by Darren Beyer
“I hate wasting your time, Mr. President, but we have a situation.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like this.” The president leaned back.
“We had a breach in Deliverance.”
“Jesus.” The president breathed heavily. “How serious?”
“We think we’ve got it locked down, but we can’t be sure. Given the sensitivity, we need to move up the timetable. We must enact Phase Two immediately.”
“Before the election?” The president let out a long sigh. “You were right about the Alexandria thing. It did us a lot of good. But the rest of it? You know how risky that is.”
Andrews drummed his fingers on the head of his cane and glared.
“The logistics are complex.” The president coughed. “And there are other considerations. Things take time. We’re just not ready.”
“You damned well better get ready.” Andrews’ eyes narrowed as he sat up on the edge of his seat. “If we have a full breach in Deliverance, we’ll be forced to scrub the entire operation. Is that what you want? The money I’ve spent—trillions of bits—the years invested—your Administration is about to throw it all away. No, the future of the Euramerican Coalition depends upon Deliverance. This latest move by AIC is a diversion.” Andrews rested both hands on his cane and exhaled.
The president frowned.
“Look, Mr. President.” Andrews’ voice softened. “For my whole life, I’ve read the political tea-leaves, analyzed economic currents, studied adversaries, and developed my plans accordingly. When I took over TSI from my father, it was a dying company. So, while everyone else was intent upon either squeezing the last ounce of fossil fuel out of the Earth or developing so-called alternative energies, I focused on miniaturizing fusion power. Now every container ship on the ocean and spaceship in the heavens carries one of my nuclear reactors. More than three quarters of the power on Earth is derived from technology that TSI developed. If not for me, the waters of the Potomac would right now be lapping Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“I understand, Greg—”
“Do you? When the world began stepping back from stronger militaries, I invested in combat technologies. With national consolidation, world militaries are stronger now than ever, and there isn’t a combat vehicle in service that doesn’t carry TSI components. More than half the militaries in the world are made up of contractors mostly employed by TSI.
“I know all this, Greg. What’s your point?”
“My point—”Andrews drew a deep breath of annoyance. “My point is that at every pivotal point in the last seventy years, I’ve recognized the patterns and made the hard decisions. Everyone else ran away, while I ran forward. And I tell you now, we’re at another pivotal point—the most crucial in history.”
“But Greg—”
“Officially, I gave up direct control of TSI and joined the Assembly. I’ve devoted everything I have to Deliverance. How many times do I have to say it?” Andrews slammed his cane to the floor. “Those who control hyperium control space. And those who control space control humanity’s future!”
“But AIC is finally giving up their hyperium—”
“They want us to think that. Why? Analyze! Analyze! AIC won in the High Court. Mikel has no reason to acquiesce after that. He wouldn’t be handing over Hyperion if he didn’t have something else to protect—something far more important.” Andrews stood and looked the president in the eye. “Now is not the time for hand-wringing. We’ve had Deliverance in the works for far too long.”
“Greg, I can only do so much. Public opinion is wavering and the Assembly along with it. AIC’s hyperium announcement will take the wind right out of our sails.”
“Then I’ll have to find a way to fill them again.” Andrews tilted his head back and looked down his nose. “History waits for no man—and neither do I.”
Chapter 17
Earth
A bump brought consciousness—then cold—wet—a muffled siren. Another bump brought pain and disorientation. Mandi tried to move.
Something restrained her arms and legs. Pain emanated from her left arm and coursed through her body. She opened her eyes and struggled to look around, but even that hurt. She was in a small, darkened, vibrating compartment. Another bump—more pain. She made out a bank of small cupboards very close to her right and a tank of compressed gas. She was on her back in an ambulance. She tried to remember, but her head was in a fog. Shouldn’t someone be with her? A bright light appeared behind her, then a shadow. Someone was leaning over.
“W-where am I?” Mandi found it hard to speak. “What happened?”
A blond man with a hard face, a snake tattoo barely visible on his arm, appeared in her line of vision. She felt a prick in her arm, followed by sweeping warmth.
“She’s all yours.” The man spoke to someone in an accented voice. “You know where to go.”
The fog became thicker, the pain subsided, and consciousness ebbed.
***
A devastating crash startled Mandi awake again.
She opened her eyes, and pain shot through her. It was sharpest in her left arm. She was almost hanging from one side, restraining straps cutting painfully into her leg, hip, and upper arm. The disorientation was overwhelming. She was still in the darkened compartment, and the tank of compressed gas lay on its side with tubes tangled. Small plastic packets littered the confined area.
She tried to crane her neck in its restraint, and the effort made her head ache. She could see the same close compartments and drawers; her legs were held fast, only her lower right arm had any play. She was strapped into a gurney in an ambulance that lay on its side, a crack of light barely showing around the rear doors.
Behind her head, from the front of the ambulance, Mandi became vaguely aware of someone cursing, followed by the long creak of a door straining open. There was more cursing, then yelling, then three sharp pops and the sound of a body falling back into the cab. The door slammed shut.
Panicked adrenalin pushed the fog out of Mandi’s brain. She feverishly yanked and twisted her right wrist, trying to gain some slack in the strap. She strained until she had worked her hand free, then reached for the strap securing her upper body and released the buckle. She fell hard on her hurt arm and let out a yelp. The pain made her vision flash, and even thinking about moving brought a wave of nausea. Her legs were still held fast. With a groan, enduring the pain, she hoisted herself with her good arm to release them.
With a thud she fell out of the leg strap, even as purposeful steps from the top of the ambulance cab echoed throughout. Again she heard the creak of the cab door opening, followed by a single pop, then two more in quick succession. With her injured arm pressed to her side, Mandi curled into a ball, while the metallic jangle of falling shell casings echoed from the cab.
The cab door slammed shut, and the ambulance creaked as someone jumped off, landing heavily on the ground. Mandi curled tighter. When the rear door latch rattled, she backed herself toward the cab, kicking her feet and steadying herself with her good arm. She reached for the handle of the door into the cab and fumbled with it, staring toward the big doors at the back of the vehicle. Suddenly the cab door released, and Mandi stifled a scream as the still eyes of a dead paramedic stared at her, his head, arm and shoulder falling into the compartment. A pistol tumbled from his lifeless hand and landed with a loud clunk. Grunting in pain, she stretched across the body to retrieve the weapon.
The rear door fell open with a bang, light suddenly filling the compartment. Mandi lifted her shaking hand, pointing the gun toward the opening. The backlit shadow of a man’s head momentarily poked in, then quickly withdrew.
“I know you’re hurt,” a voice called. “You’re disoriented, and you’ve probably been drugged. You don’t know where you are or who I am. But right now I need you to put down the weapon and let me help you out of there.”
“I’m not doing anything, and there’s no way I’m putting down this gun.”
“Ms. Nkosi—Ma
ndi. We don’t have time for this.”
A small metal cylinder flew lightly through the open rear door, bounced off the side of the ambulance, and came to a rest centimeters from Mandi’s feet. When it exploded in a puff of smoke, the fog returned to her mind, and she struggled to remain alert until finally succumbing to unconsciousness.
Chapter 18
Eridani
Jans stood inside the waiting area of the new AIC press briefing room. His head of public relations usually handled press conferences, but he couldn’t let anyone else make an announcement of this magnitude.
This was arguably the most important day in the history of AIC. Decades earlier, Jans had stood in front of the press to announce the unique capabilities of hyperium and show footage of an unmanned probe entering the first human-made wormhole. He had changed the course of history, and the world had known it even before he’d stepped out from under the limelight. This time, however, his task was to make sure, for years to come, that the public wouldn’t know the truth behind his announcement. All of his energy was devoted to extending those years.
“Are you sure you are ready?” Dagan placed a hand on Jans’ shoulder. “You know that there are others who can make this announcement.”
“No, thank you, Danny.” Jans gave a sardonic smile. “This has to come from me. The people of Eridani expect me to put my money where my mouth is. Besides, I’m not worried about what will happen during the briefing. I’m worried about afterward. Can we buy ourselves enough time?”
“That is a good question, and one I have been asking ever since you made this decision.”
“It’s been made now, Danny, and it’s too late to change it. So let’s focus on maximizing its effect.”
Dagan let out a noncommittal grunt.
“Which reminds me. What’s the status of Dauntless?”
“En route to retrieve Raymus.” Dagan looked up, wariness on his face. “The rendezvous should take place within two weeks.”
“We need to postpone the mission.” Jans put up a hand to forestall Dagan’s objection. “The risk of detection it too great. If we’re going to make the sacrifice of Hyperion to release the pressure on us, then the last thing we need is for something to ratchet that pressure back up again. An illegal interstellar warship would send exactly the wrong message.”
Dagan put his hand to his chin.
“Danny, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I am thinking that Dauntless is running black.” Dagan stood still. “I am thinking that, even if I wanted to postpone the mission, I could not get word to them until Raymus is picked up. By then, the highest-risk components will already be in play.” Dagan set his jaw. “I am also thinking that these lost ships—this pressure on us—it is all related. If we sell Hyperion to release the pressure, and the pressure simply comes back, what have we accomplished? I am sure we will find critical clues on the Gaussian. Don’t you want answers, payback —”
“You know I do!” Setting his jaw, Jans looked out the office windows to New Reykjavik, bustling with activity under the afternoon sun.
An orbital shuttle was landing with passengers from the orbiting space station. He looked up. Were it closer to sunset he might be able to see the station as a spot of light in a darkening sky. In extended orbit, system defense boats patrolled the approaches to Eridani space. Others were on station elsewhere in the system. One sat on station at the Sol jump point, yet another orbited Ascension, guarding his secret. Could this fledgling force keep Eridani safe? What if the worst happened?
Each defensive ship was the equal of ten of its interstellar siblings. Small by Earth standards, the Eridanian defense fleet was approaching a size that might keep Eridani nearly secure from interstellar invasion. But nearly secure was not completely secure. The Euramerican Coalition, Pan Asian, and even Eastern Bloc interstellar fleets were still potent. Jans couldn’t risk anything that might trigger a show of force—not yet. Not until more defensive ships could be brought online. Not until more ships of the caliber of Dauntless became operational.
Jans thought back to the dreams that plagued his sleep. At first he had believed them a reaction to losing Sophia. But perhaps they were telling him something else. Just as it is always darkest before the dawn, we are always most vulnerable the instant before we are ready. Perhaps the dreams were warning Jans to move forward only with extreme caution.
Behind him, he heard his head of public relations announcing his name to the briefing room full of reporters.
“Shut it down, Danny.” Jans turned to Dagan. “The Gaussian will have to wait.”
Chapter 19
Earth
Sharp pain in her left arm and ribs pulled Mandi back to consciousness. She tried to move, only to stifle a cry and realize that her arm was restrained. She lay on her back in a bed in a darkened room. Generic artwork adorned the walls, and a dresser topped with a small holovid was the only furniture. A crude wrap covered her upper left arm, and something that looked like torn white sheets immobilized it against her body. The angle of the subdued light streaming through a crack in curtains made it plain that the sun was either rising or setting.
A man with a muscular outline stood to one side, half silhouetted, half side-lit. He pulled back a curtain to peer out. The light illuminated a hard, but handsome face. Alert, discerning eyes and a strong-set jaw revealed a man of determination.
Mandi tried to sit up, letting out a grunt at the pain in her arm.
“I wouldn’t move too much.” The man let the curtain fall. “You’ve got a broken arm and probably cracked ribs. And I think a concussion.”
“What the hell happened?” Mandi fell back on the bed, her head swimming.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I remember the ambulance.” Mandi tried to think back, but everything was a blur. “It was in an accident, lying on its side.” Alarm filled her, and she recoiled. “You! You shot them—you killed the paramedics!” Kicking and fighting against the pain, she tried to push herself toward the head of the bed, away from him.
“Stop it.” A look of annoyance crossed the man’s shadowed face. “You’re going to hurt yourself more than you already have.”
“Who are you?” Mandi’s eyes darted around the room, looking for anything that might gain her leverage. “What do you want with me?”
The man crossed to the small holovid on the dresser in the shadows, turned it on, and accessed his comm. In the glow of the screen, she made out more of his features. His dark hair and olive complexion complimented the strong, sharp lines that defined his face. His shoulder holster carried a very large pistol.
On the screen played something that looked like body-cam footage. Someone walked from a vehicle toward an overturned ambulance. A paramedic lay on the ground with one arm outstretched toward a pistol just out of reach. The cam showed its wearer reaching for the dead paramedic’s comm and plugging it into his own.
“Affirmative Delta-one-four, Delta-one-zero and Delta-one-one still unresponsive.” A voice came through the comm feed. “No eyes on target, repeat, no eyes on target. Vehicle position on your map. I show your ETA as eight minutes thirty, confirm.”
“Delta-lead, one-four confirming ETA.”
“One-four, subject is African female, one point nine meters, approximately fifty-five kilos. We prefer her alive, but you are authorized guns-hot.”
“Affirmative, guns-hot.”
“That was recorded just after I put the ambulance on its side.” The man turned off the holovid. “Now either you can ask yourself what ‘guns-hot’ means, calm down, and realize that I saved your life,” he picked up a pistol lying in the shadows on the dresser, “or you can choose not to believe that and try something with this.” He tossed the weapon to the bed beside her.
Mandi eyed the pistol for a few long moments before looking back at the man.
“Go ahead. Pick it up. I won’t stop you.”
Slowly she reached across her body with her right arm an
d took it. A red light illuminated on the rear of the pistol.
“That’s the HWI indicator. It must be green to fire.”
Mandi knew a little about Human-Weapon Interfaces. An advanced neural link between soldiers and their weaponry, it allowed instantaneous control of a variety of functions by simply thinking—including denying use to anyone but the sole operator to which the weapon was tuned. HWI was a relatively new and controversial technology, as it required surgical implantation of a cortical link in the soldier’s brain stem. The technology had caused a lot of controversy and wasn’t widely employed. Only the most advanced military and law enforcement units used it.
“Let me clue you in on something…that pistol belonged to one of them. They weren’t paramedics, and they weren’t taking you to any hospital. The best-case scenario would have seen you drugged or tortured in order to squeeze every bit of information from you. Then after your usefulness had run out, you would have been taken to a swamp and gotten a bullet through your head.”
Mandi calmed her breathing. She parsed through the images she remembered, thinking backward from the ambulance. She remembered the nuclear engineer at the crumbling launch pad in the jungle. She remembered her car malfunctioning and crashing off the bridge into the Canaveral River. She remembered the data chip that the engineer had given her, and she quickly put a hand to her vest pocket. Her shirt was gone, replaced by an oversized maroon T-shirt sporting a Dr Pepper logo.
“What did you do with my shirt?” Mandi looked down at the T-shirt, then back at the man with a hint of anger. “And how did I get into this? How did I get here? You gassed me in the ambulance!”
“You weren’t exactly cooperative.” The man flashed her another look as he walked to a chair next to the bed and turned on a dull light. “And the whole ‘guns-hot’ thing didn’t give me time to convince you.” Shuffling through her clothes on the chair, he found her original shirt, dirty and bloodstained. “You prefer to wear this?” He tossed it to her. “Be my guest.”