by Thorne Moore
‘They’ll be long gone by then. They just stick with us until we’re beyond the range of threat to Triton station.’
‘Okay, I can live with that.’
‘Let’s hope we all get to live with it,’ said Addo. He gestured at the rear screen. ‘This is the last we’ll see of Triton, Tod, you realise that? ‘
Tod followed his gaze. ‘Yes. Shame. I’ve become quite attached to the place.’
‘That your idea of a joke?’
‘Allow me to be attached to some of its inmates.’
‘We’ll see them again.’
‘In a few hours in one case, possibly.’
There was silence in response.
‘There is still the possibility,’ said Tod softly. ‘I won’t give up on her yet.’ He stood in watchful silence as the Heloise manoeuvred onto the designated course. Behind them the cold, steely world of Triton Station had already slipped away, fading into the swirling blue disk of the vast planet.
‘He needs to see results before he gauges a unit’s usefulness,’ said Khan. ‘I’m being asked to justify my unit quota. Understand, Security wants to oust us. We’ve got to prove, constantly, that we can do the job better.’
‘Of course, I understand. And I told you, I’ll do best if I can get a grasp of things for myself,’ insisted Yasmin impatiently. ‘Looking at maps and schedules won’t give me what I need.’
‘I’ve got full sector reports in my office.’
‘Not good enough.’ She sounded firm and surprisingly calm. Feeble hope was running out like grains of sand. In a few hours Tod would be gone, and with him any chance of escape from Triton. As long as there remained the remotest possibility that she could con her way onto the Minotaur project and grab that soon-departing courier, she would struggle for it. It was all she had to struggle for. If even this failed, she’d have nothing left but to die. She strove to appear brusque and argumentative. ‘I don’t know the picture on the ground. I need to pick up the nuances. You can’t tell a group’s weaknesses just by studying statistics.’
Khan didn’t like being ordered around by a novice. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to detect the nuances, as you call them, Steen.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. My greatest asset for the moment is my anonymity. I can infiltrate, pick up the vibes. In another week I’ll be recognised. This is the one meaningful chance I have to get out there among them and learn.’ Aware of Khan’s hesitation, she went on authoritatively. ‘I want a map of the entire set-up, I want a shuttle, I want security passes, and I want forty-eight hours out there to get my bearings and find everything I need to know.’
For a wild and wonderful moment, Khan considered her demand, gnawing his lip. Then he laughed. ‘No way. Grade Ones don’t get to go wandering on a free rein round the station. You don’t leave this section. Tell you what I’ll do though. Have the run of the Tower for the rest of the day. See what nuances you pick up down in Communications or over in Security.’ He groped in his pocket to find an internal Section pass and munificently handed it to her.
Yasmin took it in silence.
‘Show me what you can do here,’ said Khan, ‘and who knows, I might give you a longer leash another day.’
Another day. There was no other day. The walls were crushing in, drowning out whatever else Khan was saying. She nodded and watched him go.
So that was it. Face it. Better still, make something of her certain death. Take Pascal with her. Her chances of success were virtually zero, but the thought offered the only meaning left to her. Since she was trapped in the Tower with Pascal, she’d hunt him down and kill him.
Floor 98. Apart from that initial tour of the top on the first day, this was the highest Yasmin had made it. She’d been turned back twice, trying to get past 75, but it was the top she needed if she wanted to find Pascal.
The elevator doors slid open and yet again, she walked straight into a black-clad figure. She recognised the Security logo, waiting for the inevitable gun in the ribs, hand at her neck. Then she recognised Smith. He’d disappeared cleanly and efficiently into his uniform though, at sight of Yasmin, his humourless Gestapo watchfulness cracked into a contemptuous smile.
‘Lost, sweetheart? It really was a waste squandering my Minotaur scheme on you, wasn’t it?’
‘Utter waste.’ Yasmin slumped back into the elevator. ‘Didn’t go entirely to plan.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t.’ He followed her in, snapping ‘25.’ The elevator started down and he prodded her. ‘Why the hell did you have to spell out your PR qualifications instead of your courier experience?’
‘Because I thought it would be the one thing they wouldn’t have any possible use for.’
Smith said nothing. She was quite right. Triton? Public Relations?
‘Anyway, it’s done,’ said Yasmin. ‘Finito. Sorry I screwed your escape plan.’
‘One of my escape plans.’ Smith smirked. He eyed her again, as suspicious as a genuine security guard. ‘What were you doing up on 98?’
‘Trying to get to the top. Where else would I find Pascal?’
He could see the careless despair now. It made her dangerous, and him stubbornly callous. ‘Yasmin, whatever stupid idea you’ve got planned, just save it up for a few hours, okay?’
‘Why?’
‘Because in a few hours I’ll be out of here.’
‘You’re so sure?’
The elevator came to a halt, but his hand on the controls was keeping the doors shut until he’d squeezed an agreement out of her. ‘I might as well take my chance while Cap’n Tod is still in the vicinity and open to blackmail.’
‘You’re too late.’
‘I think not. The Heloise has already left dock, but patrol fighters could catch her up at half speed.’
‘How do you get your hands on a fighter?’
‘Just at this moment, by coincidence, easier than you might think. They’re about to start a search and destroy training exercise. Security’s going to monitor them. I’m being sent to the surveillance centre in the military sector. When I’m there, I’ll volunteer to take a fighter out myself. They’ll love that. Really infuriate the military.’
‘They’ll be monitoring you too. They’ll register your escape.’
Smith gave her a withering smile. ‘They’ll register whatever I feed them, and it won’t be my hitching a lift the Heloise. All those aggrieved patrol fighters resenting me spying on them, who’d be surprised if a pot shot appeared to hit me? End of Ragnox 2459313.’
‘You really believe in taking chances.’
‘Yes, instead of wasting them. I had a rendezvous with the Heloise planned weeks ago, but Tod wouldn’t countenance it.’
‘What makes you think he’ll countenance it now?’
‘I don’t think he’ll be in a position to argue, do you? I know more than enough about our righteous Commander Foxe’s operation to persuade...’
He’d lowered his hand and the door behind Yasmin slid open. She watched Smith’s expression freeze for a second and then adjust effortlessly into the cold arrogance of a security officer interrogating a suspect. He carried on. ‘...him to fall into line. If he complies, we may not have to pursue the matter any further.’ His eyes moved steadily from Yasmin’s face to that of the man standing behind her. He moved Yasmin out of the way as a military officer in full flying gear pushed into the elevator, gun in hand, pointing it menacingly at Smith.
‘Carry on,’ ordered Smith, pushing Yasmin forward, but the gun and the arm holding it blocked their way.
‘A conspiracy to rig the surveillance system, is it? Planning to abscond from Triton and blame the military. We’ll see about that. I’m placing you under arrest.’
Smith managed to look no more than irritated, but the patrol officer shoved Yasmin to one side and put his gun to Smith’s head. As she stumbled back, Yasmin pulled out Smith’s gun and shot the officer.
A neat shot, surprisingly accurate, straight through the heart. He dropped without sque
ezing the trigger.
Smith jabbed instinctively at the controls, sliding the doors shut again, then stepped back, speechless for once. He knelt, felt for a pulse. ‘Jesus Christ, Yasmin! Did you have to do that? I could have managed the situation.’
‘The Heloise,’ she said. ‘You mentioned the Heloise. And Commander Foxe.’
Smith took a deep breath as if to speak, but held it instead, his face in his hands.
‘You’d have managed by sacrificing Tod,’ said Yasmin. ‘I couldn’t let you do that. Sorry.’
Smith looked up at her, the denial drying on his lips. ‘So you redress the situation by sacrificing me. How do I explain this one? I’ve got a dead fighter pilot on my hands.’
‘Easy. I shot him. Arrest me. Shoot me in return.’
‘Don’t tempt me!’ He stood up, thinking fast. ‘We’ve got to get rid of him. Hide the body. At least get him out of this elevator. Let me think. 17. Can’t be that many loaded guns waiting for us there.’ He swore silently as the elevator hurtled down again. They stood ready for anything as the doors opened, but no one was waiting.
Smith looked hurriedly up and down the corridor, then he grabbed the dead man by the ankles to pull him out. Yasmin stooped to help. They panted with the effort. The patrol officer was compact in build, but the electronic equipment incorporated into his flying gear increased his weight substantially.
Smith left Yasmin standing over the body and tentatively peered through an open door. A waiting room, beyond which came the murmur of voices. He drew back, tried another shut door. An office. Two men at a console turned round, recognised his uniform and started up, looking guilty. Smith studied them coldly for a moment, then nodded and slid the door shut again.
A third door, no one inside. ‘This will do.’ Again they heaved the dead man along the polished floor.
‘Where are we?’ asked Yasmin.
‘Recreation. For top grades only. Haven’t had time to explore it much.’ Smith glanced at the wide padded bench, the only furniture in the room. ‘Smells like the brothel side.’
Yasmin sniffed. There was a faint musky perfume on the air, strangely out of place on Triton. ‘You’re right.’
Smith was still tugging at the corpse. ‘Reckon we could pass this off as a heart attack, sustained in the throes of passion?’
‘Heart failure certainly. And a bullet is pretty passionate.’
‘Is that what killed him?’ asked Clytemnestra. She was standing in the doorway, watching them with interest.
They jumped, releasing their hold. The dead man’s helmet smacked noisily onto the floor. ‘Ah,’ said Smith. ‘Ah, Nessy.’
She strolled over, looking down at the body, head on one side. ‘You shot him?’
‘I shot him,’ said Yasmin, firmly.
‘Well you can’t leave him here. I’m expecting someone in a minute.’
‘Right,’ said Smith, nonchalantly. ‘Any idea where we might dump him?’
Clytemnestra tutted disapproval. ‘Not this floor. You want to take him to the service elevator. This way.’ She lent a hand hauling their problem along, adding in a conversational tone, ‘There’s a waste disposal unit down there. I’m told it’s the usual place for dealing with bodies. It grinds things up.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Smith glanced at Yasmin.
She shrugged.
Clytemnestra guided them, smoothing down her tiger skin as she straightened. ‘So how are you two doing?’
They stared at her. ‘Fine,’ said Smith.
‘I thought we might run into each other, with you in the Tower. Coincidence, isn’t it? Oh, and I saw Merrit yesterday.’
‘How is he?’ asked Yasmin politely, as they manoeuvred the corpse into the service elevator.
‘Pig-happy,’ said Clytemnestra, freeing one of the dead man’s straps which had caught in the door. ‘He’s got two departments fighting over him. Clinical research and something engineering. Can’t get over the idea that he’s in demand.’
‘Let’s hope he has the sense to choose engineering,’ said Yasmin. ‘He’s got the healing touch and I doubt if healing is what clinical research on Triton is about. How about Abigail and Selden?’
‘No, I haven’t seen them.’
‘You won’t,’ said Smith, as they propped up the corpse in a corner to let the doors slide shut. ‘They’re out in Theta zone. Very isolated. A couple of dozen scientists and engineers in their own little world, almost independent. I asked for a report from their resident security officer and he woke up long enough to notice that there were two new recruits, fitting in happily.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Clytemnestra comfortably. She studied the deceased member of their cosy party, as the elevator plummeted. ‘Do I know him?’ She pushed the visor further up. ‘I don’t think so. What did he do?’
Smith struggled for a suitable answer.
‘He was a threat to Tod,’ said Yasmin.
‘Ah. I thought it would be a threat to Jo Jo. I suppose you’ve got some daft plan for escaping.’
They said nothing. She looked at them, nodding to herself. The doors slid open again. They were in a dimly lit cavern of girders and concrete pillars, icy cold and dripping. Clytemnestra peered into the gloom. ‘Over there, I think.’ They could just make out the glow of a bank of control lights, on a distant wall. ‘Come on.’
They dragged, pushed, stumbling across the wide space to the steel doors of a waste disposal chute. Clytemnestra tapped the controls and the steel jaws opened. A dark shaft, an unholy stench. Smith hesitated, wincing.
‘Leave this to me,’ said Yasmin. ‘It’s my fault. You need to get back to work, Jo Jo.’
‘Work. Yes.’
‘You can’t waste any more time.’
‘Is this his big escape?’ asked Clytemnestra. She smiled primly. ‘I won’t tell anyone, you know. Or do you think I’m still an informer?’
It seemed ungracious to say yes.
‘Go,’ said Yasmin. ‘I don’t want to screw up your plans yet again as my final achievement. Leave this to me.’
‘And then what?’
‘You’ll be gone and I...’ Yasmin smiled darkly before adding softly, ‘I go back to what I was doing.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
‘Fine.’ Smith turned to go. Then he stopped, turned back, a look of agony on his face. ‘Hell. I can’t do this, can I? If anyone goes, it’s got to be you, Yasmin. Hasn’t it?’
‘No. I had my chance and blew it.’ She folded her arms tightly. ‘Just forget about me and get out of here.’
‘And leave you to make some suicidal attempt on Pascal? Are you kidding? There’s a chance for one, only one, and it’s got to be you.’ He turned to Clytemnestra. ‘It has to be her, doesn’t it?’
‘Well of course it does,’ said Clytemnestra impatiently. ‘Stands to reason. Yasmin will just die if she stays, but you’ve got it made. I think it’s stupid you even think of leaving.’
‘Thank you, Nessy. You didn’t have to agree so readily. Couldn’t I have just a token show of admiration for my noble sacrifice?’
‘Bullshit, Jo Jo.’
‘No,’ repeated Yasmin. ‘No one need sacrifice anything. Jo Jo, you’ve got your plan. For you it might work. How could you substitute me? I’m not in Security. I can’t fly a patrol fighter. It can’t be done.’
For a moment Smith hesitated, but Clytemnestra saved him the pain of arguing. She plumped down on her knees and wrestled the helmet from the dead man’s head. Then she groped for the thong round his neck and wrenched his cyber-card free. ‘It has a monitor, you know.’ She held it out to Yasmin. ‘Now put yours on this gentleman.’
Smith was already going with it. ‘Get his uniform off.’ He inspected it more closely. ‘Not much blood fortunately. If we arrange the straps carefully, nothing will show. Come on, Yasmin.’
Still adamant in her refusal, Yasmin watched them struggle with the flying suit. She should walk away. This was pointless.
; ‘Yasmin, put this on,’ commanded Clytemnestra.
‘No, I won’t let you—’
‘Yasmin, shut up and do it or I’ll hit you,’ said Smith. ‘You want me to rip the clothes off your back?’
With a feeble smile, Yasmin pulled off her own gear and stood shivering while Clytemnestra sorted out the flying suit and pulled it round her, stepping back to see where adjustments were needed.
‘It’s a bit big. Not too bad though. He wasn’t very tall.’
‘They choose the smaller guys for the patrol fighters,’ said Smith. ‘No room.’ He looked at Yasmin, standing limp in her new outfit. ‘Still, he was taller than you. Think tall, be tall. That’s the way to do it.’
Yasmin pulled herself up.
‘That’s better. Here’s your card. Now this.’ He picked up the helmet, slipped it over Yasmin’s head and connected the controls. At once she could understand how the fighter pilot had overheard their conversation through a closed door. The helmet contained enhanced listening devices. The dank chamber was suddenly full of echoes and scratching and scrabbling. Her companions’ breathing came loud and harsh.
‘Keep your visor down,’ advised Smith. ‘Now.’ He turned back to the corpse, stooping to lift it up to the opening. He hesitated on the brink. ‘I suppose we are sure he’s really dead.’
‘Soon will be,’ said Clytemnestra, giving the body a shove. It rolled clumsily over the lip and slithered down into darkness. There was a moment of silence and then a hideous grinding noise, echoing up from hidden depths. Clytemnestra hastily flung Yasmin’s cybercard in and shut the doors. ‘Well that’s that. Will anyone be missing you?’
Yasmin shuddered. ‘Not for a while. I’m on a free rein round the Tower, picking up on personnel problems before Jo Jo’s department can beat us to it. If they’re monitoring my card, they’ll probably think I found more trouble than I could handle.’
‘That’s all right then.’ Clytemnestra wiped her hands clean on Smith’s sleeve. ‘Well come on, you don’t want to hang around here and I’ve got a client booked.’
They followed her, sheepishly, back to the elevator. She took the matter of body disposal totally in her stride. Smith breathed a deep sigh of admiration. ‘Nessy, you never cease to amaze me. I think I love you.’