A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

It was a bad idea, but was it any worse than abandoning Marc to Diomedes's care for the rest of the trip? "I don't know. If he catches me trying? And we don't even know if the shuttle's big enough. He might be telling the truth about that."

  "He's made sure we need him, hasn't he?"

  "Don't think it's not intentional, either. I'd bet he knew about the wait before he told us, too." Marc gave a grunt, and silence followed. Michael checked his watch. Four and a half hours left. He tried to shift to keep from getting stiff.

  "You know," Marc whispered after a time, "once we actually get to the shuttle, how much do we really need him after that?"

  Michael checked to make sure Diomedes was still out before answering. "I guess it depends on what we need to launch it. Some sort of code or pass, maybe."

  "We should check him. See what he's got."

  "Search him?"

  "Yeah." Marc nodded encouragingly and motioned toward the man.

  Michael scowled at the prospect, but then moved forward onto his knees and, carefully, checked through Diomedes's pockets. It didn't take long to find something. After pulling out a device twice the size of a deck of cards that Marc was positive was the data leech, they found them: zippered inside a breast pocket along with an odd-looking, pen-sized object were two access cards. He took them out and showed them to Marc. "What's this?" he whispered, pointing to what looked like a tiny touch-screen built onto the back of one of the cards. "The other doesn't have it."

  Marc took it from him. "Master link. Connects the two cards so one can't be used without the other. This thing verifies the ID of whoever's using it."

  "So we couldn't use it without him."

  Marc looked a little closer at the card. "Maybe. He's right here. I'm not sure yet what this checks—fingerprint, DNA, or whatever; probably fingerprint—but if I figure that out, I might be able to reset it for you to use."

  "All before he wakes up?" Michael asked. "That's a lot of mights."

  "Maybe. But it's not impossible. And if it works, then we don't need him anymore."

  The compartment went silent as Marc's statement hung in the air over Diomedes's body. "Then what do we do with him?" Michael asked. "And what if he has to report to Fagles and he finds out what we did?"

  "Yeah, but you really think that guy would sabotage us? We'll still use his leech. I doubt he's anything to gain by stopping us if he thinks we're doing what he wants anyway. Besides, you heard him; he doesn't like Diomedes any more than we do."

  "Yeah. But, again, what happens to Diomedes? We can't just shoot him, you know."

  "I didn't say we should! But we just, well, leave him here."

  "Here. In this compartment."

  Marc shrugged. "I more meant on the station in general."

  "Which will put him in a fantastic mood when we come through here on the return trip." Michael shifted again, still trying to get comfortable.

  "One problem at a time." Marc sighed. "There are those two freelancers out there. Or even just station security. We tell them who he is, and they'll pick him up. Then he won't be here when we come back."

  Michael scowled. "I don't guess now is quite the best time for you to have contact with any security personnel."

  "Security here's not ESA. The fake ID should be enough to shield me here if it comes up."

  "It's still a risk."

  "Okay, but—"

  "And I'm not going to just turn him over to the bounty hunters just because it's convenient."

  Marc took a breath. "But if we don't need him— It's not like he's a nice guy. He kills people for money."

  "Look, maybe. . ." Michael scowled at himself in the dark. He knew Marc was right, so why was he defending Diomedes? "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve what he gets if he screws up and Fagles cuts him loose, but I—we—can't just give him up like this."

  Marc watched him a moment. "You don't owe him anything, you know."

  "Yeah, I do. I hate it, but I do." He threw up his hands. "Or maybe I don't, I don't know. I doubt he'd hesitate to turn me in if he was in my shoes. He might even laugh at me for having to think about it, but. . ."

  Suddenly he couldn't think of what else to say. A part of him wanted to just do it: cut the man loose completely to hang on his own rope. "But we can't do that," he said finally. "Not—not yet, I mean. We don't know who hired him, we don't know about the rest of the trip. . . Heck, we might need him just to fly the damn shuttle. I'm not a pilot."

  "Is he?" Marc asked.

  "More than me, at least. I mean, maybe I can handle a little, but if it doesn't have a pre-programmed autopilot we'd be in trouble. The point is we don't know enough yet. We can work on getting me on the shuttle with you two, but we can't abandon him right now."

  Marc was quiet for a time, presumably considering. "Maybe you're right. Wish you weren't, but I'll deal with it." He examined the pass cards again for a moment. "But we're going to have to cut him loose eventually, you know. One way or another. With everything he's done—and what we're planning—it's not likely to turn out well for him."

  Michael nodded but gave no further comment. Why was this bothering him so much? He'd known that they were only helping Diomedes temporarily. Certainly the freelancer held no love for him of late. Maybe that was the difference between them, he thought. Diomedes wouldn't be bothered if their places were switched.

  Or would he? The fact remained that Diomedes sheltered him when Michael first came to Northgate. There would have been selfishness behind that kindness, though for all Michael searched, he had to admit he couldn't find it. Even so, the older man had treated him poorly at times, even maliciously. How much had Diomedes really been looking out for him? How much of the man's true self had Michael been unwilling to see because he'd needed Diomedes protection then?

  He needed Diomedes again now. Was the same thing happening again, making him rush to the man's aid, making him defend against abandoning him now? Michael's skin crawled at the idea that he might be as foolish now as he was then. Did he still need to use Diomedes as a crutch?

  Yet that wasn't what was happening now, he reminded himself. There was more at stake than just Michael's own needs. The AoA were counting on him.

  Again, he looked at Diomedes. Yes, there would soon come a time when, once they'd gotten what they needed from him, he'd be brought to whatever justice he had coming. But Michael owed a little more to the man who'd put a roof over his head than a slit throat—however figurative—while he slept.

  Even if that same roof had burned down due to Diomedes's own recklessness.

  Apparently finished examining the pass cards, Marc replaced them where he'd found them. "Wish I knew what this was," he mused, holding up the pen-sized object. "Any ideas?"

  "Nuh uh," Michael grunted. "He likes gadgets."

  Marc slipped it back into Diomedes's pocket with a scowl.

  "Gid? Wake up, Gid."

  "I am awake."

  Ondrea smiled at him as he opened his eyes. "Well you weren't a second ago. The scans are done. We're on Sunrise Station, do you remember? Waiting 'till it's time for you to go to the Moon."

  Gideon got up from where he lay on the bed and unplugged himself from the diagnostic equipment crammed into the station hotel room that was to be Marquand's base of operations for the rest of the project. "I know where we are, Ondrea," he said, giving Beck a long, hard look where he sat at a desk with his back to him.

  "Okay," she said. "I'm just making sure. We won't have to scan you like that too much more." She shut down the diagnostics, having planned them for when D.K. was out getting them food. D.K. had done most of the design on Gideon's new body, but she didn't want him looking over her shoulder. So far, she and Beck had kept her brother's deterioration a secret. Just a little further and they'd be in the clear to dump all the memories that weren't Gideon's own.

  "How soon?" Gideon asked.

  Shit, did he know? "How soon what, Gid?"

  "When do I leave?"

  Oh. "Not until eighteen-thirty. D
.K. needs to do some final checks on your body, then you'll be put in a cargo container that—"

  "Please, Ondrea, I know the plan, I just didn't catch when it started. I want to get this over."

  "Not long, Gid."

  Gideon moved to the window. "I've never been in space before. Somehow it's not as foreign as I expected." He stood a while in front of the view. "I think I've dreamed this."

  "That's probably it." She focused on the scan data with Beck, checking the deterioration rate.

  It had accelerated. Beck was scowling; he saw it, too. Tseng pushing Gideon's treatments in the memory chair must've magnified the problem. "Recheck it," she whispered.

  They needed to figure out how much time Gid had before his mind crashed. They were cutting things close before; now the operation would need to go perfectly in order to get him back in time—if they even had that much time at all.

  "I should go now."

  "You can't yet, Gid. I know you want this over with but the flight's not leaving for another few hours." Time, time. . . Please God, give me enough time.

  "What do you mean, flight? Isaac's only across town. Just out to the club. He should be back by now. I should go look for him."

  She stopped. He was remembering the night he'd found their brother's body. There wasn't going to be enough time. "Gid, that's. . . Isaac's— You can't worry about him now. We're on Sunrise Station, remember?"

  Gideon was halfway to the door before he stopped in his tracks and turned. "What just happened? I could swear. . ."

  If the data hadn't convinced her already, this would have clinched it; he was getting lost in his own memories. "Let me check the implant. You can stay awake for this one."

  "Again? You said I was well enough to do this!" He grabbed her shoulders and she flinched before she could stop herself. He let go almost instantly, taking a breath. "What's wrong?"

  For a moment, she considered telling him. But there wasn't anything he could do, and he'd gotten enough shocking news from her recently. "Nothing's wrong, Gid. Just a few final adjustments to make."

  He frowned, and she knew he didn't quite believe her. That he let her plug in without saying a word then nearly broke her heart. He trusted her despite his instincts.

  "It'll be okay," she said. "I promise." She checked a few details on a PDA where she kept a few private notes, then accessed the implant and raised the cycle power as high as she dared.

  Beck stood hesitantly. "Ondrea?"

  "Just making a few adjustments, Beck."

  "Ah, okay, but you're—" She shot him a glare. Beck actually responded with one of his own. Even so, he shut up quickly enough and sat back down.

  She knew what she was doing. She didn't have a choice. In theory, boosting the cycle power should buy her brother some time, but it was a risk. Before the power was already as high as they had time to test, and now she'd set it beyond that. She prayed it would work. There was nothing to prove that it wouldn't, but it was an untested theory. Best case, Gideon would have enough time to do what Marquand needed and get back. Worse case, the strain would be too much and both engram sets would crash even sooner.

  No more second chances. No more Gideon.

  CHAPTER 36

  His brother laughs across the table and sets his beer down. "'Diomedes'? What the hell kind of alias is 'Diomedes'?"

  "It's mythology. Greek," the newly dubbed Diomedes answers. "It's got class. Culture. All that stuff."

  Silas snorts. "Culture, eh? It's supposed to keep people from knowing who you are. Strike fear, sound powerful. Save the culture for that girl of yours, Malc."

  "Look, you ever read those old myths? Fuckin' bad-ass warriors, man. That's who Diomedes is." He takes a long pull from his glass. "Bad. Ass. Look it up."

  "Look it up? Don't figure I even know how to spell it. Heh."

  "Hey, screw off." He says it with a grin on his face. "It's better than 'Silas.' Not even trying to be original. I liked your old handle—"

  "Don't even say it."

  "Why? Got people out for you?"

  "No, I just got sick of hearin' it. Wait 'till you go years under your stupid nickname and see if it doesn't get sick of you. You of it, I mean. Kay, no more beer."

  "It's not stupid. Who cares what you think?" I do, he thinks. Ah, screw Silas, he'll keep it anyway.

  "It's good usin' my real name again, that's all I'm sayin'. No last names, s'all you need."

  Diomedes dismisses the idea with a wave. "No way. If I'm doing jobs with you, I'm not using my old name anymore."

  "Fine, fine, whatever." Silas gives him the same sneer he'd given him growing up. "You just want to have your 'cool' name, don't you? Or're you afraid your little sweetie'll find out, huh?"

  Diomedes thumps his beer down. "Her name's Janette."

  Silas chuckles. "She's not gonna find out."

  "That's not it." He lowers his voice. "I'm worried about cops."

  "Oh, so you won't mind if I just call her up and tell her, then?"

  His heart freezes. "Don't you fucking even."

  With a grin, Silas orders another beer. Diomedes relaxes a bit. She won't find out. Silas might tease him, but he wouldn't tell her. Just a few jobs, that'll be it. Silas needs him, after all, and Diomedes needs the money. He drains his glass, wishing Silas liked the name more. Diomedes had liked it when he'd heard it from her.

  "Yeah," Silas mutters, "I'm just glad you finally came to your senses instead of messing around with those pissant security jobs you like so much." His brother grins again suddenly. "It's got something to do with her, doesn't it?" his asks teasingly. "Diomedes."

  He pretends he doesn't hear the question, but Silas keeps at him. "Oh, that's it, huh? She tell you about it?"

  Hell, he'd better not be blushing. "She likes mythology. She read me some of it."

  Silas grins wider.

  "I like the name!" And yeah, so it reminds him of her, too. What's wrong with that?

  "Fine, fine, you can be Diomedes." Silas reaches across the table and ceremoniously taps his glass to each shoulder. "You big strong hero, you."

  Diomedes smirks despite Silas's teasing, relieved for the acceptance behind it. "Yeah, bite me, Silas. It'll grow on you."

  His brother returns the smirk. "Just make sure you live up to it."

  Diomedes woke with a jerk that sat him up so fast Michael was astounded he didn't hit his head on the compartment's ceiling. Michael reached forward on instinct to steady him, but the other smacked his hand away.

  "What the fuck? What the fuck?" The freelancer had an auto-pistol out in a flash but calmed before aiming it anywhere.

  "It's okay," Michael said. Bad dreams, or just surprise? Marc, by all accounts, had slept through the outburst.

  Diomedes took stock of the compartment. "Where are we?"

  "Safe. Put the gun away."

  Diomedes gave a glare, yet set the gun down at his side anyway. "Answer the question."

  "We're still on Sunrise. This is a little hidden space we found."

  The other's eyes narrowed. "Found?"

  "Yeah, found. I told you Marc's good with security."

  Diomedes gave Marc nothing more than a glance. "Tell me what happened. How long was I out?"

  "A few hours now. The same two that were after you at Silas's—"

  "I saw him," Diomedes finished. "The woman, too?"

  "Both, yeah. He got you with a tranq, I guess it must hit you pretty fast. I came out of the bathroom and saw you passed out." Michael told him the rest, making sure to give Marc full credit for his wizardry while Michael stalled the others. "If the guards are looking for anyone, I guess they're going for those two first, but we figured there's no use risking it. Especially while you were out."

  "What about him?" Diomedes pointed to Marc. "Dead, or sleeping?"

  "Yeah, Diomedes, he's dead. That's how he was able to open all the doors and everything."

  "Don't be a dick."

  Michael rolled his eyes as Diomedes searched through h
is pockets, likely taking inventory. He barely kept himself from assuring the man that everything was there. From the suspicion with which Diomedes was checking, it was probably better not to put the idea out there more than it was already.

  "So you've just sat here," Diomedes said when he was done. "For all that time."

  "Wasn't much else to do," Michael said. Diomedes only grunted at that before he leaned back against the compartment wall, checked his watch, and then closed his eyes. Michael laughed bitterly.

  "This a joke to you?"

  "You're not even going to thank us, huh? We saved your ass out there, Marc and me both, and—"

  Diomedes's eyes flashed open. "Like you thanked me? Helped you a whole hell of a lot and all you do is turn on me for the trouble!"

  "Geez, are we back on that again?"

  "Never left it."

  Michael fought an urge to roll his eyes again. "I thanked you, when you deserved it."

  "Not how I remember it. Took you in, protected your ass. In the city. On your damn farm. You're paying back a damn big debt helping me now. You still got more to repay." Diomedes snapped his eyes shut again.

  For the briefest moment Michael considered if he really had thanked Diomedes for getting him on his feet before. Then he remembered the whole picture and pushed out the guilt. "Yeah, fine, thanks, Diomedes. Thanks for giving me a place to stay. And while I'm at it, thanks for threatening me not to touch your stuff or poke into your business. Thanks for trying to kill a friend of mine. And thanks for trying to teach me to be such a selfish bastard as you."

  Diomedes started forward to strike him but stopped just as fast. "You're fucking welcome. No one you can count on but yourself, kid. That's what I was trying to teach you."

  "Yeah? I bet you learned that one all by yourself, huh?"

  "Fuck you I did not." Diomedes pointed at him. "Life taught me that! Silas taught me that." He leaned back with a curse and closed his eyes.

  The large voice was cursing him. Shut your damn mouth. You don't even mention Silas to him! Diomedes tried to push the thoughts of his brother back into the box where he kept them.

  "Silas, eh?" Michael pressed. "How?"