The immersion goggles flickered on and his world was filled with billions of little yellow dots. They swirled around him like a galaxy of stars. He could reach out and touch any one of them and see the data they contained, and he longed to. He wanted to see the data with his own eyes before it was all gone. Old voice messages and texts. Spreadsheets and covert love letters. Company memos and family news. Corporate training holograms and small video files of children taking their first steps off a transport ship and onto an alien world.
He pushed it all away with a wave of his hand. He would never live to see any of it, but if he worked fast, maybe a tiny section would survive for someone else.
He accessed the long range transmitter, sliced into Innovation’s system and used the security codes that Laban gave him earlier. The same codes that allowed him to unknowingly betray Isra and her mission.
He had to put that thought out of his head. He did what he did, and he couldn’t change that. Maybe Isra would forgive him someday, maybe not. Either way, he wouldn’t be around to notice.
Inside the information centers of the ship, he found an unused sector. It was part of the auxiliary nav system. Not something most ship engineers would notice, not without a complete system scan and, if they ever performed such a process on the ship, it wouldn’t happen until they were docked in Earth orbit.
He established a connection and waved the galaxy of lights back. The uplink was live. Now it was just a matter of deciding which of the little stars of information to send.
While he looked at the points of yellow light, he noticed something. There were people outside the pyramid. Lots of them. But there was no pounding, no yelling, no gunfire; just a lot of frenzied discussion and then an expectant silence.
And, finally, a high-pitched whine just on the edge of hearing.
Cronus fell to the floor as the railgun fired again. This time the projectile hit the metal door, ripped it out of place and sent it screaming across the room and into the opposite wall above. The whole structure groaned and more pieces rained down. Several more crashes followed by an electric hiss signaled the death of more server units. Cronus lay face down on the ground and watched as thousands of little lights winked out of existence forever.
Pieces continued to fall. They slammed on the catwalk overhead but, by some luck, the steel structure held. Cronus crawled through the shower of debris through the rows of whirring servers. Around him, metal cases collapsed under the weight of steel and concrete, electrical systems shorted out and showered him with sparks, and more yellow dots winked out of existence. He crawled until he came to the edge where there was a metal door cracked open. Odd that he had not noticed it before, but it was tucked deep within the server room underneath the catwalk.
Soldiers shouted and their boots slammed on the metal surface as they ran. Cronus darted through the door, being careful to make no sound, and shut it behind him.
Dim lights lit a metal stairway. Cronus followed it down, hoping that it might lead to a tunnel system where he could escape. Escape and leave these wretched people to their fates.
The stairway twisted back on itself and ended in a circular room. The first thing Cronus noticed, with some despair, was that there was only one way in or out. At least there was now. The silver cylinder that stretched the entire height of the pyramid was in the center here as well. Sliding doors were torn open and the crumpled remains of some sort of machine spilled out. It confirmed Cronus's suspicion of an elevator that ran—or rather, used to run—from the base of the pyramid to the top. The Acolytes at the bottom became the Venganto on top. To the people of the city, they defended the faith, but the smoldering remains here told Cronus that the only thing the Venganto defended was the status quo according to the Houston.
Cronus stepped the rest of the way down the stairs. Fifty or more nooks in the circular wall contained metal racks in the shape of a stick figure. Every nook was empty and every rack stripped bare, except for one. The metal arms still held the shiny black suit which was topped with a helmet that featured a ghoulish face, like a gargoyle snarling at eternity.
Back up the stairs, soldiers shouted in Titanian. Cronus couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he was sure they were looking for him. They would drag him away and leave the data to be destroyed in this place.
He eyed the Venganto suit again. It was a perfect tool for controlling people. It was technology just advanced enough to inspire awe in those who didn’t have the means to understand it. The wrath of the gods made flesh and bone and able to burn the unbelievers in holy fire. It seemed uniquely compatible with human beliefs.
Cronus smiled as an idea entered his head.
The suit barely fit. The Urbanoi were shorter on average with stubby limbs so Cronus fit in surprisingly well. Still, there was some pinching and pulling in some new and unique places. But Cronus decided that it was good enough. Especially since there weren’t a great many alternatives.
He crept back up the stairs, trying to keep the metal of the suit as quiet as he could. He pushed the door to the server room open with a careful ease so as not to alert anyone to his presence. There was nobody nearby, so he slid inside and closed the door behind him. Shadows and sounds on the catwalk above indicated that there was a great deal of activity overhead. Among the servers, only a few soldiers patrolled.
He walked out into the open, a place where the area was clear overhead. He would need an entrance. Something that would inspire the desired respect and, failing that, a hefty dose of fear.
It had long been theorized that humans could fly on Titan, Cronus knew that. But he also knew that it wouldn’t be as simple as flapping one’s arms. For example, they would need a touch of propulsion.
He raised his arms. As if he’d tripped some sort of automatic mechanism, the armor jerked up and locked into place with the wings extended. He pushed his arms back down in a flapping motion. He felt a burst of air on his ankles and, to his slight dismay, he was airborne.
He wasn’t ready for it and his stomach rebelled at the idea. The pyramid left little room to maneuver and he did not have any practical idea of how to control the suit at this point. As he reached the apex of his arc, however, he found he could position his wings to control the descent. He aimed for the catwalk.
It was hardly the most graceful landing in the history of avionics. In fact it was little more than a slow, barely controlled crash. But it did have the desired effect. The soldiers on the catwalk all watched him with mouths and eyes wide open. A few of them gripped the handles of their clubs but they were shaking so much that they would just as likely drop them and run if it came to it.
Cronus felt like he should say something. “You must all leave now. You desecrate this place! Leave and never come back!”
It sounded good to him, but the soldiers just looked confused. They talked to each other in their language but none of them made any motion to leave.
The problem was, Cronus was still stuck with his arms straight out. That was no way to intimidate people. He already knew what would happen if he tried to push his arms down. He tried pushing them forward but the suit resisted. He twisted his left wrist. As he did something shot out from the front of his mask at such a force it would have broken his neck if it weren’t braced by the suit.
A small orb sailed over the catwalk, hit the side of the pyramid and burst into a shower of flame.
There was a universal language there. Seeing the fire, all the soldiers ran for the exit. Even the few in the server room below practically ran on top of each other to climb the ladder and disappear down the long hallway that led outside.
Cronus rolled his shoulders back and the mechanism that held his arms out disengaged.
He took off the suit and stashed it in between the servers back down the ladder. He retrieved his immersion goggles and control glove and slipped them on. He had a few precious moments. He might die, but he could still save some of the data.
Ten soldiers
led Viekko and Althea through the streets of the ruined city while the citizens gathered on the sides to gawk or shout obscenities. The soldiers marched in perfect lock step and looked ready to move them the minute either Viekko or Althea got any ideas. One of them, Viekko recognized.
“Hey,” said Viekko to the soldier leading the way, “Mikelo. It’s you ain’t it?”
The soldier turned his head so that just the edge of his face was visible from behind the high collar, “Silento.”
“It’s you ain’t it? I know it’s you. Hey, where the hell are we goin’?”
Mikelo didn’t turn his head again. He didn’t answer but just kept the steady pace toward whatever destination lie in front of them.
Being captured, bound in chains, and forced to walk down the middle of the street was becoming a leitmotif on this trip. Viekko’s wrists were starting to chafe, but that was the worst of it. The Urbanoi that gathered on the side of the road shouting and jeering at him didn’t cause him much worry. The soldiers didn’t scare him; they were just glorified slavers in brown coats. Even the Houston didn’t put much of the fear in him. Viekko walked down the street, hands bound but his head high.
He tried to share this confidence with Althea who was being marched behind him. She kept her head down as if trying avoid looking at the crowds of people who turned up to see them paraded down the street.
“It’s okay,” he tried to say multiple times, “They ain’t gonna do nothing brash.”
“They need us and they know it. They just don’t know which side we are on.”
“Isra’s probably working the Houston right now. This ain’t a problem yet. She’ll talk sense into him.”
But Viekko’s assurances didn’t have any effect on Althea. She wouldn’t look at him or anyone else, but kept her head down as the soldiers prodded her forward.
They turned a corner and the big city square was in sight. What he saw put the first bit of fear in Viekko’s mind. The place was packed by a vicious, screaming mob. It was like every person in the city had gathered to watch something happen. Just from the mood, it didn’t look like these people would be satisfied with anything less than blood.
The real fear hit when the soldiers marched them to the stage. Kneeling in a row before a line of Urbanoi soldiers was Halifaco and several of his officers. Out in the crowd, he noticed a hundred or more Perfiduloi men and women gathered tight in the center being watched by a circle of soldiers. All around them, the people of the city yelled through the line, threw rocks, bits of dirt or anything else they could get their hands on. The soldiers looked like they intended to keep the crowd back, but that was it. They had no intention of stopping any of the abuse the people of the city were heaping on its prisoners
The soldiers marched Viekko and Althea onto the stage and clubbed them in the back of their legs, forcing them to kneel. They set Viekko next to Halifaco who leaned over and whispered, “You needed a better plan.”
Viekko shifted in his leather bonds. “I’m sorry it lacked the subtlety of genocide and civilizational destruction.”
One of the soldiers stopped in front of him. It was definitely Mikelo, the soldier’s old and scarred face was not one Viekko would forget in a hurry. He just looked down at Viekko and, with a touch of pity in his voice said, “Pardonu Viekko.”
That was as good as a death sentence in his book. He shifted again to try and activate the screen on his EROS suit.
“What are you doing?” whispered Halifaco.
“Calling for help,” said Viekko, “Or what might pass for it on this cursed moon.”
The Perfiduloi leader glanced around as if worried that someone might spot him. “How will you do that?”
Viekko winced as he wrenched his arm in an uncomfortable position to work the touch screen, “Luckily, they ain’t figured out we gots computers attached to us at all times. Hell, I only know just enough to get in trouble.”
He shifted one more time and he heard the radio pop on.
“Cronus. Isra,” Viekko whispered. “Somebody’s gotta be on this line, answer me! Cronus, are you alright?”
There was a burst of static and Cronus's voice came through. “I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the pyramid...Set against the ruins...Lost to history.”
The roaring of the crowd went quiet. Viekko looked over to see the Houston climbing the stairs of the platform in all of his splendor. “Cronus, we don’t have a lot of time. Get with Isra and figure out how to play the message. Do anything. We’re out of options.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Not enough time...And yet infinite time soon...One transitions to the other like...”
The Houston stood in front of the crowd who greeted him with a roar of cheers.
“Cronus, cut the nokhoi baas. Listen to me Cronus, something bad is about to happen—”
Viekko stopped when the Houston motioned behind him. The soldiers brought one of Halifaco’s men forward and laid him across a wooden block at center stage. An Urbanoi soldier appeared from the other end to another roar of crowd approval. He was dressed in the same high-collared brown coat as the other soldiers, except his coat had a collar so high that Viekko could only see a few strands of hair and a touch of scalp. He was also carrying a large axe, the kind that wasn’t used for chopping trees. That detail stood out particularly well in Viekko’s mind.
The man approached the wooden block and the man lying on it. The soldier hoisted the axe with one quick swing. Less than a second, that was it. The crowd cheered as Halifaco’s man had his head unceremoniously removed from the rest of his body.
Halifaco yelled in his native language and struggled to get to his feet. It was just rage of course. There wasn’t much he could do with his hands tied behind him.
The soldiers removed the body which was still spurting blood from the stump of its neck and flung it off the front of the stage. The crowd below parted to let it fall and swarmed over it like a pack of starving animals.
The Houston took his place again at the front and continued to harangue the crowd.
“What’s happening?” said Cronus's voice in Viekko’s ear.
“They are executing them, Cronus. Tamyn kharaal, they are killing them. We’re next Cronus. We’re going to die if you don’t do something.”
Cronus paused again and sighed as if he were being terribly put upon. “If I stop my work now, all the data in the pyramid will be destroyed—
Viekko fought to keep his voice at a whisper. “Don’t care about the pyramid, Cronus. You wanna know why? Because any minute these minii etsguudiin yas, tuunii bukh mori ni are going to cut off our heads.”
Another pause. “I will see what I can do.”
“That’s good. Hurry. And where the hell is Isra?”
Her voice snapped in his ear. “I am here. You need to buy me some time.”
“They just grabbed another one of Halifaco’s men. Isra, we don’t got much time,” said Viekko’s voice in Isra’s ear.
Isra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to tell Viekko that she was perfectly aware of his predicament, and the yelling wasn’t helping. She couldn’t let Laban knew that anything was wrong. It was bad enough that she was the one walking back to the negotiation table.
On the other hand, Viekko would be the one with his head literally on the chopping block, so she decided to excuse the attitude for now.
“I hear you Viekko. Laban. Are you listening? I am ready to talk.”
Vince Laban’s smug voice sounded in her ear. “Isra Jicarrio. I must say I’m surprised. You seem like the type that would sacrifice her entire crew rather than admit wrongdoing.
Over her earpiece she heard the faint clang of metal and Viekko say, “Hurry up, Isra. Damn it, hurry…”
Isra shook her head ignoring Laban’s shot, “Help me save my people and I will be willing to negotiate an agreement for research extraction.”
Laban
just laughed, “You really are a fascinating woman. Your mission is at the brink of failure and your people are in mortal danger. And you wish to negotiate? Well, go on…I’m listening.
Isra breathed deep. “The city is to remain untouched as are the people. We can designate a drilling area on the far Eastern shore of the Ligeia Mare—”
Laban interrupted. “Unacceptable. All our data shows the richest deposits are near the city.”
Viekko’s voice came over the headset again. “Laban. If you let me die out here, I’ll haunt you. You won't be able to belgiin moljlogiig guitsetgekh without me crawling up your ass.”
Isra slammed her fist on the table and immediately regretted it. It showed frustration. “Viekko, quiet. Laban. Meet me halfway.”
“The Ministry renounces all claims to Titan,” said Laban, “The whole moon including the city and its people become official Corporate territory. That is my condition.”
“Oh hells,” said Viekko. “Isra, Cronus. You need to do something right now. They just took Althea. It looks like she’s next on the block.”
Isra felt her stomach drop. It twisted her gut and if there had been anyone nearby to see, they would have noticed her eyes become shiny with tears. In her mind, she wanted to scream, cry, burn and destroy until the empty husk of Innovation orbited a blackened, cratered rock around Saturn. Until this moment, she could have stalled. Maybe let Laban think that she might be able to accomplish the mission without him. But he knew she would never compromise her people.
“Cronus,” she said flatly, “Patch Laban through to the screens. You win, Laban. Titan is yours.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It was during that dark period in history that 21st century civilization ceased to be a force on the planet. All recorded history vanished. Given the evidence, one might believe that, on New Year’s Day 2155, the people of the world decided to pull an elaborate prank on the people of the future and moved the date forward.
Saturnius Mons Page 34