by Greg Curtis
“Hire your ship?” She assessed him intently while weighing up his words. And then understanding appeared in her eyes. “Ore samples – you're a prospector!”
“Extra-solar geologist,” Carm defended himself even though he wasn't completely sure that prospector was a slight. It had sounded like one when she’d said it. But then everything she said sounded like a slight.
“Whatever. You're a deep spacer. You have a ship and you don't run the established routes. You go into deep space. Blind jumps. Nowhere near the commuter jump points. That makes you a perfect courier.”
“I turned him down.”
“And he doesn't need your ship or your services either. Or he didn't – unless something's gone horribly wrong. His partner Iris has enough ships to do the runs for them.”
“Iris?” Carm stopped her even though he didn't want to. He wanted her to continue with her story. But there was something familiar about that name, something that jumped out at him.
“Iris De Lion. She runs a –.”
“Shards! She runs a hydroponic reserve.” Carm recognised the name the instant he heard it. He had seen it on the news reports about the terrorist attack, the ones that mentioned him blowing it up. Suddenly the pieces were falling into place and the nova was getting back in its little black box. So Max White had tried to frame him for the murder of his partner and had then planned kill him with Kendra. It all made sense – except for the homicidal policebot.
“You know her?”
“I know of her. She's dead. I apparently blew her up with a thermo-kinetic charge, along with the entire reserve. Hard to do when I was in quarantine and decontamination at the time – but there were holos of me delivering the device. An android I’m assuming.”
“Another type 23 or 24 I'd guess. They're what White contributes to the partnership. His androids are his spies and agents. They give him intel on most of the Commonwealth and let him arrange things. And when needed they do a little killing for him too.
“He's been making and selling android doubles to various crime groups for years, and making good credits with them too. He’s never given them his most advanced units though, the type 23's and 24's. Those he keeps for himself.
“It's brilliant really. His company makes a highly prized toy that earns them millions and he perverts a few of them to earn himself millions more. He makes duplicates and uses them to do his dirty work. Need an order rescinded? A duplicate 23 will be there to do it. Need some ships sent somewhere? A clearance approved? Or some work orders given? A helpful 23 is always available. They say he runs half the space-ports through them. And that he's got so many of them corrupted they can do the security scans for one another and give clean reports. He's slowly taking over the planet's economy.”
“And his partners?” It didn't really matter, but Carm was curious. It'd be nice to know what sort of sharding mess he was caught up in.
“Iris provides a fleet of ships, owned and operated by outliers who live half in and half out of the Commonwealth. It's a family connection, so she can arrange the transport and her people can always use the credits. At a guess if she's been murdered I'd say White is looking to take over that function himself.”
Outliers: now there was a group Carm should always have considered as being involved. If anyone had contact with non-Commonwealth worlds and was operating smuggling rings it was them. They were like the ancient gypsies in the holo dramas: they would set up little camps across the universe, choosing to make their own homes, free from the restrictions of Commonwealth law. They lived on the periphery, mostly keeping to themselves but sometimes trading with those in the colonies. And they did have ships, usually old ones. If you wanted something or someone smuggled they would be the people to do it – for a price.
“Barclay Hamilton is the third member of the group. He's our man. He has the connections with our people. We won't trust White. He's a rogue. So we deal with Barclay and he deals with White, who never knows who’s being transported or where. But that may have changed too, if he’s trying to take over the entire operation.”
And wasn't that the sorry truth of it Carm suddenly thought. She was right. He'd blundered into a crime syndicate takeover. White had killed one of his partners so he could take over her business and in the same act had framed him so he could buy his ship – presumably under an assumed identity or through a cover – and carry on business as normal. And he hadn't had a clue. He hadn't even suspected that his own android was working against him. Now he understood everything – except for one last matter: the question she'd dodged before.
“And who exactly are you and your people that you need to be smuggled in and out of the Commonwealth?” He asked again, determined to get an answer.
“Uh uh. Lets keep some secrets shall we?” She raised a finger and wiggled it at him. “Now why don't you tell me the rest. I'm guessing that there was more than just your bangbot trying to kill you. If White wanted your ship or your services he wouldn't have left it up to a machine to do the deed. He'd have done it properly. And you said you killed Iris?”
Carm could have objected or he could have denied so many things in that accusation. But there was no point. So he told her the story of his last few months of pain.
“You jumped from a space-port?!” She looked at him as if he was crazy. Perhaps he was.
“I didn't have a lot of choice. The police were trying to kill me and the Navy were on their way. It was that or death.”
“There probably wasn't a lot of difference between the two. In fact I don't know why you're still alive. This ship must be in terrible shape. You need to get it to a dock sharding fast. Get some engineers over it.”
“Would if I could. But we're lost remember. Deep space. No coordinates. Spaced.” But while he agreed with her that the Nightingale should be in terrible shape, he also had to say that it wasn't. A lot had been damaged but the heart of the ship had survived in reasonable condition.
“Then you'll have to zero set.”
“Zero set?” Carm had no idea what that was – but his interested was piqued. It sounded like a solution.
“The strobes are on aren't they? But there's just nothing for them to find.” She looked at him pityingly as if he was a particularly slow child.
“Run a reductive algorithm on the coordinates you have, find their geometric centre and assume it's a match for the geometric centre of the old coordinates. Overlay one geometric spread on top of the other and then simply run some translations. It's not hard.”
“No, it's not hard at all – it's impossible. Translation coordinates don't have geometry. If they did we wouldn't be lost.” Carm was irritated by her tone, but also curious. Despite the impossibility of what she was saying, she was still suggesting there was a way to find himself again. It was insanity but he had to listen anyway. Even insanity was better than nothing.
“Shards! I forgot. You're not part of White's empire. You don't have the algorithms.”
“O … kay?”
“Translation coordinates have geometry. It even matches the geometry of real space after you do a few conversions. You just have to allow for the fact that the geometry of translation space is hyper-dimensional. There are sixteen mathematical dimensions to them, not three. The maths was worked out nearly six hundred years ago by my people.”
There it was again – her people. Who were they? And they had advanced knowledge too? But did that really matter when he knew she was saying that there was a way home? Not even a little. Only one thing mattered.
“You have these algorithms?”
“On me? Shards no! What do you think I am – a sharding AI?”
“Then we're screwed.” Carm's hopes and dreams abruptly came crashing down. For a shining moment he'd had hope. Now it was gone again.
“I doubt it. I don't have the algorithms. You don't have them. And since you hadn't signed with White the ship obviously doesn't have them either. But I'm fairly sure your bangbot does.
It was part of the underground railway. So what did you do with it? Storage somewhere? Please say you didn't destroy it.”
“Shards!” Carm suddenly wanted to cry.
“You interstellar defect! Organic mush brain!” The ship unexpectedly rounded on Carm. “I told you not to dump her like that!”
“You wanted to jettison her! Then we'd never get her back!”
“Is your brain non-stick? Does nothing stay in it? I said don't do it! What part of don't is beyond you?!”
Carm was about to defend himself, but there was no point. The ship wasn't in the mood to be reasoned with. “Just set the sharding coordinates for Origin and then Bounty. And then plot a course from it to the planet.”
“What did you do?” Carm's new passenger looked worried having been listening to the exchange.
Soon Carm guessed she’d look horrified. If she was already pitying him because he'd had an android companion, she was going to think he'd gone completely dark side when she learned what he'd done with it. Carm no longer cared. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself.
He'd tried so hard to forget Kendra and now he had to go back for her. That wasn’t going to be fun. Kendra wouldn’t be happy to see him, and she'd no doubt attempt to kill him once she was back onboard. Above all she certainly wasn't going to tell him anything useful like how to find his way home. Not if it threatened the safety of her true master.
“Let's just say there's going to be a little travelling required.”
“But you can get the android back?”
“Unfortunately.”
“We will get that defective piece of junk back if it's the last thing we do! And mush brain here can cry and moan all he wants about it – it's still happening!” The ship took control, catching Carm by surprise.
“Now you, Ms. Fontaine, probably need to get washed and find some fresh clothes.” The iron bars to her makeshift prison slid open. “And then while you're at it you need to come up with a strategy to extract these sharding algorithms from a defective bang-bot hell bent on killing Carmichael. I need a space-port with a proper engineering facility and I am not going to let the organic defect here make any more stupid decisions that could cost me my return!”
“Ahh thanks?” Del took the opportunity to leave her cell and then wordlessly push her way past Carm. She looked confused, as well as more than a little worried.
All Carm could do was watch her, dripping grey slime with every step, and wonder what was happening. The ship was taking control. Eventually, he thought to ask. “Ship?”
“Not a word! Not a single sharding word! I need a proper engineering facility. You need an extensive stay in a psychiatric facility – I'd say at least six months. And I will not listen to a single order telling me not to get us home! So don't even think about it!”
“I wasn't going to!” Carm shouted, angered by the accusations.
“Good! Then stop staring like you've had some sort of vascular event, close your mouth, go to the galley, get yourself some coffee, and prepare to be extremely nice to our guest. Try to impress her with your… well with something anyway. Whatever organics do to impress one another. Remember our future is in her hands. Not to mention any hope of a cure for whatever psychiatric condition you're suffering from!”
Was he supposed to argue Carm wondered? To order the ship to stop what it was doing? That would be insane. But as he did what the ship demanded, he couldn't help but feel that something was very wrong, even with the universe perhaps.
He was supposed to be the captain. Wasn't he?
Chapter Twenty One
Landing bays were never a good place to have a meeting, but nevertheless it was where they were going to hold one. The lack of free space and the bare metal deck allowed sound to echo, annoyingly. The vehicles stored in it made an excellent obstacle course, if that was your thing. But worst of all was some of the foul air of Bounty forcing its way onboard and even though the ship was doing its best to filter it, the smell was disgusting. Carm felt like throwing up.
The nausea only grew worse as he listened to the heavy thuds of robotic steel feet as four bots placed the glass coffin in front of them. He had to look away . He'd so wanted to be rid of Kendra. He’d almost succeeded. But now here she was, looking every bit as beautiful as she had when he'd dumped her.
It was a curse. The damned universe had cursed him. As he set eyes on her, he assumed it was never going to be lifted. He was doomed to never get rid of her or to enjoy peace again – because she would never give him the algorithms.
For her part Del shook her head, perhaps in disbelief or sorrow. When she’d first seen it, she’d called him a sad, sad bastard and told him he needed help. And the ship had joined in!
These days the ship was becoming ever more vocal in its criticism, probably because it had an audience A ready ear to listen to its complaints. It had no shortage of those. Silence would have been preferable. He only wished he could have experienced it for the previous week – but that had never been going to happen.
Del – or Delilah as her full name was – was nothing if not critical of everything about him: his appearance, his lack of fitness, his intelligence – or was that stupidity? Everything was fair game. And the sharding ship was only too happy to agree. It even added to the list and took pleasure in his discomfort. There’d been many times when he'd wondered if he could somehow stick her back in her coffin. And there had been no hiding from her. The ship would always tell her where he was if she asked.
Still, if this was a chance to find a way home, he could live with the annoyance. He would do anything he had to. All he needed were some algorithms, so he could head back to the system jump point, and start jumping.
Kendra wasn't going to be of much help though he guessed. And as she stared at the bay's ceiling and probably caught sight of him out of the corner of her eyes she immediately proved it. She still had power to her circuits and the will to use them to cause him maximum damage.
“Carm! Love! Oh, thank you! Thank you! I knew you'd come back for me. That you wouldn't leave me there forever.”
He cringed as soon as the first word came. She was all sweetness and gratitude, and Carm knew she'd be protesting her love for him, and swearing that she was better now, followed by making him feel guilty for having abandoned her. Whatever she had to do to get fixed so she could fulfil her mission.
“Shards! You listened to that defective piece of junk? What sort of a botbrain are you?” Del wasn't impressed – what else was new?
“I know. I always said the thing was defective. As much use as an unplugged mesh-head. But did he listen to me? Shards no! And look at what happened!”
Carm remained steadfastly silent, just as he had all week. It had been a very long journey here, and he desperately wanted it to be over. But his only hope of getting home was locked up in the head of this homicidal android. She wasn't going to help him. This had to be Del's game.
“Carm honey, who's this?”
Carm wasn't given the chance to answer as Del took control of things. She liked doing that he'd noticed. It was a shame. She was a pretty woman with long dark curly hair and svelte figure, but he simply couldn't get past the constant belittling and criticism. As soon as they got the information from Kendra, they could be on their way home.
Then he could drop her and her people off, dump the android too – preferably in deep space – and return to Aquaria. That was his plan. He hoped it was Del’s too, but he didn't trust her. Not when she still refused to tell him anything about her people. And the ship, in its less sarcastic moments, agreed with him.
“I'm the one who's in charge here. The one you're dealing with.” Del advanced on the android in her case. She had decided that she had to be the one to negotiate. Del had claimed that she would have some leverage and naturally the ship had agreed. “You work for Maximilian White-Jones and he's the one who's been smuggling us in and out of the Commonwealth for years. You put me aboard this defect
's tub and now you're going to give the ship the algorithms it needs to get me home.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Kendra instantly denied.
“Yes you do. And you're going to do as I say because your master instructed you to help him. You get me home and our relationship with your boss continues. That means more credits for him, and you know he wants them badly. If what Carmichael here has said is true and your master has double-crossed Iris then he has no ships and he desperately needs this one or he's out of business. Worse he may need lawyers as well – and an escape route. By now the police know Carmichael didn't bomb Iris' plant and they may be on to him.”
“My master is far cleverer than you.”
“Hardly. What sort of genius kills his partner thinking to take over her business and then doesn't secure the ship he needs to do it? A million credits a passage. You think he'd want to lose that? And what sort of genius criminal fails to kill his scapegoat? Because the fact that Carmichael lived means that the police got to hear his story and witness one of their own bots go bad. Face it, you work for the king of botbrains and he's in trouble.”
A million credits a passage? Carm was absolutely staggered – such a vast amount for a simple service. That meant that his humble ship was carrying over thirty million credits’ worth of passengers. Simultaneously it explained why White had killed his partner. If he had to split things three ways it would eat into his dreams of wealth. Two ways was better. Or was it one by now?
Kendra weighed up her options, and finally came to a conclusion.
“Agreed. You first generation mutes are logical. I'll tell you what you need to know, but only after Carmichael has been killed.”
“No. We can't kill him. No Carmichael, no Nightingale. We'd end up back at square one. We'll hire him instead.”
Carm supposed he should be grateful for that – even if her defence of him didn't seem all that touching. But he wasn't. He was thinking about what Kendra had just called Del: a mute. He'd thought for a moment that it was nothing more than an insult. It wasn't that much different to calling someone a beast or a bastard.