by Bruns, David
Chapter 27
Ruben Qinlao • En Route to SynCorp Headquarters
Ruben switched off the ship’s engines. The Moon panned down in the forward window as he passed beyond the tug of lunar gravity. Earth rose in its place.
Comms traffic was chaotic. Tony’s headquarters was under attack. Too far out to spot the space station that served as SynCorp Headquarters, Ruben reached out with antiquated sensors and found energy discharges. Fast-vessel maneuvers that, with their built-in gravity compensators, would fly circles around his little shuttle. Any stellar conflict with those modern ships would come to a quick and predetermined end.
Best to avoid any need for that , he thought.
The hard burn from Mars had taken its toll on Ruben and his old shuttle. The old-fashioned dragsuit had helped him weather the stresses of a full-g burn for more than forty-eight hours, but he’d had to cold-start the engines twice when he’d flipped over to decel burn halfway to the Moon. Three decades before, the model stealth ship had been a cutting-edge example of Erkennen Labs’ beyond-the-curve innovation. She’d even broken the Mars-to-Earth speed record, shaving a best-time standard of three days to two, a miracle of technology at the time. The little souped-up shuttle’s name now defined the meaning of irony.
But the Roadrunner had gotten Ruben to Earth and kept him off the grid doing it. The ship had been Ming’s once. In healthier days, she’d take it out when she wanted privacy from Company politics. When a SynCorp law was enacted requiring all spacecraft, private or otherwise, be outfitted with tracking beacons, Ming had quietly ignored the order. That meant the Roadrunner wasn’t registered on SynCorp’s travel network. Avoiding the main Frater Lanes, Ruben had shadowed them like a wolf in the woods striding parallel to a main road.
He was still too far for his human eyes to see anything but stars, so Ruben watched the sensor data coming in from SCHQ—the battle for control of the station raged on. The attack on Taulke’s seat of power was the next logical step, given what Ruben had heard on SynCorp’s subspace network during the trip from Mars. The daily pabulum of CorpNet propaganda had devolved into rumors of revolution becoming fact. Stories highlighting Kwazi Jabari and the Martian effort to rebuild, of the Corporate Fleet’s rout of a group of motley pirates in the Belt, had turned into headlines predicting the fall of SynCorp.
THE CORPORATION IS NOT ALL.
THE FIVE FACTIONS MUST END.
THE SOLDIERS OF THE SOLAR REVOLUTION ARE COMING.
Someone who didn’t report to Helena Telemachus had clearly gained control of CorpNet.
Archived footage ran constantly in the Basement, plainly aimed at reinforcing the top level’s tombstone headlines. The sabotage of the refinery on Mars. The shuttle crashing into Callisto’s orbital ring. Someone was trying to draft the populace into rebellion with anti-Company sentiment. The Undernet had been uploaded to the free-access top level of CorpNet like so much dirty laundry. Now every citizen-worker could pick up, turn over, and examine the unwashed underbelly of the Company’s backroom business.
There were no more secrets. No more control of the narrative. There was only informational anarchy. This was more than the Resistance had ever accomplished, Ruben thought. Much more.
Titan was in full blackout—no one had heard from Gregor Erkennen in two days. Channel Black, the encrypted frequency reserved for emergency use by the five faction heads, was silent save for subspace snow. There was even a headline claiming the Qinlao Faction had been ended, which worried Ruben, until he realized the claim referred to him personally. Another headline claimed the same fate for Tony Taulke. Ruben could only hope it too was inaccurate.
He’d almost reached SCHQ, was almost within reach of fulfilling his promise to his big sister. The Roadrunner was in visual range. The point defenses of Taulke’s headquarters were alive and being answered by the railguns of smaller attack ships. Drones, escorting dropships. Full of SSR, no doubt. They were boarding the station.
It would be tricky threading his way through that chaos, especially with Taulke’s point defense cannons targeting anything that moved. Then, all at once, that problem went away. The PDs stopped firing. Someone on the inside had shut them down.
“Well, hell, Tony,” Ruben muttered. “I hope you appreciate this.”
He pushed the button to bring his engine back online. A red light flashed in time with a harsh alarm.
“Come on, old girl. I’m Ming’s little brother, yeah? She’d want you to take care of me.”
Ruben pushed again and winced when the power level spiked past orange. He’d been trying to save fuel and minimize his LiDAR footprint, but maybe he should have kept the engine idling.
“In case you’re hard of hearing too,” Ruben said a little louder, glancing around the small cabin. “Ming was my sister!”
He pushed the start button again. The power spiked again. The level dropped through the yellow and stabilized at the top of the green. Thrust from the Roadrunner ’s main engine pushed Ruben back in his cushioned pilot’s seat. The positioning thrusters steadied her course.
“Thanks, old girl,” he said, patting the console the way he’d seen old women pat the slot machines in Vegas-in-the-Clouds. He’d thought them laughably superstitious. Now he got it.
Drawing closer, Ruben saw that most of the action around SCHQ was up top, where Tony’s penthouse was. Cut off the head of the snake—that seemed to be the strategy of the SSR. But Ruben knew something they evidently didn’t. Assuming Tony was still alive and on the station, he’d be at the opposite end, in a blast-proof bunker equipped for long-term space flight, with a set of state-of-the-art fusion engines. Tony had called it the Lifeboat in their last conversation, when Ruben informed him of Ming’s worries about a coup attempt. From his vantage point in the Roadrunner , Ruben could see that the Lifeboat was still attached. Which meant Tony hadn’t left yet. At least not via the Lifeboat.
Maybe he really is dead .
The SSR dropships were attaching themselves to SCHQ about halfway down its superstructure, likely with the mission to take over Engineering. That made tactical sense—and was why Tony’s Lifeboat was at the ass end of the station.
Ruben dove the Roadrunner down and away from the main fighting. No one seemed to notice her small, angular black hull. Old Viktor Erkennen’s outdated stealth design continued outliving its warranty. Ruben kissed the cold metal of SCHQ’s outer hull with maneuvering thrusters, smiling nervously when the teeth of the airlock meshed between ship and station.
“Okay, big sister, here goes nothing.” Ruben stood for the first time in two days, grimacing at the popping in his knees. The drugs the dragsuit had pumped into him in flight—more old tech meant to mitigate the demands of hard burns—swam in his system. He stripped off the dragsuit, strapped a stunner to his hip, and moved to the airlock. Slowly his limbs were coming alive.
The pressure door rolled aside. Ruben drew his stunner and stepped inside SCHQ.
The corridor was empty. With his back against the wall, he advanced toward where the Lifeboat would be: at the very bottom of the station, easily detachable like the useless stage of a rocket in NASA’s earliest days of space exploration. He was adjusting swiftly to SCHQ’s standard-g. The drugs were doing their job. Ruben walked quickly but cautiously, reconnoitering around corners before moving deeper in, just like Ming had taught him so long ago.
He knew he’d reached the hatch for the Lifeboat by its single symbol over the access controls: the Taulke Faction symbol. The station was full of such images, of course, which helped to hide this one’s significance. But down here, on the bottommost level, the symbol was a call sign, a password of privilege. Ruben pressed his fingertips to the Taulke logo rather than the door’s controls, just as Tony had told him to do.
The door swept aside. Ruben’s eyes narrowed, then focused on the stunner’s barrel leveled a foot from his forehead.
“Drop the piece,” the man said, his voice smooth and cool. He was massive, his broad shoulders
and thick arms testing the resilience of the blue Company coveralls he wore. He looked like an average SynCorp laborer, excepting the weapon pointed at Ruben’s head. His thick forefinger wrapped around the trigger. “Or I drop you.”
“Ruben!” Tony Taulke stepped from behind the man. “You made it! Dick, drop the stunner. This is Ruben Qinlao.”
The big man lowered his weapon on command, aiming a cocked eyebrow at Ruben instead. One wrong move , it said. I don’t give a fuck who you are .
Ruben slipped past. “Why haven’t you blasted off, Tony? Those SSR troops are all over the station.”
“Yeah,” Tony answered as the door slipped shut. “They took Engineering before I could detach. Piece of advice, Ruben: if you ever design a getaway ship as part of your headquarters, be sure any docking clamps aren’t tied to the station’s main security protocols. Cuz once those are compromised, you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Good thing I have alternative transportation,” Ruben said. He could feel the young mountain looming behind him. His eyes flicked over his shoulder.
“Don’t mind him,” Tony said. “Name’s Richard Strunk. He’s an up-and-coming talent in my stable of enforcers. Stacks Fischer can’t be everywhere all the time. Would that he could.”
“Hi,” Ruben said.
Strunk simply stared, crossing his arms. Ruben noticed the big man’s stunner was back in a shoulder holster. Near his right hand at the moment, as a matter of fact.
“About that alternative transportation…” Tony said.
“Right. The Roadrunner ’s just a couple of levels away.”
“The Roadrunner ? You flew Viktor Erkennen’s old prototype all the way from Mars?” Tony’s wary voice carried a whiff of being impressed.
“She still flies,” Ruben said, “and no time to debate. What about your son? And your wife?”
“Sent them away on the Pax Corporatum days ago after our little talk. Dick, lead the way.”
The door disappeared into the wall. A knife arced into the Lifeboat from the corridor beyond. Strunk’s reflexes were good. He slipped aside without thinking, pulling his stunner. The knife buried itself in Tony’s upper chest. Ruben caught him as he collapsed. Strunk’s stunner fired—punk! punk-punk! —as a second knife flew through the doorway and embedded itself in the wall behind them.
Not just a knife. A katara.
The same weapon Kisaan’s clone had used on Mars.
Strunk was cursing a blue streak, shooting four-letter words like bullets. He barreled forward into the corridor firing his stunner. There were the sounds of his massive fists hitting flesh.
“We’re trapped like rats here,” Tony gasped. “Get me out. Get me out!”
Ruben wrapped Tony’s arm around his shoulder and moved to the door. The katara in Tony’s chest bobbed with every movement. The CEO of SynCorp grunted but held his pain inside.
There she was. Another of Kisaan’s clones, ducking in fast motion Strunk’s slow and ponderous attempts to lay her out.
Ruben drew his stunner with his free hand and aimed. A blur on the right drew his attention, and he was obliged to send her soldier escort ducking for cover instead.
Punk-punk-punk!
The clone’s three escorts fired at Strunk at close range, but it was clear his blue coveralls weren’t standard issue. MESH woven, Ruben decided. Of course they were. Strunk was Tony’s enforcer. He’d never be in the field unshielded.
The soldiers were wising up to that fact too. They dropped their stunners and moved in, kataras drawn.
“I’ve got to put you down,” Ruben said, not waiting for Tony’s agreement. Tony slipped to the floor, unconscious. His stunner knocked from his hand, Strunk had retreated. He was batting away attempts to knife him from two different sides. Ruben drew his own knives, the weapons he’d taken off the clone on Mars.
This clone turned an eye as he advanced, then fell into a defensive stance. She wasn’t worried about Strunk, her posture said.
“You’re Ruben Qinlao,” she said. “I guess Elynda failed, then.”
Ruben crouched, turning over the knife in his hand. “And you are?”
“Elissa,” she said and lunged.
Ruben stepped back, turning sideways. Her knife slipped past. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand, bringing his own knife down into open air as she counter-dodged and twisted free.
A bellowing stopped them both. Strunk picked up one of the soldiers and threw him hard into his comrades.
Elissa Kisaan debated a moment, turning the odds over in her head. Strunk rounded on her, and without hesitation, she fled the fight.
Ruben blinked. The pile of soldiers was just beginning to disentangle themselves. Seeing Strunk moving in their direction, they seemed eager to follow their leader.
“Strunk!” The big man stopped as the soldiers fled. “Tony’s the priority. You carry him. I’ll get us to the ship!”
Grunting, Strunk obeyed. He cradled Tony in his arms, careful to avoid the knife still sticking in his boss’s chest. Half in and half out of consciousness, Tony moaned as they moved him.
Ruben was less cautious on the return trip. Elissa Kisaan and her bodyguards seemed to be the only enemy on this level. When Strunk stepped with Tony aboard the Roadrunner , his disapproval was apparent .
“This piece of shit is gonna get us killed.”
Ruben closed and locked the hatch and helped him secure Tony into a cushioned seat. “Feel free to catch the next car,” he said.
Strunk grumbled.
Breaking into the first-aid kit under the seat, Ruben pulled a hypodermic out. The meds were so old they were still delivered by needle, not compressed air forced through the skin with a hypo.
“That stuff still any good?” Strunk asked.
“Sure, absolutely,” Ruben said. I think . He injected Tony, who groused at the pain as the needle entered his arm.
“And it was a lot smaller than that,” Ruben said, nodding at the knife in Taulke’s chest.
“Get it out,” Tony said.
“Can’t. When we get where we’re going.”
“And where’s that?” Strunk demanded. He was forced to hunch over beneath the Roadrunner ’s short ceiling. He looked like an ogre avoiding a canopy of trees.
“The Moon.”
“That’s crazy,” Strunk said. “That’s the first place—”
“Short-term solution,” Ruben said, moving to the pilot’s seat. His fingers punched keys. The ship had never seemed so old, or limited, as it did to him then. “I know a place we can hide. Now, strap in.”
“Ruben…”
“Not now, Tony,” Ruben answered as Strunk squeezed himself into the copilot’s seat. The foam that would help protect Strunk against the g-forces to come squeaked in protest as his bulk settled in .
“Listen to me, goddammit,” Tony said, breathing heavily around the pain. “As soon as we’re clear, I need you to send a tightbeam. I’ll give you the frequency. It’s encrypted. To Fischer.”
“Okay, but first things first.” Ruben detached from SCHQ and fired up the engine. It started in one try. He patted the console, once again sending silent approbation to the old ladies in the orbiting casino. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter 28
Stacks Fischer • Rabh Regency Station
Valhalla Station buzzed with the news. Ruben Qinlao: dead. Tony Taulke: dead. Elise Kisaan: missing. Gregor Erkennen: gone dark on Titan. The only faction leader still in control of her regency, apparently, was Adriana Rabh.
As we rode the elevator up to Adriana’s armored penthouse above Callisto, I thought how strange human nature is. Now and then you’ll hear echoes of the Resistance: mankind shouldn’t kowtow to SynCorp. We shouldn’t sacrifice freedom for security. We should determine our own destiny. I thought it was all bullshit myself. No matter who you are, you’re owing to somebody, and the Company seemed as good as any other to collect the bill. Plus, free vacations twice a year: bring the whole family.
But, the Hydra’s heads were getting lopped off right and left, and all those downtrodden citizen-workers needing freedom were starting to panic. The bandwidth in the Basement was bloating with personal stories—families wondering where their next meal would come from. Miners on Mars and farmers on Earth wanting to know when their next shift was. They’d had their needs taken care of by SynCorp for a generation. I could see the panic rising like the gorge of an overfed fatman. It was even starting to overwhelm the headlines dominating CorpNet proclaiming mankind’s freedom from the evil corporate overlords was close at hand. Sounded to me like the SSR forgot to ask the populace their druthers first.
People don’t like change.
“Where are we going?” Edith Birch asked. She’d come along willingly enough. I guessed she was still smarting from seeing how much blood Bubba’s body used to hold.
“To see Adriana Rabh.”
Edith waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.
“Why, if I may ask?” There was fear in her voice. Didn’t she know if I wanted to kill her, she’d be dead already?
I glanced at the display as the levels flashed by. “Because I need to cinch up that bow I mentioned earlier.”
The levels sped by.
“And you need me because…”
“You’re part of the cinching.”
“Oh.” Then, after a few more levels: “Why did you kill Luther? I mean, instead of taking him into custody or something.”
“I’m not a marshal,” I said. “Custody isn’t what I do. And he was a man who needed killing.”
My syncer pinged. Since I didn’t have an implant, it gave me basic notifications when someone sent a message. It had a black SynCorp five-pointed star attached to it. I hadn’t seen that in a long, long time. It never meant good news .
“I’m pregnant,” Edith said.
I was preoccupied by the star for a second and a half longer. “Say again?”
“I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.”
“Thanks for defining that for me,” I groused. It came out harsher than I’d intended, which was not harsh at all. I was focused on the black star. It’s a level of encryption I can’t decode without the Hearse. Walking around without an implant had its downside. “And … congratulations.”