by Matt Verish
Just what was to become of the ICV-71 and its unusual AI pilot CAIN? Cole never did learn the true nature of the ship’s malfunction. He had assumed Forester the culprit behind the deactivation, but Emmerich claimed the former-director had steered clear of the bridge to board the stolen scout. Had Forester managed to locate the strange claustrophobic crawlspace to enact some sort of sabotage? Or had something else occurred? Whatever the cause, the AI’s brief moment of self-awareness had ended on Mars along with the rest of the coup.
Of CAIN’s maker—Lin Dartmouth—Cole found he held no ill will toward her. Though his life was over because he had been her chosen pawn, he had grown to appreciate her company and even her cause. Or perhaps it was his physical attraction to her. The things guys do to receive a woman’s attention. He was pretty sure most men would consider his courting as borderline psychotic.
Then there was the good Inspector Emmerich. He never did discover her first name, though her true character shined through shortly before everyone’s capture. Despite her militaristic nature and eagerness to murder thousands of innocents, she was a decent person. He doubted she felt the same toward him, as she was probably doing her best to place all blame squarely on his shoulders.
Of the entire group, no one was more intriguing than Arthur T. Forester, the true mastermind behind the coup. To uphold a faux corporate persona while holding a prestigious and public position was both fascinating and terrifying. To fool so many and successfully accomplish his mission within a mission within a mission was astounding. Research certainly did their research when recruiting him.
The cart rounded a bend and approached a familiar vessel tucked in the shadows of the far corner. The ICV-71 was a sleek, silvery sight for sore eyes, even if she would no longer function under his and Lin’s command. Could SolEx have diminished CAIN to a simplified version of AI pilot?
Just outside the ship’s cargo ramp was a small team of uniformed loaders. They were taking count of a host of supplies on pallets destined to be loaded. All of the supplies were unidentifiable and sealed in large plastic crates. Cole was curious to see the manifest for a “prisoner transfer” run.
Is this a prisoner transfer? Cole wondered. He didn’t know the first thing when it came to bad-guy-swapping etiquette, but it seemed there would be a different protocol. Shouldn’t Terracom personally come to claim him? Or was this something else entirely? Perhaps SolEx needed his input on properly accessing CAIN. Nah. What can I do? ‘Sides, they got Doc for that.
The transporter slowed beside one of the pallets, and Cole’s two escorts led him past the busy workers. He found it odd that no foreman was present. In fact there did not seem to be anyone of authority around. They’re trying to keep this thing quiet, he reasoned. And they’re probably handing over the ship to Terracom as well—sweeping all the evidence under the proverbial corporate rug. SolEx must be kissing some major ass to fix this mess. He glanced at the crates again, and his imagination ran wild with what could be inside to appease the terraforming juggernaut.
They marched up the ramp in tandem, Cole in the middle. He clenched his bare feet on the icy metal floors, wishing he had had the wherewithal to grab his shoes before being taken. Here in the hangar, so close to space, heat was lacking. Maybe freezing me to death is their plan.
They rode the lift toward the bridge in silence, and Cole had finally grown bored with his mute escorts. “You guys must communicate telepathically. Either that, or you’re both secretly abusing SolEx’s Ocunet service to peruse non-company sanctioned material.” He nodded, rubbing his exposed hands together. “Yep, that would be a breach of policy, boys. You wouldn’t want to lose your jobs over something as petty as studying certain sexual extracurricular activities. Pretty sure the company handbook expressly forbids us from viewing explicit material. And if you think that’s bad, you’d be shocked with what they do to employees who are wrongfully blamed for genocide.” He laughed and examined the cramped lift. “Give me a first class ride to my end, I suppose. Maybe you’ll let me have a crack at that untouched rec area, eh?”
The lift door slid open, and the escorts stepped out as though Cole had not spoken to them. He had a brief glimpse of the bridge as he was led toward the recreation area—or, “The Bar”, as he had decided to call it—and searched for any hint of CAIN’s presence. The console and the viewport screen were dark, the green glow in the center also absent. What was I expecting? Cain was offline the last time I was here.
They rounded the corner and stalked through the Bar at a quicker pace than when they first entered the ship. Maybe they were eager to dump him in one of the living quarters so they could leave. Mission accomplished. My work here is done.
He was indeed led into one of the rooms—the very room into which Emmerich had been stuffed. The table had now officially turned. There would be nothing left for him to do other than sit and stew until he was finally delivered to his fate. He did not watch as the door slid closed with barely a sound.
Cole eased down on the crumpled blanket of the bed. He lifted his feet onto the thin memory foam and jammed them under the blanket for warmth. He stared at the door for some time, knowing it was not locked, for the room was not meant to be a holding cell. One or both of the escort guards were probably keeping watch. Not so concerned with me escaping, eh? They should have packed me in the cargo hold with the rest of the ransom so they could keep an eye on me.
Cole decided to take a peek outside the door to test his theory. His life was already screwed; what more could they do to him? He backed up to the door and had to fumble around before securing a decent grip. He was making more noise than he intended, and he was surprised no one barged in to stop his “escape.” He could just lock the door, but that would only delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, he slid the door open a couple inches.
Hm. Nobody’s beating my head in yet. He spun around to take a peek, but all he could see was the door directly across the hall. The door would have to slide more...or... He opened it the rest of the way, fully prepared to shout “Boo!” at his captors. Instead he was greeted with a vacant hallway. A strange sense of disappointment was replaced by confusion.
His feet grew cold as he stood in the unguarded doorway, pondering his options. Curiosity’s sultry meow did its best to lure him into trouble and investigate. Common sense urged him to just close the door and return to his cot like a good soldier boy. But he was no longer a soldier, and where exactly did thirteen years of following the rules get him? He stepped into the hall.
His footfalls were muted, but the cold caused his teeth to chatter. He kept his mouth closed. There was no sign of either escort—or anyone, for that matter. They could have gone to assist the loaders, or they were somewhere nearby, assuming he would stay put. Either way, he was surprised at SolEx’s lackadaisical approach to prisoner stowage.
The tips of his fingers began to tingle from the tight plastic bands around his wrists, so he immediately took a left turn toward the Bar. There was no one sitting at the communal table in the center, no one lounging on the sofas and chairs placed throughout. He seized the opportunity to search for any sort of tool he could use to free himself. The Bar doubled as a kitchen, so there would be something useful in one of the drawers. Unfortunately, he would have to browse them backwards. At least the handles were waist-high.
The first drawer slid easily, but it was empty. He sighed, worried the remaining drawers would be the same. Why would this ship be fully furnished? he reasoned. SolEx had no need to stock a prototype vessel with unnecessary amenities. His worries proved valid as the other drawers yielded nothing. Sharp edges were in short supply, and attempting to work his hands free only added to his pain. I guess I can try and chew my way to freedom....
“You never thought to check the medical ward?”
“Whoa!” Cole jumped and spun in mid-air to face the intruder. He landed with shaky knees and leaned against the counter. He took a deep breath. “Emmerich?”
The former inspector was
standing at the threshold of the Bar. She was rubbing her reddened wrists—wrists unencumbered by restraints. Her face was haggard, a canvas displaying the middle years she hid so easily a couple days ago. She shook her head. “Musgrave.”
“They transferring you too?”
Her scowl succumbed to confusion. “I’ve no idea what to make of this predicament, or the lack of security.” She approached Cole, her attention directed toward the bridge. “Is this a transfer? I was under the assumption my interrogation had only begun.” She presented her surroundings. “Yet here I am, aboard the ICV-71, of all ships. I don’t know what to make of any of this. Why would they be rushing to take both of us anywhere in the middle of the night?”
Cole gazed jealously at the unbound hand on her hip. Her broken wrist was taped and held lax at her side. “You still have whatever it is you used to free yourself?”
Emmerich produced an odd pair of medical shears from her pocket. She stopped short of passing them to him. “Don’t make me regret giving these to you. We’re going to need to work together if we’re to survive this.”
“Survive what?” he asked, his back to her, hands expectant. “What can we do? We’re still aboard the S3, and our escorts will probably be back any second to check on us.”
“You don’t intend to put up any sort of resistance?” she asked, pulling the shears a little further from his reach. “If not, then what are you doing snooping around?”
“I just wanted these bands off my wrists. I can barely feel my fingers.” He wiggled them for her, though it was difficult to tell if they were actually moving.
“And then you were going to return to your room and await your end?” She was disgusted.
“Hey, you said it yourself: you don’t know what to make of this. Maybe they’re just trying to scare some answers out of us.”
“Do you honestly believe that, Musgrave?” She looked at him as though he was brain dead. “We both know we’re finished. How we meet our end...well, that’s up to SolEx.”
“Or Terracom,” Cole muttered, backing closer to the shears in Emmerich’s hand. “Look, maybe you’re ‘finished,’ but I’m innocent in all of this. They got my sworn testimony, the video evidence, the...” he trailed, acknowledging her shaking head. She didn’t have to speak a word; he already knew he was expendable. SolEx was in debt to Terracom, and they needed to curb the damage as quickly as possible and at all costs.
“Mmhm,” Emmerich said, smirking. “You’re finally seeing the truth of this.” She reached and gave his bands a quick snip. “Now what are you going to do about it?”
Cole cringed as the blood rushed to his fingertips like a river of icy needles. Despite the pain, he was relieved to stretch his arms. He rubbed his hands together and met Emmerich’s gaze, nodding his thanks. “I’d like to find a pair of shoes first.”
Her gaze lingered on his hands before she glanced down. “Were you expecting to go to a beach resort?”
“Nah, I’d never go into the ocean barefoot,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. He turned toward the bridge. “I’m terrified of Box Jellyfish. Read about them in an article. Nasty.”
“I see your idiotic humor hasn’t diminished any since your interrogation.”
“If by ‘interrogation’ you mean me confessing my lack of involvement in the coup and pinning it solely on you, Forester, and Dartmouth, then no, my humor was not diminished.” He looked back over his shoulder and gave her his best smile.
“They never interrogated you?”
His smile fell. “No.”
“Well, they must have suspected you had some sort of involvement if they decided to lump you into this ship with me. That, and they probably wanted to cut all ties to people connected to this mess.”
Cole sighed, his shoulders sagging.
Emmerich stepped behind him and gave him a shove toward the bridge. “If you’re expecting an apology from me, you’re not getting one. You had plenty of opportunities to end our little charade—”
“But I didn’t,” Cole finished as he entered the bridge.
That was when the door to the lift leading into the bridge slid open and permitted three figures. Cole stood face-to-face with Lin and two armed SolEx officers.
17
CORNERED
Instinctive response was a byproduct of slipping into the Corner. Whether Military was to thank for implanting violent reflexes through rigorous training, or the tendencies had always been there since birth, he did not know. Regardless, time slowed down considerably for him in situations of sudden and great distress. His critically offensive-minded nature would take over, weigh all options in less than an eye-blink, and react with speed and efficiency. Survival. Cole liked to believe it was an inherent trait at the core of the Musgrave family legacy. It was a trait responsible for most his life’s successes but also his complications.
There was barely enough time for him to consider the current predicament. Lin was restrained by two officers with weapons at the ready. They were the threat, and the Corner into which he had been backed had awakened a primal urge to defend no matter the consequences.
Cole had the element of surprise on his side, though he was under-dressed for an affront. He lunged at the nearest officer and wrested the assault rifle from his lax grip. He spun and swung the butt of the weapon into the second officer’s temple, dropping him. The barrel of the rifle was now pointed at the face of the former owner, who had submitted without a sound. Lin’s eyes were so wide he could see the ring of white.
“Your comm,” Cole demanded as he grabbed Lin’s arm and pulled her away. “Remove it. Slowly.” He kept the weapon trained on the center of the officer’s chest, watching as his prisoner did as was ordered. “Now remove his too.” He lightly kicked the unconscious man at his feet. “And slide them both toward me.”
Emmerich entered the bridge, and Cole thought he glimpsed a look of approval on her face as he retrieved the comms. “Nice job hiding out of sight.”
“You had this under control before I could blink,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm. “Impressive for a barefoot pilot who’s innocent of any wrongdoing.”
Cole’s eye twitched. He knew she was right, but he was not about to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Gonna be hard to explain this mess. “Would you mind grabbing the other gun?”
Emmerich’s brow raised. “I was unaware we were on good terms.” She knelt and collected the rifle with her good hand.
“The best of friends,” Cole said as she inspected the weapon. “I’d get us beers if the Bar was actually stocked with any.”
“ ‘The Bar’ ?”
“How did you manage to free yourselves?” the officer asked, his nervous glance flitting between his two captors.
Cole frowned. Is he for real? “The rooms were left unlocked. You should know, you put us in them.”
The officer seemed taken aback. “That’s not possible. Our orders indicated the holding areas would be secure.”
“ ‘Holding areas’ ?” Emmerich repeated. “Did you look inside those rooms? Do they look like holding areas for prisoners?” She waited for a response, but the officer just scowled.
Cole tried a different approach. “Who gave you the order to load us onto this ship?”
The officer’s hard stare met Cole’s, and at first it seemed he would remain quiet. “It was an official communiqué uploaded to us via Mr. Frederich Caliber himself. Specific instructions were given to deliver the three of you onto this vessel for a secured transportation.”
Caliber’s involved? Why would he get involved with us? “Where to?” Cole asked.
“We were not instructed beyond seeing to your detainment aboard this ship.”
“Which means your role here is at an end,” Emmerich said, stepping up behind the officer. She drove the heel of her rifle against the nape of his neck, dropping him beside his unconscious partner. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Cole fumed. “Really? Was that necessary? He
could’ve supplied us with more answers.”
“Or he could have finished contacting backup through NuFi.”
“I was watching his eyes,” Cole said, lowering the weapon. “Now we’re back to where we started.” He turned toward Lin, hopeful. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She shook her head, and her Rook hovered out from behind her back. “I can’t make any sense of this.” She shied away from Emmerich and the shears in her hand.
“Trust me, Dr. Dartmouth,” Emmerich began, “I don’t blame you for fearing me.” She grabbed Lin’s shoulder and turned her so she could cut the bindings. “But I’m not the monster you’ve made me out to be.”
Lin blushed and offered her appreciation in a voice barely above a whisper. She turned to Cole, her eyes falling upon his gloveless hands. “What did they do to you?”
I really need to find a new pair. “Nothing. It’s just an old memory.” He walked over to the officers and nudged them with his bare foot. He eyed the shorter man’s boots, though he knew they would probably be too large. He sat down and began to untie the laces anyway.
“I’m glad to see your priorities are in order,” Emmerich scoffed tone. “We should be discussing what to do with them.”
“I can multitask. You try walking around barefoot on cold metal floors.” He yanked off the first boot and wrinkled his nose from the offensive odor. A pair of socks never seemed as necessary as they did at this moment. Athlete’s foot, here I come!
“Don’t either of you find it peculiar Frederich Caliber personally organized this sudden transfer,” Lin asked, her attention focused on the flight console. “He has an army of underlings unto which he delegates his tasks. He’s nothing if not methodical. Why would he give his stamp of approval on so slipshod a course of action?”