by Manda Benson
“You know, maybe the Magnolia Order underestimated you,” Anthony thought. “But then again, I’ve never known the Magnolia Order to be wrong before, so you’re bound to do something stupid that’ll vindicate them in a moment.”
“Oh ha-ha very funny,” Verity returned. “Let’s go and burgle Farron’s lab before that horse comes back.”
“If you really are hell-bent on going through with this, it might make your life significantly easier if you have an electronic skeleton key. I had one on my person. No idea if you found it.”
Verity pulled out the plastic thing she’d found in Anthony’s bag and stared at it for a moment.
“That’s the one.”
She folded the foil into a piece a few inches square, and taped it to her forehead over her implant, hiding her signal from the ANT, and also from Anthony Cornelian’s ghost.
Mounted on the door outside Farron’s lab was a security lock with a steady red light on it. He alone would know the thought-prompt to open it.
She stuck the electronic skeleton key in the security lock and turned it. The door slid back into its wall recess.
Verity stepped inside. She scanned the lab with her back to the wall. With her implant covered, she was blind to the signals of the ANT, and she couldn’t hear Anthony from inside the bag.
She pulled open a drawer. Electronics things: wires and stuff that were meant to be connected to people’s interfaces to put currents through their brains and short-circuit their mental wiring. Verity shoved the drawer closed again. Without even thinking about it, she found her gaze drawn to the chair--similar to the type in dental surgeries, but with a harness like in the seat of a fighter jet, and thick straps where the wrists and ankles would go.
She pulled open another drawer. Syringes and needles lay neatly lined up and wrapped in sterile plastic, on the table, a few slates and bits of computer equipment. Lab coats hung on a peg. At the back of the room, on the wall perpendicular to the broad windows occupying the far wall, was a closed door. What lay behind that? Probably just a store room and a fridge for keeping drugs. Verity found herself drawn to stare at it and, although she sensed no signals, an odd feeling began to creep over her.
Verity shook her head. This was irrational. It must just be an effect of being deprived of signals, like little kids were frightened of the dark because they couldn’t see what it hid. Yet still she feared opening that door. As she edged closer, her hand fell upon the doorknob. It turned smoothly when she tried it. The catch clicked and the door swung back.
The smell and hum of a machine hit her first before she saw the wires snaking all over the table, the machine under the bench and the plastic tubes bringing dark fluid to and fro through two ports in the front of it. The head hadn’t been disposed of as Farron had asserted. It was still on the table, connected to the machinery, although the skin had started to turn gray, and the wound in the neck had begun to fester without a proper immune system to stave off infection. As she stared at it, the eye that was still functional opened, its pupil swiveling toward her. The head beheld her, its expression dour and immobile.
Nausea welled up and Verity’s mouth filled with saliva. She swallowed, trying to force it down, stopping herself from vomiting. He’d been in this not-quite dead state since she’d brought the head back. Why had Farron done this? This didn’t match up with the man she knew.
Yet this version of Anthony Cornelian, or what was left of him, must know what was going on. She needed that information. After a moment, she slid the bag off her shoulders and opened it.
“You’re Anthony Cornelian,” she addressed the head. “I’m Zeta Verity. I killed you... I was following orders. I didn’t realize who you were and what was going on. I can’t change that back, but I’m going to try to put it right. The only thing I can give you now is mercy. I’m going to make Farron pay for what he’s done.”
Verity paused, but the expression on the face did not change. She continued. “You can’t talk, ’cause you’ve got no lungs, and I can’t get the information from your mind because I’m not an inquisitor.” Verity reached into the bag and brought out the computer. “But you can transfer the data to your computer, and I swear to you this will end now, and that I’ll give everything I’ve got in me to make sure it reaches the Magnolia Order and Lloyd Farron is stopped.”
Verity held out the computer. The head remained staring at her, then it blinked, and the processing light on the slate started to flash. After the flickering had stopped, the head closed its eye.
Verity put the slate back in the bag. She didn’t know if the data had been transferred successfully. She couldn’t interface with the computer without exposing her location to the ANT, but she had made an oath, and she would show the living death of Anthony Cornelian that there were people left in the Solar system capable of honor.
Her hand landed on the hilt of her katana. Her feet found their position and the steel rushed from the sheath into a sweeping strike with the full force of her body behind it. The head on the table exploded, hurling reanimation fluid and pieces of brain and skull up the wall. The readouts on the monitors went haywire.
Verity hefted the bag back onto her shoulders as she retreated outside, wiping her katana savagely on Lloyd Farron’s lab coat before re-sheathing it.
A loud wailing noise made her start--the emergency alarm. Verity ran out of the lab and hid in a side corridor, flattening herself behind a first aid cupboard. Boots rang on the floor, and voices were heard, then people were in the lab. “It’s Sergeant Verity.” That was Sergeant Black’s voice. “The ANT says she’s out with one of the horses. Quickly, let’s get after her.” Footsteps again, this time retreating to the stables. She stayed put, trying to keep her breathing steady until she was sure they’d gone.
She crept down the corridor in the other direction, keeping her shoulder close to the wall and her hand on her katana. As she passed the habitation block, she chanced a look into the corridor leading to her billet. The door had already been forced open, and sounds of a search emanated from within. She had to stay away from the stables long enough for Sergeant Black to get away, but not so long that Sergeant Black caught up with the decoy horse and saw the trick and returned. Verity had no idea how long that would be.
She went back to the stables the long way around. Listening carefully outside, she heard nothing from within, apart from a horse crunching its feed. She slipped through the door and hid behind an open stall door, before peering over it and checking. All clear. All the horses were gone. Everyone who could ride must be out hunting her. Just the stallion, whom she’d heard eating from outside, remained.
Verity ripped off the tape on her forehead. “Anthony? Anthony!”
For what seemed like a long time, he didn’t respond.
“Anthony!”
“I’ve decided I’m going to help you.” His voice came at last, sorrowful and despondent in her thoughts.
The new tack she’d ordered for the stallion had arrived recently and it stood on the rack outside his stable. It had never been used before. This horse had not been broken in, and he was not fearless like the mares she was used to. He was unpredictable and untried, and yet there were no other horses. She would get nowhere on foot, if there was even anywhere to go.
Verity opened the stallion’s stall door, synced him to her and picked up the saddle. “We need to get out of here, quickly. Where were you going when I killed you on the scarp?” She readied the horse to the idea of a weight being placed on his back, and put the saddle on, quickly fastening the girth. He turned his head to get a better view and stood awkwardly, but didn’t start panicking.
“Can you fly?”
“I’m a sergeant in the Sky Forces! Of course I can fly!”
“There’s a lander. I hid it. I think I can direct you to it once we get moving.”
Verity put on the rest of the armor and the shoes on the horse. She dug her helmet out of the food bin where she’d hidden it, and dusted it off before putting i
t on. The inside of it smelt of horse food.
Now came the difficult part. She led the stallion out of his stall. She had to jump to get up on his back and he started. Verity reassured him, but already her heart was pumping faster than it should, and a clammy sweatiness lined her gloves. She was afraid, and he was afraid, and the only purpose it served was to propagate a feedback loop in which they made one another more scared. Verity tried to fight back the fear, reassuring the horse that he was safe with her. As she squirmed her knees to seat herself firmly in the saddle, he flicked out his back legs, not liking the alien, alarming sensation of having something pressing onto his body.
Verity tested her weight in the stirrups and picked up the reins. Neither would be much use, since he’d never been trained for them. She’d have to do this on thought-prompts alone.
She gave the command for him to move forward and he obeyed. His walking pace was still far too bouncy, though. Verity told herself, or rather she hoped, he’d feel much more natural as soon as they were out and galloping. Out they rode through the main door, the noise of his hoofs ringing loudly from the walls in the space of the corridor. She urged him faster as they went through the compound’s main gate, up through bouncing trot to rolling canter, and into full gallop. He did ease into a better pace after that, she was relieved to find. Verity set her sights on the lighter edge of the scarp in the distance a few miles away. Jupiter formed a perfect semicircle and the sun had risen into morning.
The stallion didn’t like the cold air in his lungs. He snorted clouds like a steam engine as he galloped.
“You’re nearly as much of a wimp as Vladimir,” she thought fondly to him. As she began to adjust to the animal’s interface, she started to enjoy the novelty of riding a different horse to the mares. He felt wider between her knees and his unclipped mane flew from his neck with his speed, his breath freezing on it and turning it to whippy dreadlocks.
In the horse’s vision she saw shapes moving against the dark plain, racing between the blunted spires. Horses. Sergeant Black’s squadron. They’d caught up with the decoy horse, and now they were coming back for her. Verity gave the thought-prompt to the stallion for all the speed he could give. His pace quickened, but he didn’t feel as fast as the big mare did, the horse she recognized Sergeant Black riding in the distance. The chasing horses were curving around to intercept their path, their strides elongated and greyhound-like in the low gravity. Already Verity picked up strange things from the stallion’s feedback. There was way too much adrenaline in his system. If this had been one of the mares, she’d be seriously concerned.
She could see the jagged stands of ice protruding from the rise of the cliff. She recalled the way she’d gone up when she’d chased Anthony. Over the top was quickest. She knew Sergeant Black wasn’t all that familiar with the scarp, and was unlikely to know the ascent and trust her horse like Verity did.
She slowed as they closed in, fixed focus on the first point she needed him to jump to, and gave the thought-prompt.
Doubt and panic rushed into his mind from nowhere. He shied, halting and rearing. Verity had been anticipating the motion of the jump. She nearly lost her seat. She fell forward on his neck and lost precious seconds recovering her balance before she could regain control, pressing the stallion on toward the track around the edge of the cliff. Hoof beats sounded behind her.
“Zeta Verity, I have a warrant for your arrest! Halt in the name of the Meritocracy!”
Through the stallion’s vision via the interface, Verity could see Black leaning forward from her horse, reaching for her.
“Sergeant Black!”
Sergeant Black reached to her hip for a weapon, the mare so close her head was almost touching the stallion’s hindquarters.
“Do something!” In the back of her mind, Verity felt a sudden deja vu from Anthony. She at once gave two thought-prompts: one to the stallion’s cybernetic armor that caused the grip crampons to extend from his shoes, and the other to him to lash out with his hind feet. She felt the powerful kick connect, and the mare’s scream was hideous to her ears. Sergeant Black overbalanced and fell. As the stallion ran up the incline into the forest of ice, Verity saw the woman curled in a fetal position in his vision, other horses pulling away and trying to step over her. The mare...at least she was on her feet, although she’d stopped running. That she’d had to do that to a horse she knew, she cared about, and who might be pregnant... She’d never forgive herself if it turned out the big mare had to be shot.
She tried to put what had happened out of her mind and concentrated on navigating the path ahead. Ice spikes rushed past, and now she understood the adrenaline in the horse’s blood was at least doing something. His fear of what was chasing him outweighed any apprehension he had about the path and the unknown territory ahead. It was fear that pushed him faster, putting his hoofs where a fearless horse’s rider might hesitate before risking.
The stallion rounded the side of the scarp and they raced along the path she and Vladimir had come, where she’d climbed down to Anthony Cornelian’s body. Ice flashed in the sun ahead of the stallion’s broad neck, his mane flying and icy vapors rushing from his nostrils with every jarring stride.
“Anthony, where is it?”
“It’s not far. It’s just at the edge of that big crater.”
“Tell me when!” A horse had appeared on the path close behind, and it was gaining on her.
“I’m not sure.”
“When will you be sure?” Verity turned her head for a better view of the crater, but could see only the ice barbs of the brink and, far away, the opposite wall. If she jumped too soon, they’d end up in the crater and the fall would kill both her and the stallion. Sergeant Black might kill her, find the computer in her bag, realize what was going on and try to flee to the lander. Then someone else would only kill Sergeant Black and the cycle would repeat. At this moment, Verity’s own mortality seemed risible. She hadn’t got out of bed this morning expecting to end up here. She hadn’t thought she would die this day.
“I think it’s here.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Damn!” Verity looked to the edge of the scarp, sizing up the jump. If he refused, it would be game over. If Anthony was wrong and that was crater below, and not the plateau, it would be game over. She focused on her interface with the horse. She could not know doubt. There was too much fear in him for her to have that margin. Concentrating, Verity visualized the plateau just below the edge and the easy drop, the straightforward landing. As she gave the thought-prompt to jump, she was utterly sure of her conviction.
The stallion pushed off with his hindquarters. His forelegs retracted into the leap, his head dropping to look forward. The length of his back tensed, stabilizing him in midair as they soared over the ridge. The plateau lay twenty feet below, just as she had imagined it.
His forelegs stretched out to meet the ice, and Verity leaned forward into the saddle for the landing. After a few paces, he came to a stop.
“Where’s the lander?”
“It’s behind you, under the ledge!”
Verity kicked her feet loose and dismounted. It would take a moment for her pursuers to get down here. They’d probably have to stop and dismount and look over the edge to make sure they weren’t following her to their deaths. Quickly she reached up to the stallion’s head and activated his homing beacon. She pulled off her helmet and desynced from him.
“Go! Go home!”
Immediately he was away, running back around the scarp toward the compound. Verity ran in the opposite direction, back to where the cliff would hide her, and where a white shape nestled among boulders and shadows at the foot of the scarp. She felt very small and low without the horse under her and, although she raced to the object in great leaps, her speed was pathetic and insignificant compared to the horse’s.
She reached the lander and, in her peripheral vision, she saw a shape fly over high above. The horses were leaping down, but
they saw the fleeing stallion in the distance and chased after him as soon as their hoofs hit the ice. Their riders must not have thought to check their horses’ vision, for if they had they would have seen an anomalous pale shape standing out against the dusty ice.
The lander’s domed white hull primarily constituted a fusion engine surrounded by high-pressure tanks to hold supercritical hydrogen. The cabin comprised only the foremost fifth of the thing. Its short delta wing lay flattened close to the ground, making it look like a huge limpet.
“What’s the thought-prompt for it?”
Anthony conveyed it, and when she relayed it to the lander, the door unlocked. She hurried to turn the wheel that would release the seal. The cabin within was not much warmer than the outside temperature. There were only two seats, one behind the other. Verity spun the wheel to seal the door. She dumped her helmet in the backseat and stuffed the bag with Anthony in it down the foot well. Verity landed heavily in the pilot’s seat and wrestled the harness over her shoulders, snapping the buckle shut.
Hitting the ignition switch sent a trickle of hydrogen into the fusion engine. Warm, dry air rushed up from grilles at the bottom of the cockpit. Verity couldn’t manage the controls with her gloves on, but when she took them off, the steering bar was still burning cold.
The surface surrounding the lander was uneven, strewn with lumps of ice and broken pieces from the scarp above. “How am I supposed to take off in this thing? There’s no runway!”
“It’s got a gyromagnetic levitator, same as the gyromags the Stormraiders use back on Earth and Mars. It skims over the surface like a hovercraft. You need to start the cryomagnet to take off.”
Verity flicked up the switch marked cryomagnet. A dull hum became audible. Outside the reinforced panes of vitreous alloy that made up the forward window, a horse and rider appeared in the distance. Others followed close behind. They had seen the lander.