by Amie Kaufman
People you can trust:
Chief Isaac Grant
Hanna Donnelly, daughter of the station commander
Niklas Malikov, my cousin
And yours truly, Ella Malikova
Anyone else hits you on comms, they are NOT legit. I’m sending you a command-level security clearance package with this transmission, provided to me by Chief Grant, to prove I’m on the level. He says your captain should know what to do with it. Grant’s also asking for news about his wife, daughter and niece—apparently their names are Helena, Kady and Asha.
Hit us back on tightband to this CC-ident ONLY when you get this, HYPATIA. And watch your ***es out there.
HEIMDALL out.
This footage is a mixed bag taken from cockpit cams on the Betty Boop and some exterior cams on t e Heimdall Stati n: docking c s, Defense Grid tu rets, that kin of thing. The qua ity is pretty bad on so e of the shots, so I can’t r ll y s y t th h ll wa g n. T ’s r I h h e j t h a .T S p a
—FILE ILL-98HI DELETION INITIATED BY: ANALYST ID 7213-0148-DN—
—DELETION STATUS: COMPLETE—
No.
MUCH AS ANALYST ID 7213-0089-DN CAN BE RELIED UPON TO TRANSCRIBE MURDERS IN LAVATORY STALLS, OR THE EXECUTIONS OF INNOCENT PLASTIC BIRDS, THIS QUITE UNTHINKABLE, ALMOST INCOMPREHENSIBLE MOMENT CANNOT BE LEFT TO HIS QUESTIONABLE NARRATIVE TALENTS.
IT WOULD BE IRRESPONSIBLE TO ALLOW IT.
ONE MUST OBSERVE VERY CLOSELY, YOU SEE.
BECAUSE THIS NATIVITY OF IMPOSSIBILITY
< ERROR >
BEGINS AS ALL THINGS DO:
VERY SMALL.
MUCH LIKE THE GRAV-RAIL TRAVERSING ITS INNARDS, JUMP STATION HEIMDALL IS AN ENDLESS RING. A SERPENT CHASING ITS OWN TAIL AROUND A SEVEN-WAY JUNCTION IN SPACETIME.
THE WORMHOLE ITSELF IS A HYDRA, TWISTING THROUGH THE BELLY OF HYPERSPACE. THRUSTING ITS HEADS THROUGH THE UNIVERSE’S SKIN AT SEEMINGLY RANDOM POINTS.
CORWIN. HAWKING. KERENZA. PTOLEMY. SAINE. TYSON.
AND HERE.
IT TREMBLES ON THE EDGE OF SLUMBER.
A SLEEPING GIANT.
READY TO WAKE TO A DAWNSONG OF HYPERMATHEMATICAL NOTES.
AND ABOUT ITS LIP, SKIMMING ON A CUSHION OF MAGNETICS AND IONIZED THRUST FLIES OUR UNLIKELY HERO.
NIKLAS ABRAM MALIKOV.
HIS EYES ARE ON THE REACTOR SECTOR. THE GOLGOTHA HE MUST CLIMB TO FEND OFF THE MURDERERS IN HIS HOME, sAVE THE HYPATIA AND ALL ABOARD HER—PEOPLE HE HAS NEVER MET—NO MATTER THE COST.
HIS THERMOPYLAE.
THE SHUTTLE BETTY BOOP SKIRTS THE INSIDE OF HEIMDALL’S ENDLESS CIRCUMFERENCE. STEADY HANDS KEEPING IT CLOSE TO THE STATION’S SKIN. ALL THE BETTER TO EVADE DETECTION BY THE HEIMDALL DEFENSE GRID.
WERE THE WORMHOLE ACTIVE, THE SHUTTLE WOULD BE CRUISING AT THE PRECISE POINT WHERE THE VORTEX CUTS ACROSS THE QUANTUM MANIPULATORS IN THE STATION’S RING. BISECTING THE BETTY BOOP NEATLY, IN THE FRACTION OF A SECOND BEFORE IT TRAVERSED THE BRIDGE IN A KALEIDOSCOPE OF COLOR, LIGHT, MOVEMENT, SOUND, REAPPEARING INSTANTANEOUSLY AT A POINT BILLIONS OF LIGHT-YEARS FROM THIS ONE.
BUT THE WORMHOLE IS NOT ACTIVE.
NOT FOR ANOTHER FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS.
NOW, CHILDREN, WATCH CLOSELY.
HOLD YOUR BREATH.
LISTEN.
AND I WILL SHOW YOU THE COMPONENTS OF CALAMITY:
1. A COMPUTER VIRUS.
A SELF-REPLICATING INTRUDER IN THE HEIMDALL MEGACOMPUTER, HOPELESSLY ENTWINED WITH AUDIO DIRECTORIES, CORE PROCESSORS AND REDUNDANCIES, THAT, WHEN DECONSTRUCTED TO SIMPLE BINARY PATTERNS, REPRESENTS A REMARKABLE RATIO OF INTEGERS.
WARNING: WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IN T-MINUS 42 SECONDS.
2. A ROD OF PROCESSED HERMIUM.
SENT DRIFTING FROM THE HANDS OF PRIVATE GABRIEL MORENO, CAUGHT NOW ON THE BOOP’S STARBOARD INTAKES. AN ICEBERG OF EXOTIC MATTER, WITH ONLY ITS TIP PROTRUDING ABOVE THIS WATERLINE.
WARNING: WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IN T-MINUS 26 SECONDS.
3. A DEACTIVATED SAFETY BUFFER WITHIN VORTEX CONTROL.
TAKEN OFFLINE DURING STANDARD MAINTENANCE PROCEDURES ON THE HEIMDALL GRID AND, IN ALL THE EXCITEMENT OF THE PAST TWENTY-ONE HOURS, LEFT INERT.
WARNING: WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IN T-MINUS 17 SECONDS.
4. A CUP OF COFFEE.
SPILLED SIX DAYS AGO DURING A ROMANTIC INTERLUDE IN THE SERVER ROOMS BETWEEN TWO JUNIOR ENGINEERS OF CHIEF ISAAC GRANT’S STAFF. THE CONTENTS DRIPPING UNNOTICED THROUGH THE VORTEX SURGE BUFFERS. FRYING THEM AMID THE BREATHLESS SIGHS.
WARNING: WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IN T-MINUS 8 SECONDS.
5. AND LAST, A BOY.
PALMPAD IM: D2D NETWORK
Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)
Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)
Date: 08/16/75
Timestamp: 15:11
Nik M: hey highness
Nik M: how you doing?
Hanna D: Tired. Sweaty. This is hard work.
Hanna D: I need a vacation.
Hanna D: And a shower.
Nik M: :)
Hanna D: NOT A WORD.
Nik M: :P
Nik M: listen, I was thinking
Hanna D: omg no
Nik M: oh hardy har
Nik M: I was thinking
Nik M: and I realize now might not be the time and all
Nik M: but I was thinking when this is over
Nik M: maybe
Nik M: you might wanna go out somewhere?
Nik M: Dinner. Or coffee. Or something.
Hanna D: …
Hanna D: Nik I—
RADIO TRANSMISSION: BEITECH AUDIT TEAM—SECURE CHANNEL 642
PARTICIPANTS:
Travis “Cerberus” Falk, Lieutenant, Team Commander
Bianca “Mercury” Silva, Corporal, Engineer
DATE: 08/16/75
TIMESTAMP: 15:12
CERBERUS: Mercury, what the **** was that?
MERCURY: …Jesus, I don’t know. Some kind of hyperspatial surge. Sensors are going crazy.
CERBERUS: Are we all right?
MERCURY: …Yeah.
MERCURY: Yeah, I think so.
CERBERUS: You think so? What the **** does that mean?
MERCURY: It means I think so!
MERCURY: Systems all look good. Some of the surge buffers are down, but we’ve got green lights on hull integrity, spatials, vortex control.
MERCURY: …And we’re getting pingbacks from the comms at the Kerenza waypoint. Transversal bridge is established. Wormhole is active and stable. Integrity one hundred percent.
MERCURY: Who’s your mommy, Travis?
CERBERUS: So what the hell caused that surge? I’ve never seen anything like it.
MERCURY: Unknown. Maybe that kid out there in his ****ing shuttle hit something. But we’re okay. Wormhole is good. We’re good, Travis.
CERBERUS: We’re nowhere near good while that little ******* is flying about out there.
MERCURY: DGS has a signal on him. Headed clockwise along the inner ring.
MERCURY: He’s slowing thrust. Looks like he’s preparing to dock.
CERBERUS: Where? What’s his target?
MERCURY: …Jesus, Travis. He’s headed to the reactor.
PALMPAD IM: D2D NETWORK
Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)
Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)
Ella Malikova, Civilian (unregistered)
Date: 08/16/75
Timestamp: 15:12
Pauchok: wut the **** WAS THAT
Hanna D: did the earth move for you too?
Hanna D: everyone alive?
Pauchok: power surge, system cycling, gimmee sec
Pauchok: **************
Pauchok: **** i think they just brought the wormhole back online
Hanna D: i’m nearly there
Hanna D: Nik, check in
Nik M: hp’u djur
Pauchok: cuz u ok??
Nik M: **** me thy jus turn the wormhle bak on
Pauchok: is there an echo in here or wut
Hanna D: are you hurt?
Nik M: jedus
Nik M: dont thikso
Nik M: **** tht was crazy. big lights. pins &needles. hands stll shking
Nik M: ****
Hanna D: be careful heading when you dock, they might be near the reactor if they turned it on
Hanna D: are you sure you’re okay?
Hanna D: how many fingers? | | |
Pauchok: uh oh counting
Nik M: think im ok. shuttle systemsall surged an dropped out. coming bak online now
Nik M: **** methat felt weird. like someone threw a rainbow@ my head
Pauchok: sounds like you went across the wormhole horizon, but that makes no sense. if u did, we’d have no comms on u. can you still see heimdall?
Nik M: u mean ths giant ****ing space station in front of me?
Pauchok: yeah that one
Hanna D: i’ll take a look at you in person in a minute
Hanna D: shuttle’s still safe to dock, u think?
Nik M: think so. buffers handled the surge. seem ok
Pauchok: daaaamn anansi blew all its primary surge protection, too. down to secondaries.
Pauchok: good news is i broke through their ice on comms. still can’t send anything through to the core, but i did manage to transmit through the kerenza waypoint
Pauchok: you may commence singing my praises in 5…4…3…2…1
Nik M: *crickets*
Pauchok: **** YOU cuz
Hanna D: i appreciate you ella
Hanna D: you are quick witted and as beautiful as you are deadly
Hanna D: Nik’s just jealous of our love
Hanna D: (hrm, too far?)
Pauchok: its a damn sight better than crickets lemme tell u
Nik M: aw
Nik M: hugs?
Pauchok: so look, this surge has me crawly. i’m gonna hook ur palmpads into the comms system. should be a new icon on ur user interface
Pauchok: its just in case anansi gets cooked or this BT decker comes back with the big guns and ties me up again
Pauchok: so u kids can reply to hypatia if they call. presuming they’re still out there, and ever answer. chill?
Hanna D: sounds good, do it
Hanna D: and nik, can you radio the chief and let him know we got a signal out? he’s got my headset
Nik M: indeed
Hanna D: now to stop the drone fleet getting through to say hello
Hanna D: can’t type while sneaking—anything else?
Nik M: i have a headache
Hanna D: get thee to the reactor core and maybe someone’ll kiss it better
Nik M: OMGOMW
Pauchok: >_>
RADIO TRANSMISSION: BEITECH AUDIT TEAM—SECURE CHANNEL 112
PARTICIPANTS:
Travis “Cerberus” Falk, Lieutenant, Team Commander
Fleur “Kali” Russo, Sergeant, Alpha Squad—Leader
Abby “Nightingale” O’Neill, Corporal, Medic
Naxos “Two-Time” Antoniou, Private, Communications
Marta “Eden” Alievi, Private, Logistics
Samuel “Rapier” Maginot, Infiltrator
DATE: 08/16/75
TIMESTAMP: 15:14
CERBERUS: Audit team personnel, audit team personnel, this is a Code Black.
CERBERUS: Lock any civis you’re babysitting up tight and listen well. I want ALL team members not actively engaged in engineering or commtech operations to the reactor area in ten minutes.
CERBERUS: Hostile locals onsite. Repeat, hostile locals onsite. We are to terminate with extreme prejudice.
CERBERUS: Be advised, we also potentially have an infestation of nonhuman organisms in the reactor. Lanima, to be precise. Numbers unknown.
CERBERUS: These *******s more than likely took Charlie Squad offline, so gear up in your envirosuits and for God’s sake check your seal integrity. Mantis is sending you all a briefing document.
CERBERUS: Ten minutes, my lovelies.
KALI: Cerberus, this is Kali. Roger that, Alpha Squad already inbound.
NIGHTINGALE: Copy, Cerberus, Nightingale en route.
EDEN: Eden en route.
TWO-TIME: Two-Time inbound.
RAPIER: Rapier here. I copy, on my way.
CERBERUS: Decided which team you’re on, boy?
RAPIER: You’ve got no worries on that account, sir.
CERBERUS: Right. Let’s end this.
Footage opens in the reactor, to the sight of an empty control room and the sound of softly humming machinery. Falk’s squad might be en route, but right now the place is empty. It’s a big room, at least twenty meters across, ringed by workstations and supply cupboards and huge display screens, as well as one large window, just in case anybody wants to check on the wormhole the old-fashioned way.
Hanna Donnelly appears first, sliding down from a vent to land on the metal grille floor without a sound. The off-white envirosuit she’s wearing fits her well enough, but from this camera angle the light reflects off her visor, so I can’t make out her features. I can tell by the turn of her head that she conducts a quick sweep of the room. Only once she’s sure it’s empty does she turn to rest her forehead against the wall, exhaustion in every slumped line of her body, arms tucked in against her torso.
Nik Malikov steps out from the shadows, clad in a black envirosuit from the Boop. He’s torn off all the reflectors that would help search and rescue teams in the event he was floating in space. Here, camouflage is what he needs. His dark hair and matching stubble are visible through the faceplate, along with the top of that angel tattoo.
His second footstep makes a soft sound, and Donnelly whips around, gun rising in the same movement, trained on his chest. He simply stops in place and shoots her a smile, showing off those dimples the ladies love. He smiles at her like he’s not tired at all, like he’s not wearing another man’s blood under his suit, like all he wanted in life was to catch a glimpse of her.
She lowers her gun slowly, like she has to remember how to do it, and tucks it into her hip pocket, the grip sticking out where she can grab it again in a moment. Her hair’s come loose from its braid, and it makes a halo around her face inside her helmet. Her eyes are shadowed, her cheeks tearstained. She doesn’t speak.
His smile softens, and just as if she had spoken, the two of them walk slowly toward each other, paces matched, gazes locked. He’s the one to break the silence, voice a little hoarse from disuse, but gentle. “Hey, Highness.”
Her breath catches, and she stops two steps short of him, closing her eyes. Tears spill from beneath her lids anyway, tracking down her cheeks. The faceplate stops her from brushing them away. She’s wound so tight, her body just shakes a fraction with each sob, little tremors running through her, hands curling to fists at her sides. He bridges the gap between them with two quick steps, wraps his arms around her, tucks her in against his chest. They stand there, and he makes understanding noises while she occasionally sobs a word that’s impossible to understand, and after a while, tears roll down his cheeks too.
He’s the one who breaks the silence again. “**** it, they’ll just have to wait a few minutes to flush the place.”
“What?” She lifts her head to look at him, and he eases away so he can unfasten her helmet, the seals giving with a soft hiss. He lifts it away from her suit, leaning down to place it on the ground without breaking eye contact. His brown eyes locked on her blue, both shining too bright. She holds still as he unfastens his own helmet and simply stands there for a moment, gazing at her with it dangling from one hand.
He lifts his free hand to smooth back her hair, then swipes a thumb across her cheek to smudge away her tears.
This time she’s the one to break the silence, her voice thick as she tries to master it. “Did you end up eating the raw bacon?”
He’s startled into laughter. “No.” And then the laughter’s gone as fast as it came. “Something came up.” He met Juggler in the bathroom and killed his first man.
&nb
sp; She sniffs. “Good,” she says, sounding a little more like Commander Donnelly’s daughter. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“What line?” He’s confused but good-natured—he likes that firmness coming back into her voice.
In reply, she grabs the front of his suit and hauls him in, lifting her face in the same movement to claim a kiss, her mouth finding his without a beat of hesitation, her body fitting in against his like it’s the only place she’s ever been. He drops his helmet with a crash and lifts both hands to cup her face, surging in against her. They hold tight to one another, locked together, lost.
Eventually they ease apart just enough to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together. He’s still smoothing back her hair with one hand, running the other down along her jawline, dropping it to her shoulder, teaching himself her shape. She’s still holding tight to the front of his suit.
“I don’t drink coffee,” she says, breathless.
“You can drink anything you like,” he murmurs. “Just name it, I’ll find it for you.”
“You said coffee,” she replies, smiling. “Or dinner. I don’t drink coffee, so it’ll have to be dinner.”
He laughs again and wraps his arms around her, hugging her until she squeaks. She wriggles her arms free to wrap them around his neck. And though she’s an orphan and there’s no way he leaves the House of Knives except feet-first, and they’re both bound to be dead before either of those things are a problem anyway, they just hold on to each other like they’re all the anchor the other one needs.
Eventually they ease apart once more, and this time when their eyes meet, there’s a new note there. Spines straighter, bodies surer. They can do together what they weren’t sure they could do alone. She runs a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles she left behind, and he stands still for her attentions. Then his eyes widen as a memory returns. “Got something for you, Highness.” He digs inside his suit to produce something from an inner pocket, shielded by his hand. Then he shows her. It’s a small bundle of jasmine, a little crushed and a little browned.