Steal the Demon: A Science-Fiction Novella

by Robert Roth

  He laughed and then looked down at his matching coverall. “If you keep practicing very hard, one day you, too, could spend every shift flying back and forth between two metal cans floating around a big rock.”

  She laughed in return. “It’s enough just to spin in your orbit, Ernesto.”

  Ernesto looked at her empty hands questioningly. “Where’s your helmet?”

  She tapped the collar ring under her coverall. “Right here, old man. What? Did you think I was gonna hold my breath the whole way?”

  He chuckled, then shrugged. “You kids and your gadgets. As long as it works, then, fine. So, are you ready for this?” She nodded. “Okay, then we should get moving. Al-Zamani likes to keep to their schedules. Follow me.” He started to walk away, and she fell into place next to him. “I’ll take you in through the human-staffed Security checkpoint,” he added, quietly, as they walked along. That made sense. Both people and machines could be fooled. They just involved different methods. “My friend Gondo Muzorewa is working the staff counter today, and he’s okay. We’ll tell him that I’m ferrying you over to the Yard because you haven’t been given your credentials yet. Al-Zamani is big enough that it will sound plausible, at least.”

  “Sounds greased up enough.”

  “If Gondo wants any details from you, just make something up that sounds believable. Anything except piloting. Pilots never transfer over on the cargo shuttles.”

  “I understand.”

  He nodded. “Stellar. Here we are.”

  Ernesto stopped at a hatch near the junction with Al-Zamani’s shuttle bay on Davida Station. The hatch was marked with the Al-Zamani logo, and security warnings in Arabic, Mandarin, and English, but Ernesto just tapped a code into the input pad on the wall, and the hatch slid open. He led Kimiko inside to a compartment set up as a small waiting room. There was a closed hatchway on the opposite side, underneath a lit red warning light. A uniformed staff member was stationed at a check-in counter set into the room’s left-hand side. Ernesto immediately smiled and approached them.

  “Sup, Gondo,” he said to the person behind the counter, a tall, thin, masc-presenting person with a shiny, bald head and ebony skin, setting his helmet down and offering his hand. “How’ve you been?”

  Gondo smiled at the greeting and shook Ernesto’s hand. “Oh, you know how it is, Ernesto. Just coming off shift?”

  “You know it. This is my last run for the day.”

  “And you’re my last check-in,” Gondo countered. Then he looked at Kimiko. “Who’s your friend?”

  Ernesto patted a fatherly hand on Kimiko’s back. “This is Kim Yamato. She’s a new hire, so I’m ferrying her over to do her paperwork and pick up her badge.”

  Kimiko smiled as Gondo looked her over. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her in her too-big company coverall, hoping that she didn’t look too out of place. “Did you miss the staff shuttle?” Gondo asked, finally.

  “She sure did,” Ernesto answered for her, nodding.

  “My ride in from Ceres was delayed,” Kimiko added, “and docked late.”

  Gondo nodded as well. “Yeah, that happens a lot.” He reached underneath his counter, pulled something out, and handed it over to her. It was an ID tag, blank except for the Al-Zamani logo printed on it. “Here, you’ll need this, then. It’ll get you as far as the staff desk, and they should be able to help you from there.”

  “Thanks,” Kimiko said as she grabbed it, then clipped it onto her coverall.

  “Yeah, thanks, Gondo,” Ernesto added. “Can you let us through? I’ve still got to verify and file my manifest for this run.”

  “Sure thing, Ernesto.” Gondo typed something into an input pad hidden below the counter. The red light over the closed hatchway changed to green, and the hatch slid open. “Have a good run, Ernesto. And, in case no one else has said it yet, welcome to Al-Zamani, Kim.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ernesto walked through the open hatch, and Kimiko stayed on his tail. Then the hatch closed behind them, as she followed him down a short, narrow corridor.

  “That was almost too easy,” she commented.

  “There’s a reason I chose this shift to bring you through,” Ernesto replied. “Gondo and I go way back, so he trusts me.” Then he lowered his voice. “Honestly, I think he would’ve helped if he knew who you actually were. He’s got no love for Al-Zamani, either.”

  “But you didn’t–”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “No way, Joe. I know how important operational security is, remember?”

  Kimiko chuckled. “Yeah, sorry. Just the nerves talking, I guess.”

  At the end of the corridor was another security door that required Ernesto to tap in a code to enter. Beyond that was a sizable chamber with a tall ceiling. It was mostly empty, except for several stacks of supply crates and a single container with its lid off and set, tilted against the side. Beyond the crate stacks, the chamber opened up directly onto a large shuttle bay, where Kimiko could see at least two boxy shuttles adorned with the Al-Zamani livery, although from her angle, she could mostly see just their big drive cones.

  “You should button up now,” Ernesto told her. “The shipping crate doesn’t have a lot of room inside.”

  She looked at the open crate. It was maybe one and a half meters long on each side. “Yeah, looks like it’ll be a little cramped.”

  He frowned apologetically. “All the better to allay any suspicion. Larger crates usually go directly to the Yard and are rarely processed at Davida Station. But it’s a short trip, at least.”

  Kimiko nodded. “It’s fine.” She activated her full suit, which extruded from the harness underneath her coverall, and helmet, which blossomed from her collar ring and closed around her head. Ernesto’s eyes went wide as he watched. There was a quiet hiss as her suit’s air supply activated. Between the compressed air in her tank, and the suit’s filtration unit, she had more than twelve hours before she would need to find another way to breathe. Then she lifted herself over the side and started to crouch down inside of it. It took a few moments to get herself into a sort of curled-up, fetal position where the lid would attach and seal, but she would still be comfortable enough for the trip.

  “Once I’ve docked at Al-Zamani, the cargo techs will unload all of these crates, including yours, to a freight transfer area while the shuttle is refueled. I don’t have any return cargo on this turnaround, but that could change en route. Your best bet would be to exit the container before I take off for my return trip. Most everyone there will be distracted with the shuttle.”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  “Hang on to that ID badge Gondo gave you. I didn’t expect him to, but it’ll at least make you look a little more official if you’re spotted. You probably already know this,” he added, sounding nervous for the first time, “but their security is really tight.”

  “I know, and I will.”

  He nodded. “Alright. Then, if all goes according to plan,” Ernesto said as he lifted the container lid over her, “we won’t see each other again during the trip. So, good hunting.”

  “Thanks again, Ernesto. Really.”

  He nodded, then pushed the lid into place, cutting off all of the outside light.

  “The crate is now sealed,” Paradox informed her, via the QED. “I’ve accessed the station security feed and am observing you. I can share the feed with you if you like.”

  “That would be stellar, Paradox. Thanks.”

  A virtual display materialized, giving her an overwatch view of the cargo loading zone. She could see that the seal indicator on her crate was lit. After a few moments, she watched Ernesto walk back into the chamber with another person, probably a cargo tech, who was carrying a large hand terminal and wearing an Al-Zamani coverall. They spoke with each other, then the cargo tech held out their hand terminal, and Ernesto pointed at something displayed there. The loading tech nodded, then the two of them walked out of the display.

  “I’ve confirmed
the addition of this crate to the shuttle’s manifest,” Paradox told her.

  “You’re inside of Al-Zamani’s Net?”

  “No, just the local Net, where they have to rely on Davida Station’s Net-sec, which is much less aggressive than the Shipyard’s.”

  In her virtual display, Kimiko watched as two other cargo techs walked over to her crate and strapped an anti-grav frame to the top of it, so she braced herself against the interior walls. The grav disappeared when one of the techs activated the device, then the techs positioned themselves on either side of the crate and began to push it out of range of the display.

  It wasn’t truly anti-grav, of course, since all the grav in the station was artificially generated. It was only an inhibitor field that locally dampened the effects of the station’s grav-field, making the container light enough to be moved and carried without a loader, and without having to worry about the standard mechanics of moving about in zero-grav.

  Kimiko’s virtual display screen shifted its view, showing her the interior of the shuttle bay. The near side of the closest shuttle was opened to the bay. She watched as the cargo techs pushed her crate up the loading ramp and inside of it, strapping it into place. The tug of grav returned after they deactivated the anti-grav frame. Once she was sure that the techs had left the shuttle, she adjusted her position again, knowing that the grav was only temporary. When the shuttle left the grav-field of the station, she’d genuinely be on the float.

  Ernesto appeared in her view again with his helmet on, walking around the shuttle as he made his routine inspections. It was nice to see that he was still fastidious about that sort of thing. A less-careful pilot might be tempted to skip something like that since, if there was a problem, they’d always be inside the recovery envelopes of either Davida Station or the Shipyard. Ernesto finished by inspecting the seal after a cargo tech closed the shuttle loading ramp. Kimiko took a moment and double-checked her own seals, all green on her display, and then her air tank level, which still showed more than ninety-nine percent remaining. Then she saw Ernesto board the shuttle.

  “Paradox,” she asked, “can you monitor Traffic Control comms?”

  “Yes, indeed. Would you like to listen?”

  “I would.”

  After a moment, she heard the familiar, almost silent hiss of the TC comm channel. “Davida Control,” she heard Ernesto say, “this is Alpha Zulu Two-Niner Sierra requesting departure.”

  “Two-Niner Sierra, Davida Control,” came the response. It sounded like an artificial voice. Davida Station must use an AI for their traffic control. “Departure authorized. Your traffic lane is clear.”

  “Copy, Davida Control. Alpha Zulu Two-Niner Sierra commencing departure sequence.”

  Kimiko felt the grav disappear again, as the shuttle bay’s grav-field was deactivated. She felt a muffled pop through the bottom of the crate as Ernesto fired a quick burst from the shuttle’s directional thrusters, and watched as the shuttle lifted off from the deck. There were a few more pops as he used the thrusters to push the shuttle forward through the shimmering containment field that separated the bay from open space, then the deep, humming vibration of the main engine firing. The force pushed her to the back of the crate, but not at full grav. It was a short trip, so he was probably only accelerating at half grav, which, after the turn and burn to decelerate, would put them at Al-Zamani in around thirty minutes, she guessed.

  “Okay, Paradox,” she said aloud since she was alone. “Let’s take a look at your Shipyard layout again, and review the plan.”

  “Good idea,” he responded. A wireframe schematic of the Shipyard’s layout appeared in front of her. Then the section representing the shuttle bays was highlighted and expanded to fill her virtual display. “We’ll obviously start somewhere around here.”

  As they reviewed the layout, she filled Paradox in on some missing details that Kenji’s ex-boyfriend had provided her, including the compartments she’d chosen to check on. The two of them then identified any other likely locations for a security terminal and the possible routes she might take to reach them. There were unknowns, of course. Kenji’s ex had told her that there were both human and bot patrols, and what areas the patrols tended to focus on, but that was from memory and could’ve changed since he’d last worked for them. After around fifteen minutes, the acceleration stopped, and Kimiko felt the thrusters’ pop as Ernesto spun the ship around. By the time the main engine cut out again, she and Paradox were both confident with their plan, such as it was. With all the unknowns, they were going to have to change things on the fly. Kimiko knew that she could. Paradox assured her of the same.

  One of those unknowns was her Al-Zamani coverall. “Do you think I should keep it on?” she asked.

  “It’s your call, of course,” Paradox assured her. “I would recommend doing so, since it would give you the possible advantage of blending in as Al-Zamani staff, at least from a reasonable distance. Plus, you have the ID badge now.”

  That was a good point. “Okay, I’ll leave it on once I’m out of the crate.”

  “We’re approaching the Shipyard, Kimiko. I’m detecting a comm request from Traffic Control.”

  “Al-Zamani Control,” Kimiko heard Ernesto say. Paradox must’ve relayed the comm channel to her again. “Two-Niner Sierra inbound from Davida Station on approach, requesting landing clearance.”

  “Two-Niner Sierra, Al-Zamani Control. Landing clearance is granted. Alter your approach vector for landing bay Alpha-Five. Confirm.”

  “Confirm for Alpha-Five, Control,” Ernesto replied. “Altering vector now.” There were several more pops from the thrusters as he changed their course.

  The view of the station layout shifted in her vision, highlighting the shuttle bay labeled A-five. “Since this is our landing bay,” Paradox said, “this should be our primary target option.” A dashed line appeared on the layout, leading from the bay to one of the nearby compartments they’d identified as a possible security terminal location.

  “Agreed,” Kimiko replied.

  “You’ve just passed through the shuttle bay containment field. Prepare for station grav.”

  She braced herself as Ernesto used the directional thrusters to bring them to a relative stop and then set the shuttle into the docking clamps on the landing bay’s deck. After a final clunk, she felt the downward tug of the grav-field coming back on in the shuttle bay. At that point, it was a waiting game. She sat in silence for several minutes, mentally reviewing her plan before she felt her grav disappear again. Then the crate was lifted and carried for a short distance before being set into place, adjusted, then locked down. Grav returned, suddenly, and she knew that the anti-grave frame had been deactivated and removed. She guessed that she had, at most, five minutes to get out of the crate before Ernesto’s shuttle was refueled for the return journey. She set a timer on her display for thirty seconds, then waited, keeping her breathing calm, as it counted down.

  “I’ve negotiated access to the local Net,” Paradox suddenly announced. “I don’t have any access to security functions, but I can at least help you navigate.”

  “That’s handy,” Kimiko admitted.

  “You should remove that ID badge, though. They’re fitted with trackers.”

  Of course, they were. Kimiko grunted, and pulled hers off, letting it fall to the base of the container. “Can you tell if the immediate area is clear?”

  “Yes. There are no badges in the vicinity besides yours.”

  That would have to be enough to go on. It was better than she’d planned for. Kimiko reached up and pulled the emergency release lever on the container lid. It unsealed with a loud hiss. She pushed the cover up and to the side, then held it to keep it from falling while she stood up and climbed out of the crate. As she slid the lid back into place, Kimiko saw that she was in a loading bay section demarcated by wide yellow striping painted onto the gray composite deck. There were stacks of shipping containers all around her, including the few that were offloaded
from Ernesto’s shuttle.

  The docking bay was a vast, cavernous, open space that must’ve stretched for hundreds of meters from side to side. Ernesto’s shuttle was still parked inside, dwarfed by the area around it, and the colossal cargo hauler positioned nearby. Kimiko was momentarily astounded. It was impossible to judge the size of a station from a distance, and she’d been unable to see it as they’d approached. But it was a shipyard, she remembered, which meant that it housed all the manufacturing and engineering facilities needed to design and construct their spacecraft. And some of Al-Zamani’s ships were very large, indeed. The interior was every bit as spotless as Davida Station had been, and the materials were of the highest quality. But Al-Zamani had paid no mind to aesthetics–at least beyond functional and utilitarian, if those even counted. The surfaces were all dark, mostly grays and charcoals, broken up by brightly painted symbols and graphics common to industrial stations and docking bays. But the bay was lit from above to an almost clinical brightness, with massive overhead lights banishing any shadows.

  It was crowded, too, but no one was paying her little loading zone any attention, so Kimiko resealed her crate, then activated her guidance mini-map in the corner of her field of vision. “Where’s the exit?” she asked aloud as she visually scanned the nearby area.

  “Here,” Paradox replied as an icon popped up in her display, marking a hatch on the rear wall of the bay.

  Kimiko kept her head down as she quickly worked her way through the container stacks toward the hatch, but there was still a good thirty meters of open space left where she would be completely exposed. She peeked around the crates she was hiding behind, and saw that Ernesto’s shuttle was being refueled. None of the Al-Zamani workers seemed to be looking in her direction, so she sucked up her reluctance and moved. Kimiko covered the distance with a brisk walk, slapping her palm on the hatch controls when she reached them, then stepping through after the hatch slid open. She let out a sigh of relief as it slid closed again behind her. She stood in a small corridor that likely served as an airlock if the docking bay ever needed to be depressurized. The hatch at the other end was also manually operated and opened onto a large crew lounge filled with short banks of lockers arranged in a half-dozen rows, along with benches for dressing and hanging racks for gear along the compartment walls. It was empty, so she deactivated her helmet, taking a deep breath of air that smelled faintly of industrial solvents and long-chain monomers as the helmet collapsed and disappeared back into her collar ring.