As the Gravity Flipped

by Herschel K. Stroganoff

  Inge folded her arms. "It wasn't the first thing I thought," she said. "Of course I felt sad for them, but let's be honest - no one is going to mourn the loss of the Yao."

  "So let me get this straight, because maybe I am a dummy, like you say. You pushed for a vote on a motion you knew would have been blocked by the Yao. Then the Secretary just turned up to offer his backing? Do you see why this doesn't make sense to me? Can you not see why this behaviour might seem a little bit suspicious?"

  Inge gave a half smile. "The Secretary supported our plans, and when we knew about the deaths, we asked him to force the issue to the Assembly. Everything we've done is completely above board."

  "Do you not see how the connection between these two events is suspicious?" said Tshilidzi.

  "Causality is not the same as correlation," said Inge with a wry smile. "I thought you were an Investigator."

  Tshilidzi sucked his teeth. "That'll be all. You've been most helpful, Madam Tomas."

  Inge frowned. "But--."

  "That will be all."

  # # #

  Garrett: Shopping District, V5 Orbiter, Venus

  01/07/6,544, 18:57 (IST)

  Garrett watched the looters from the trading house window. Stores had been broken into and ransacked, their fittings strewn in haphazard lines across the boulevard. Armed gangs searched buildings for anything of value - food, tools, clothing, people. Everything else, they burned.

  He'd barricaded himself into the room for more than a week and the smell of Ifan's swollen corpse had made Garrett resolved to leave. If he could make it back to the Carys and launch it into Venus's orbit, he would be safe. There were enough food supplies on board to last the journey for two back to Lunar, but fuel levels were too low to make the trip. He hoped the Carys had not been damaged by the looters.

  Picking up his bag and jacket, he looked around the room. He ate the last few mouthfuls of the previous evening's meal. He had two litres of water remaining, and could probably make it last for another two or three days.

  He dragged the chair aside from the door. He listened for a moment, then looked back at Ifan. "Goodbye my friend," he said.

  With cautious, creeping steps, Garrett made his way down the stairwell to the ground floor and scrunched his nose at the stench of singed rubber and rotting food. He stepped through a doorway to find the main floor of the trading house ransacked.

  He leaned out of the entrance and felt an uneasy sensation as he looked up at the flickering daylight lamps and patchy sky projections.

  Moving quickly, he kept his head down and jogged past smashed up shops, shielding his nose with his forearm. It struck Garrett at that moment how fast things can change. This boulevard had been the most desirable and exclusive place across the Union - the culmination of ambition, the playground of the powerful, the end of greed itself - but now it was the site of destruction and degradation.

  Garrett crouched and grabbed a chef's knife resting among refuse. He looked around for the ambush, but all was quiet.

  The walls scraped his right arm as he picked up speed. He slowed at the echoes of a distant assault. Noticing an open door to the front of the adjacent building, Garrett snuck inside and made his way up a ladder to the flat roof.

  Prone, he crawled to the end of rooftop and surveyed the scene before him. He held his breath as a group of five adults armed with clubs stood over a beaten body. They were around two-hundred metres ahead. He would have to drop to the ground level at some point soon if he was going to make any more progress to the docking area.

  Garrett waited and considered. He peeked over the rooftop, The gang stripped the body of clothes, shoes, a bottle of water, a club. The rough concrete scraped his elbows as he shuffled along the rooftop, making his way closer to the gang. He held his breath as he looked over the edge again.

  The gang headed in the same direction as Garrett, gradually increasing the distance between them. They tipped over anything they passed, flipping debris with their feet. Garrett thought if he kept them within visual range, he would be safer - both from them and any other gangs he might encounter.

  He strained to lift open a metal hatch, then crept down a stairwell into darkness. He paused, then pushed open a door to a teahouse. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and saw the shop front sealed from the outside.

  "Get the fuck out of here," a wild-eyed man growled as he brandished a large knife.

  Breath racing, Garrett raised his hands. "I didn't realise--."

  "What the fuck are you doing? How did you get in here?" the man snarled.

  "Please, I'm not here to harm you, I'm just trying to get back to my ship," Garrett pleaded.

  "You are a fucking liar. I will kill you."

  Garrett recognised the man. "You own the teahouse," he said. "We sold tea to you."

  Garrett froze as the man considered him for a moment, knife still raised. The man circled Garrett, his eyes narrowing, his blade within an arm's reach.

  "Please," Garrett said. "I've been avoiding the gangs by going over the rooftops. I didn't think there was anyone--."

  "You're Boeki," the man said. "I remember. Where is your friend," the man looked suspiciously over Garrett's shoulder.

  "Someone stabbed him, he's--." Garrett shook his said, unable to say the word.

  The man lowered his knife. "They're fuckers. This place has gone completely to shit. All my customers fled on the first shuttles out. Could I afford to leave? Could anyone who works on this piece of shit?" He spat on the floor. "Of course not."

  "You're welcome to join me on my ship," Garrett said. "I don't have much fuel, but we could stay in orbit around Venus until we're picked up."

  The man sat at a table and gestured to Garrett. "Please, sit with me."

  Garrett pulled out a chair and sat down, one eye on the man's knife.

  "I won't be coming on your ship," the man said. "This is all I have - this is my life. I have no money, no family and nowhere to go." The man sighed, fingering his blade.

  "I'm Garrett Priddy."

  "My name is Dilly La'la."

  "Where's that name from originally? It's very unusual."

  "My grandfather made it up," Dilly shrugged. "He opened this teahouse. I think he thought it sounded aristocratic. It's fucking ridiculous."

  "You know, your knowledge of tea would be really useful to the Boeki."

  "And spend my life on a stinking ship, breathing in recycled farts for months on end? Thank you, but no. I'd sooner slice my wrists and die here than live that sort of life."

  "It's not as bad as all that," Garrett said.

  "Would you like a cup of tea?" asked Dilly.

  "Thank you, but I really must keep moving. Is there anyone next door?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I heard a gang trying to smash up the place a few days ago. They tried to get in here too, but the security has held so far."

  Garrett got to his feet. "Dilly. Good luck and thanks for not stabbing me."

  Dilly laughed. "And thank you for not raiding my shop."

  Garrett smiled and climbed back up the stairwell, onto the roof. He lay on his belly, then crawled back to the edge. The gang were out of sight.

  "Damn it," he said.

  Cold sweat spread over him. His heart rate slowed. He needed to be more careful - he was lucky to still be alive.

  He crawled along the roof to the next stairwell. The hatch opened without resistance. He edged down the steps, his blade drawn in readiness. He jerked back in fright as a scuttling cockroach darted past.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Garrett tapped open a door. A leather goods shop lay ransacked and in ruin, with baskets and shelves scattered across the floor. He waited, his breath deep, his fingers shaking, nose tickled by dust. He scanned the debris, but the looters were thorough.

  The outer door was jammed. Pushing against it with his shoulder, the door budged just enough to squeeze through. Far ahead was the distant swirl of smoke. Silence.

  Moving to a jog, Garrett took a
left turn to a field of scorched grass and fallen trees, ancient oaks and poplars twisted to broken charcoal. He stumbled over torn-up shrubs and clumps of grass as the daylight lamps sparked. The smell of cooking meat was answered by a rumble in his belly.

  Garrett ducked behind a tree stump. Something loud snapped behind him. The gang came into view. Shivering from the cold and fresh surge of adrenaline, Garrett struggled against his body to suppress a cough. He covered his mouth. His chest convulsed as a cough came out and echoed around the garden. He closed his eyes.

  Whispers came from the gang. He looked around the trunk and spotted five members spreading out as they hunted their prey. They were fifty metres away. The decision whether to stay or run kept him frozen for several moments.

  Garrett coughed again, this time, louder. He jumped to his feet and ran. He did not look back.

  The gang gave chase.

  Garrett tripped over fallen limbs, crying out in pain as a tree stump caught his shin. A row of bushes curved to a point, leading round to an obscured door.

  He burst through to the main stairwell, vaulted the banister, jarring his knee as he landed on the floor below. There would be more places to hide on the lower levels, so he kept running through the pain.

  The gang gained ground.

  He pushed through a door to food storage. Holding his hand over his nose to block the smell of rotting food, Garrett ducked past rows of empty refrigerators, limping.

  "There he is," called a gang member from behind.

  "Fuck," Garrett grunted, his face etched with pain as he pushed through a second door. He climbed a thin set of stairs, tugging against the handrail with each agonising step.

  He pulled himself up to the next level.

  As he reached the top step, he felt a hand grip around his ankle. He kicked out wildly, frantically; panicking as he caught a young woman in the face with his boot, watching with horror as she fell back down the stairs, banging her head hard against the concrete floor. The other gang members climbed over her, running up the stairs with rage in their eyes.

  The young woman did not move.

  "Leave me the fuck alone," Garrett growled. He drew his blade and backed his way through a door onto the loading dock.

  He saw the Carys and fell to his knees. The ship had been gutted, its hull a burnt-out shell of bare wires, struts and beams; a useless metal skeleton.

  Glittering debris and shattered crates littered the floor. The gang circled him, closed in and shoved Garrett to the ground. Curling into a ball, he cringed and writhed as the first blow struck hard against the back of his head.

  # # #

  Ajay: The Coraygar, in region of Titan, Saturn

  03/07/6,544, 07:36 (IST)

  Ajay eyed Azra with a raised eyebrow as she took a seat on the bench across from him. The refectory was busy with the hum of four hundred members of the Coraygar's crew eating breakfast. The clatter of bowls and morning gossip echoed around the bright-lit walls. The smell of fresh bread and boiled eggs hung in the air as Ajay sipped from his glass of apple juice.

  "Sleep well?" Azra asked, removing an eggshell in one smooth motion, then placing it next to her bowl.

  "I was cold," said Ajay, leaning across the dining table.

  "Aww, poor Ajay didn't get to fuck the captain last night," Azra said with a mocking, childish tone. "Is that why you're sulky?"

  The hairs on the back of Ajay's neck prickled He took another sip from his glass, then pushed his hair back. He frowned as Azra looked past him, smiling.

  "Ajay. Have you met Taslim?"

  Ajay looked over his right shoulder as a tall young man hopped over the bench to take a seat next to him.

  "I haven't had the pleasure," said Ajay.

  "It's Ajay isn't it?" Taslim asked, offering a hand.

  Ajay squeezed Taslim's had. He regarded him for a long moment, taking in his deep dark eyes, chiselled jaw and sculpted hair. "That's right," he said.

  "Taslim's been working on some of our latest drugs - some of his insights are truly brilliant," Azra said.

  Ajay glanced between the pair, wondering if this was the reason Azra had rejected him. He sipped again at his glass, but put it back down when he realised it was already empty.

  "Most of it is about finding ways to undo or circumvent a lot of Muedin's blocking programmes. I discovered recently that some of their cancer drugs are designed so that even if you use similar drugs without the blocker, resistance to a full cure will remain in the system."

  "If only Muedin spent as much time trying to find cures rather than fostering reliance, we'd all be in better place," Azra said.

  "So they're undermining the potential of our drugs now?" Ajay said, furrowing his brow.

  Taslim nodded as he wiped egg yolk from his bottom lip.

  "Are you saying recent shipments will be of no use?"

  Taslim shrugged. "It's hard to say," he said taking another mouthful of egg. "It's only something I've spotted with their latest shipments--."

  "Well don't you think that's something you should know?" Ajay said. His tone was harsh, reproachful.

  Azra and Taslim shared a brief glance. He flinched as Azra turned on him with an icy glare. "Do you think you could do any better?" she spat. "There aren't many people who can do what Taslim has, so might I suggest--."

  "Okay, okay," Ajay raised his hands. "Taslim, I'm sorry. I had a bad night's sleep and recent developments aren't looking positive for us, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm not in the best of moods."

  Taslim nodded. "I understand. Please, think no more of it."

  Ajay stood and placed a hand on Taslim's shoulder. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." Catching Azra's glare, he turned and left.

  # # #

  Natsuki: Kurosawa household, Insularum 3, Lunar

  09/07/6,544, 04:23 (IST)

  Natsuki jerked from sleep as her bedroom door crashed open.

  "What?" she asked, confused, her voice groggy and slurred.

  "Don't move," a voice shouted. "Put your hands up on your head. Now!"

  With a rush of adrenaline, Natsuki snapped her eyes open to three masked officers dressed in black aiming firearms at her head.

  "What are you doing - what do you want?" she asked.

  "Slowly now," the first officer said, her voice firm and gruff.

  "Who--?"

  "Get your hands up on your head," the officer said. "You are under arrest."

  Two officers grabbed Natsuki's arms and hauled her to her feet. She felt the sharp squeeze of cold metal as the female officer strapped her arms quickly behind her back.

  "Arrest?" she finally mustered. "What--?"

  "You have defamed the Lunar Secretary. We're here to take you to the Judiciary."

  "No!" Natsuki struggled as she tried to wriggle free of her binds.

  "Stop that," snapped the officer. "Do you know what I'm holding? Do you know what is being pointed at you right this moment?"

  Natsuki regarded the small hand weapon. "I don't know," she said frowning, "is it some kind of weapon?"

  "Precisely. All I need to do is press this button and you will die. It's really that simple."

  Natsuki stared. "Where's Riko? Where's my daughter?"

  "Your daughter will be taken away. She will be perfectly safe."

  "No," Natsuki pleaded, "Riko must stay with me."

  "A prison cell is no place for a young girl."

  Natsuki cried in pain as the two male officers yanked up her bound arms to lead her out, still in her bedclothes.

  "Where's my daughter?" she screamed, her legs flailing.

  "Let her go," the female officer growled. Natsuki froze. The officer reached to her belt and pulled out a stunner. The finger-sized lozenge flashed. White and purple bursts rippled through her head before everything faded to black.

  # # #

  Okada honours young reporter

  Originally published by Lunar Chronicle, 02/01/6,522

  A young reporter has been hon
oured by Lunar Secretary Elect Sho Okada for her work uncovering corruption in the Hideo Goto administration.

  Akira Yamamoto, an apprentice at the Lunar Chronicle was joined by fellow reporters at a ceremony at United Solar Headquarters last night.

  Madam Yamamoto discovered evidence that the former Lunar Secretary had accepted payments from Affiliates including the Aghoro, Muedin and Bani to block Yao moves to share its technology and research.

  Sect Okada told the Assembly: "Because of Madam Yamamoto's work, we are a step close to rooting out the rot of corruption in this Chamber.

  "She has done a great service for our Union."

  Madam Yamamoto's revelations led to the former Secretary being charged with corruption, leading to a snap election.

  It is believed he is now serving his sentence on a mining platform in the Neptune region.

  # # #

  Part Three: Drones

  Chapter Ten

  Garrett: Shopping District, V5 Orbiter, Venus

  01/07/6,544, 19:21 (IST)

  Disorientated and aching, Garrett emerged from unconsciousness and looked across the docking area. His eyes widened at the carnage. Scores of bodies peppered with holes and soaked in blood lay lifeless around him.

  With cracked ribs and a shattered right hand, he grunted as a pair of bulky men in unfamiliar black uniforms helped him to his feet. They wore leather boots and swooped helmets and held firearms in their hands.

  "What happened?" Garrett asked, his voice scratching through the pain in his chest. He regarded the pair for a long moment. "Who are you people?" he asked.

  "Molotok," said the first man said.

  Garrett rotated his shoulders and winced. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. What happened here?"

  "There's no confusion," the second man said. "We answered a call from a United Solar Affiliate for urgent assistance. We are only sorry that it took so long."

  Garrett reached up to his chin but scowled as he was hit by a stab of pain in his hand. "You're Molotok? But I thought--."