know what these ****ers are up to before we start taking orders.” Gone are the quips now, the smart lines. He’s as white and strained as she. “Trust me, Hanna, I got the connects to find out what’s what.”

  “Trust you?” Her voice rises. “You’re my ****ing drug dealer!”

  “So maybe I got ways to find out things you don’t,” he snaps.

  She holds up her hand suddenly, blinking. “Are you watching whisperNET? My contacts are dropping offline.”

  He blinks hard, focuses on his lens. “Yeah, mine too.”

  “How are they doing that?”

  Malikov’s eyes widen. I swear you can almost see the goddamn lightbulb go off over his head. He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a palmpad. A ziplock baggie full of what could only be ten grams of Grade A tetraphenetrithylamine is taped to the top. “Take this?”

  “Now’s not the time to get dusted, dammit,” she hisses.

  “It’s the palmpad I promised you, remember?” he replies, rolling his eyes. “So we could talk private? It’s off the main grid, Highness. We’ll be able to talk even if they take whisperNET offline. Just take it, hide out and let me do my work. I’ll tell you who they are, what they want.”

  She snatches the palmpad from him. “Fine.”

  Her surrender is sudden. Sullen.

  Malikov blinks. “Fine?”

  “Fine. We’ve got minutes. We can’t spend them arguing. Go.”

  He stares at her for a long moment, clearly not sure whether to trust her—but she’s right, and with their five minutes slowly gurgling down the drain, he turns, and he runs.

  She waits until he’s disappeared around the corner, then turns to jog in the opposite direction.

  HEIMDALL CHAT: HANNA DONNELLY

  Donnelly, H: Jackson? Please be there.

  Merrick, J: Hanna, thank god, where are you? Are you okay?

  Donnelly, H: I’m okay, I’m hiding. What the **** happened? Are you guys okay?

  Merrick, J: Someone’s hit the station. Terrorists. I don’t know. But they mean business. They’ve got control of the computer and surveillance systems. We’re totally blind.

  Donnelly, H: Where are you?

  Merrick, J: Command & Control. I got to the party, but Chief Grant called me back up when security cams started dropping out. We’ve locked ourselves on the bridge to give us time to think.

  Donnelly, H: I think they’re getting whisperNET too, my contacts keep disappearing one by one.

  Merrick, J: Mine too. I’m not sure how long we have to talk.

  Donnelly, H: Is there any way you can see the atrium? See if my father’s okay?

  Merrick, J: No, they’ve locked us out of the system. I don’t know how they’re doing it. The protections on our grid are capital-S Serious.

  Donnelly, H: Okay, then I’m going to hole up. I’m not turning myself in when I don’t know what will happen next.

  Merrick, J: Um. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

  Donnelly, H: Handing myself over limits my options. Staying out here increases them.

  Merrick, J: They have control of cams. They can see everything SecTeam could. Come to C & C. It’ll be safer here with us instead of out there alone.

  Donnelly, H: What, you’re just going to open the door so I can creep in?

  Donnelly, H: It’s too far, not safe. Recon before action, that’s the rule. If you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles.

  Merrick, J: What?

  Donnelly, H: Sun Tzu.

  Merrick, J: Hanna, this is not the time to quote crusty old war strategists.

  Donnelly, H: My dad would say this is exactly the time. Be smart, borrow wisdom.

  Merrick, J: Hanna, we can hear gunfire. People screaming. I don’t think now is a good time to play soldier. I can’t protect you out there.

  Donnelly, H: You can’t protect me in there, either.

  Merrick, J: Hanna—

  Falk, T: Attention, Heimdall residents in Alpha Sector. Your five minutes is concluded. We thank those of you who have complied with directives to surrender. That was…quite lovely of you.

  Falk, T: To all foxes still hiding in your little holes: woof woof.

  Falk, T: That is all.

  Merrick, J: ****. Hanna, you have to turn yourself in.

  Donnelly, H: What, like you are?

  Merrick, J: Hanna, there’s half a meter of plate steel between C & C and—

  Donnelly, H: Jax, shut up.

  Merrick, J: I—

  Donnelly, H: I think I can hear some SecTeam guys. I’m going to check it out. Back soon.

  Merrick, J: Christ, Hanna, be careful.

  Merrick, J: Hanna?

  Footage is taken from Camera 276-R, commencing at 18:38. Ruth Ellis and Gaby Salpeter are members of Heimdall’s SecTeam, and they are having a very bad day.

  They were late on their way back from patrol when Falk’s announcement went out, and they bolted for the nearest familiar territory—the SecTeam break room. There, surrounded by couches, their colleagues’ lockers and abandoned food wrappers, they’re following emergency protocol. Records show they’d already tried whisperNET and found their connections dead, so they’re standing together by a broadcast unit, scanning the backup channels SecTeams are instructed to use in case of comms failure.

  They’ve moved a digital notice board to give them cover, and to all but the most dedicated searcher, the break room would look empty. They work in quick, tense silence.

  But they’ve forgotten about their personal locator beacons. PLoBs, the locals call them, which sounds like a cheery little noise. But there’s nothing cheery about what’s happening now.

  Four BeiTech audit team members are stealthing down the hallway, clad in black full-body tactical armor, VK burst rifles at the ready, footsteps very nearly silent. The squad is led by Petyr “Romeo” Bazarov, the tattooed triggerman who took care of the Dom Najov in Bay 17. He’s got a hand scanner, and his gaze is locked on it as he stalks his prey.

  Inside the break room, Ellis locates the frequency she wants. Salpeter reaches up to the shelf above the broadcast unit for hard copy of the emergency codes, passing
it to her friend.

  Romeo stops in the doorway of the break room, eyeballs the hand scanner, then gestures at the notice board. The woman to his right, Ai “Rain” Wong, tosses a concussion grenade in through the door with an easy overhand throw, then she and Romeo duck back outside. The grenade detonates, and Ellis and Salpeter collapse as one, screaming, bleeding from ruined ears and eyes. Romeo calmly steps back into the doorway, lifts his rifle and plugs the notice board hiding them six times in a row. He proceeds into the break room with all due caution, checks behind the shattered screen and nods to Ellis’s and Salpeter’s lifeless bodies.

  “You forgot your trackers, kids,” he tells their remains. “Though they do ruin the sport.” Laughing at his own wit and wisdom, he walks back past Rain and into the hallway beyond.

  Rain and the other two men on the BeiTech squad prepare to move on, but Romeo’s still studying the hand scanner. Slowly, he walks back into the break room, frowning at the display. He halts in the center of the abandoned room, silent.

  Then he tilts his head back and looks up at the air vent above him.

  PERSONAL MESSAGE: PIRATE IM SYSTEM-HEIMDALL

  Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)

  Ella Malikova, Civilian (unregistered)

  Date: 08/15/75

  Timestamp: 18:38

  Pauchok: Nik?

  NikM: **** ella where r u?

  Pauchok: um that’s the great thing about partial paralysis, cuz mine.

  Pauchok: I’m right where you ****ing left me.

  NikM: in Anansi? doors sealed?

  Pauchok: ya

  NikM: good stay there

  Pauchok: space pirates are shooting the **** out of everything on the station and you tell me to stay low inside my fortified super-computer? any more advice for me, genius?

  NikM: g u cizx

  Pauchok: wut?

  NikM: f u cuz. i typng while irun gmme break

  NikM: wheruncle mike

  Pauchok: i dunno where dad is. I can’t raise anyone. Need ot see what happened in bay 17

  NikM: way ahead of u heded bak there noqw 2 mins awy

  Pauchok: jesus Nik, be careful. Cams are all down, I can’t see ****

  NikM: ****

  NikM: they sealed doors out of Alpha Sector. can’t get to docks

  Pauchok: o rly

  Pauchok: where u @?

  NikM: service bulkhead. A-48a

  Pauchok: gimme a sec

  Pauchok: ta daaaaaa

  NikM: goddamn ur good :D

  Pauchok: oh go on

  Pauchok: …I’m serious, go on dammit

  NikM: k I’m through. on grav-rail now now

  NikM: goddamn this ****ing lollipop song…

  Pauchok: k, I cleared a path 4 u. b quick, auto sensor will shut the doors again eventually

  NikM: k at docks now, headed to 17. there in a sec

  Pauchok: um cuz

  NikM: ya

  Pauchok: I think whoever’s flying their rig flagged me when I popped that bulkhead

  Pauchok: they trying to hack into anansi

  Pauchok: jesus, they good

  NikM: ella

  Pauchok: gimme a sec

  Pauchok: oho mimic routines running on your roach cascades, very clever

  NikM: ella

  Pauchok: but no, you got crushT didn’t u? spiders eat roaches donchewnoe

  NikM: ELLA

  Pauchok: ALL CAPS

  NikM: ella they’re dead

  Pauchok:

  Pauchok: wut?

  NikM: They all dead. Soraya. Double G.

  Pauchok: …daddy?

  NikM: ****

  NikM: cuz I’m sorry

  Pauchok: god

  Pauchok: W34KJGB;OUAQ5UBG35U[089[809G5G’I3OT4O ‘IOU34SXZK,I EWXZ

  Pauchok: WUT THE **** HAPPEND?

  NikM: popped. multiples, close range. Empty biotaner here. spots for 24 crew inside.

  NikM: Looks like we found out how our party crashers got on board

  NikM: that mother****** wheaton. I KNEW I shoulda x-ed that pasty ****

  Pauchok: ****

  Pauchok: ****ING *******S

  Pauchok: PIG****ING ****EATING ****ING MOTHER******S

  NikM: god ells, I’m so sorry

  Pauchok: jesus gimme a sec

  Pauchok: their decker still all up in my lady parts

  NikM: ****

  Pauchok: **** me he tyrign to cut me out ofnetwork

  NikM: so get dancy on his man bits

  Pauchok: sec

  Pauchok: jj9WV-9   P2EVN9 9n0iiIWOBREVnwojro

  NikM: cuz?

  Pauchok: w49305ugnotb-9nwg w5b09135ibnqer bxcp 8ywev7 q3b[o4b]-q3 be[pufb] [arevbq34]bv[iu=vnoq3i5q3n45kgn0e9rh-ion34]igh=  [h4]vpnerhvh3inq03irhviervq35nokjae0rivnapkn8q3h4-

  NikM: ella?

 

 

  NikM: cuz you there?

 

 

  NikM: cuz the bulkheads are all locked, how the **** I get out of the docks?

 

 

  NikM: ssssshhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

  The records on Hanna Donnelly’s personal locator beacon show she moved away from the vent above the SecTeam break room after the deaths of Ruth Ellis and Gaby Salpeter, making straight for Corridor A17d and the infirmary.

  She comes into view when she silently pulls the cover off the climate control vent, one shaking hand hanging down so she can drop it onto a bed, muffling the sound it makes when it lands. There are only two patients in the Alpha Sector infirmary, both unconscious—everyone capable of moving was either shipped out for the holiday or dragged themselves to the party.

  With a little shuffling, she lowers herself down legs first, thumping to the ground. Around now, she must be glad she went for the jumpsuit. She lands in a crouch, wrapping her arms around herself and ducking her head, just for a moment. Then she pulls it together, pushing to her feet in one easy movement.

  “Can you hear me? Jax?” She’s so scared she’s actually whispering at her whisperNET connection instead of subvocalizing, but there’s no reply. With a glance over her shoulder at the door, she hurries to a workbench littered with equipment, scanning it as she jogs her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. She grabs a scalpel in a case and shoves it into her pocket. It clicks against the palmpad Malikov gave her, and she gives it a quick pat through the fabric, as though she’s just remembering it’s there.

  I have to admit I was wondering why she didn’t get the hell out of there, because she’s scared all right—her breath’s quick and ragged, face pinched. But the answer becomes clear a second later. Shifting to an infirmary terminal, she swipes her way through the menus, data mirrored in her eyes. She’s going for the PLoB register, and dragging a finger down, she watches as the list of names scrolls past.

  She’s looking for her father’s ID. His body won’t have cooled enough to deactivate his beacon yet, so she might have found it—except her friends catch up with her before she reaches the Ds.

  There’s a soft click in the corridor outside, and she pivots on the balls of her feet, diving behind a bed a fraction of a second before Romeo and Harry “Razorback” Radin open fire. Their burst weapons rip through the infirmary, blast the door off its hinges. Over the next fifteen seconds, they tear apart all eighteen beds—including the two patients—the supply cabinets and the surgical section. Donnelly’s crawled, sobbing, to cower behind a countertop. She’s lying facedown, and a bullet punches through a finger’s width above her head.

  Razorback speaks quietly into the silence that follows. “Clear?”

  “She’s here.” Romeo is studying his hand scanner. “Find her body, confirm the kill.”

  Rain and their fourth, Stanislaw “Taurus” Mayr, follow Romeo and Razorback into the infirmary. Weapons at the ready, the four fan out to search the debris, leaning down to check under ruined beds, behind
the remains of chairs and monitors, boots crunching on the detritus scattered on the floor. Romeo clicks his tongue to draw their attention and points to the vent Hanna left open when she made her entrance.

  Hanna’s on the other side of the room, crawling for the doorway. She’s spent her whole life playing strategy games with her father, but it doesn’t take a tactical genius to know four on one—even without the weapons—isn’t a game she wants to play. She nearly makes it, too. There’s three strides of clear space between the nearest bed and escape, and she slowly eases up to a crouch, hands resting on the floor like she’s readying herself for a race.

  She’s out of the starting blocks an instant later, and it’s just plain bad luck that Taurus turns at the wrong moment. He shouts the alarm, swinging his rifle up and pulling the trigger. The infirmary explodes with deafening blasts, muzzle flashes whiting out the camera for an instant. Hollow-point rounds shred the doorframe as Hanna dives for it, scrambling out into the hallway, hands clawing desperately at the floor.

  The footage transfers to the corridor outside, where she’s stumbling to her feet, sprinting for the next corner as a black-clad kill squad pours through the door after her. Every training session she’s ever had channels into this moment, and she recovers her balance, flinching aside as another shot clips the end of her swinging braid.

  She knows exactly where she’s going, and there she has the advantage—she’s also running for her life, and if that’s not motivation, I dunno what is. She sprints along the corridor, grabbing a light fixture at the junction and swinging herself around the corner without losing momentum. They’re close behind, blasting away every time she’s in sight, but she’s gaining a few seconds here, another few seconds there.

  Problem is, she’s gonna run out of corridor.

  She tugs the scalpel case from her pocket. The palmpad Malikov gave her slips out with it and clatters to the floor, a small baggie of dust still taped to the top. She leaves it behind without a backward glance. Stumbling, she rounds another corner, and finally, there’s her salvation: an open elevator. She hurtles into it, hand slamming against the button to close it as Romeo and Co. round the corner and lift their weapons.

 

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