Breach of Containment

by Elizabeth Bonesteel

  Greg tried to imagine it: walking onto Galileo and seeing everyone he knew and loved dead before him, deck after deck, his ship silent and impotent. He would want to rewind every moment of his life. He would want to save them. If he could not save them, he would want to go with them. “How did you look after her?”

  Bayandi sighed. Sighed. What an odd affectation for a machine to develop. “I am not well-versed in psychology, Captain. Many of my children were, so I never saw the need. I told her . . . I asked her to please not leave me alone.”

  Greg felt his throat close up again.

  “She acquired a routine,” Bayandi went on. “She would visit them, her daughter and her granddaughter. One day she returned and started talking with me about them, as if she had had a conversation with them. It seemed like a good thing to me, that her mind had brought them back. She had not left me alone; she should not be alone, either. Will she be alone, Captain Foster?”

  Greg no longer had any idea what to do with Commander Ilyana. “I promise you,” he told Bayandi, “she won’t be alone.”

  “Was he a particular friend of yours, this man she killed?”

  Greg shook his head. “I didn’t like him.”

  “But he did not deserve this.”

  “Actually, he might have,” he admitted. “But that’s a personal reaction. Right now, I could use him around, professionally. And he had some information I needed.”

  “I am sorry,” Bayandi said, sounding aggrieved. “Had I known she had such violence in her, Captain, I would not have sent her to Meridia. But it had become more and more obvious that she could not stay here.”

  So in the end, Bayandi had been left alone anyway. “None of us saw it,” Greg said. “We saw aspects of her that seemed odd, but we explained them away. And Admiral Herrod—the man she shot—he liked her. He was fond of her.”

  “Is it a strange thing to say, Captain, that I am glad she had someone who cared for her?”

  He supposed it was. Then again, he supposed most reasons people cared for one another were strange. “What can I do to help you, Captain Bayandi?”

  He waited out another pause.

  “Captain Foster, I have been damaged. I have been able to repair some systems, but others . . . Dropping out of the field for you required far more finesse than I would have thought, and I cannot change my course.”

  “The signal from Yakutsk. From the environmental system.”

  “I believe so. I find . . .” Bayandi sounded curious. “There are things I know that I cannot say. Strange. I have assumed it is part of the damage, but perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this signal you have found is the cause. How is it you found it?”

  Greg thought of how to relate the story concisely. “The people of Yakutsk are more curious than Ellis assumed they would be.”

  “What I do not understand about humans,” Bayandi said, “is how often they underestimate one another. That was a foolish oversight by Ellis.” Then: “I don’t suppose they can turn off the signal.”

  “We’re fighting that fight,” Greg told him, “but I’m not sure we’ll win. What are you going to do when you reach Yakutsk, Bayandi?”

  “I don’t know, Captain Foster. I am . . . concerned at how difficult it has been for me to exercise free will. You must not wait. I am under compulsion, and I cannot believe that is for any good reason. I could not save my own children. Whatever Ellis Systems wishes to do on Yakutsk, I cannot believe it’s something I would choose to be part of. Can you destroy Chryse, Captain Foster?”

  No. It was an instant, visceral response. “Let my people figure out how to shut down the signal,” he said.

  “You hesitate to destroy me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” When Greg did not answer, Bayandi spoke gently. “If it is out of compassion, Captain Foster, please understand. Even if I were not a danger to Yakutsk, it would be my wish to stop.”

  “But why?”

  There was a long pause. “If it were your crew, Captain Foster,” he said at last, “what would be your wish?”

  Chapter 45

  Yakutsk

  “It’s all stream shit,” Friederich said, looking at the comms tap. “We can’t trap anything like this.”

  They were standing in the alley behind the environmental building, just two scavengers idly passing time before dinner. Friederich had tapped Gladkoff’s comms easily, but there was nothing moving in and out. Dallas, a dubious-looking plasma rifle hanging over one arm, scowled. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does,” Friederich chided, “if we can get a picture of what’s going on in there.”

  “Working on that,” Dallas told him, and signaled Shimada. “Commander. You there?”

  “Just about set up here,” Shimada told him. “Where are you?”

  “We’re behind the building,” Dallas said. “Trying to tap Gladkoff’s comms. He’s streaming everything.”

  “Give me a few,” Shimada said. “I might be able to get something from here.” There was a pause. “Can you take anything off his comm?”

  Dallas raised an eyebrow at Friederich, who frowned. “What am I, a detective?”

  “It’s easy,” Shimada said. “You just need to reverse the tap.”

  “With what? A folk song and a whiskey shot?”

  Shimada laughed. “What are you using to trap?”

  Friederich described the device, and when Shimada whistled, he looked vaguely proud. “Nice setup,” the Corps officer said. “Streamlined interface though, I’m guessing.”

  When Friederich looked confused, Dallas said, “He’s trying to tell you it’s too simple.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it work,” Shimada put in. “Now listen.” He started talking to Friederich.

  Dallas stepped away, counting on the other scavenger to call when he had something, and looked cautiously around the alleyway corner. No extra guards around the building Dallas thought Jessica was in. The front windows were still exposed, no curtains, nothing to hide them from the eyes of the people who occasionally wandered past. No suspicious guards, or strange shielding on the roof, or anything to tag the building as anything other than another random business office.

  No side entrance, either. No way to get in with any stealth.

  “Psst.”

  Dallas reluctantly turned away from the building to return to the other scavenger. Friederich looked up, and for possibly the first time, Dallas saw the man genuinely angry. “Listen to this fucking shit, Dallas.” And Friederich turned up the volume.

  Dallas first heard Gladkoff’s voice, but his tone was far more deferential than it had been with Villipova. “How should I accomplish that?” he was asking, and Dallas realized they were hearing the middle of a discussion.

  “Come on, now, Gladkii,” said an unknown voice. This one was full of derision, and Dallas wondered if Villipova’s attitude had crawled under Gladkoff’s skin more than he had admitted. “This is not a difficult assignment. We want Chryse. You are to get us Chryse. You have any number of strategies open to you.”

  “Well,” said Gladkoff, “he won’t want the colonists hurt, will he?”

  Who? thought Dallas.

  “That’s our assumption, yes,” said the other voice.

  “This should be easy, then,” Gladkoff said, sounding both decisive and relieved. “I’ll daisy-chain some pocket bombs in with the system. If he wants the colonists saved, he agrees to come with me.” He paused. “Are you sure the signal is secure?”

  “You let us worry about the signal,” snapped the other voice. “Just get us Chryse. And don’t blow yourself up, Gladkoff. Nobody wants to do that paperwork.”

  The comm ended, and Dallas and Friederich stared at each other. The tall scavenger was looking more and more outraged by the second, and Dallas had to resist the urge to laugh at him. “You think this guy was going to be friendly, Friederich?”

  “Fuck him,” Friederich said decisively. “Fuck all of them. The Corps hates this guy?”<
br />
  “Yep.”

  Friederich brandished his own weapon, a battered handgun that Dallas was pretty sure wouldn’t hit a broad bulkhead. “Then I’m with the fucking Corps on this one.” He hit his comm. “Rankine. Where the fuck are you?”

  “On the other side of the building from you, asshole,” snapped Rankine. “Who the fuck put you in charge?”

  “This fucking asshole,” Friederich said, and played the snippet of comm for Rankine. The woman began to curse. “You still have people in Baikul?” Friederich asked her.

  “Cousins. But we don’t talk much.”

  “Well, they need to know this shit. Tell them what’s going on. If they’ve got some fancy new comms system going in, they’re in fucking trouble, too.”

  “Fucking off-worlders,” spat Rankine, and disconnected.

  Dallas’s feet were getting itchy. “That ship. Chryse. If Lockwood was right, it’s only ninety minutes out. We need to get in there now, Friederich.”

  Friederich rolled his eyes, and Dallas wondered when they had become a team. “You say the word, Dallas, and we’ll go in.”

  “Word,” Dallas said. “Now. We get her out now.”

  Chapter 46

  “I’d like to apologize to you, Commander Lockwood,” Gladkoff said smoothly. “I’m usually a better host than this. My usual entertainment budget has been somewhat . . . curtailed.”

  Jessica looked around the room. They were still in the environmental center, but in the rear of the building, where the space had been divided into a half-dozen generously sized offices. Gladkoff had made himself at home quite nicely. Apart from the lack of windows, the room was well-furnished and comfortable, and were it not for the two armed guards standing by the door, it would have passed for a business office, or even a room at a luxury hotel.

  She eyed the guards. They were dressed in grays and browns, typical for Yakutsk natives, but even Jessica knew enough about body language to know they’d never pass for colonists. They were both constantly scanning the room, and she recognized their deceptively relaxed stances from her own infantry: they were on alert, and were undoubtedly very good at quickly dealing with threats.

  Gladkoff had seated Jessica in a high-backed chair next to a table containing an urn of pleasant-smelling coffee. He sat behind a desk set near the rear wall, ignoring the guards entirely, his regret at the situation apparently genuine. She had always imagined corporate shills like this, apart from the handgun pointed at her head.

  You’re less likely to miss if you aim for the body, you idiot, she thought, then remembered the dead colonist.

  “Gotta say, Gladkoff,” Jessica said, just as smoothly, “your story about the long-range comms was pretty good. I wasn’t even sure until I tracked the signal that you were lying about it.”

  “I wasn’t lying about it,” Gladkoff said. “The system is multi-use. And Governor Villipova is comfortable that I am doing what is best for her city.”

  He seemed undisturbed that she had discovered the target of the comms, and she grew more uneasy. I’m missing something. “I suppose it’s not worth mentioning that if those nukes go off, you’ll be as dead as anyone else.”

  Ted would have tried to comm her by now, which meant he likely knew she was missing. He wouldn’t be able to try Dallas’s off-grid; he’d need someone local to make the connection. He’d certainly comm Bristol, who would discover that her comm—stripped by Gladkoff before she left the environmental room—was off-line. Bristol wouldn’t have much trouble finding her, especially with Ted’s help, and they’d be able to stop Gladkoff’s plan. Assuming they found her before he executed that plan.

  But her own fate wasn’t her only concern. Where is Dallas?

  Gladkoff smiled, as if he were pleased with her deduction. “You needn’t be worried about any of this, Commander. All of this will be over in an hour or so. Villipova will get her environmental upgrades, and Galileo can go about her business.”

  An hour. That was a very short time. Jessica wondered if Bristol would connect with Dallas, and if the scavenger would know where she was being held. She let her eyes narrow at Gladkoff. “You’re bluffing with nukes? That seems shortsighted.”

  “Only if you don’t plan things out.”

  “So your ‘plan,’ such as it is,” she said, “is to sit here with me until . . . something happens. Something with Chryse.”

  “Unless you make me shoot you. I don’t like shooting people.”

  “Tell that to the colonist you killed.”

  At that, Gladkoff looked annoyed. “That was self-defense. You were there. I didn’t come here to get shot at.”

  Sensitive, she thought. And ego-driven. Whatever he was doing, he must have believed it would benefit him directly. “You didn’t come here to install an environmental upgrade, either,” she said.

  “I did, actually,” he told her, relaxed again. “It’s a nice one, too. That was my idea. There’s no reason not to do something good for these people in the midst of everything else. They’ll remember that, when all is said and done, not the rest of it.”

  “Oh, they’ll remember the rest of it, Gladkoff,” she said. “Yakutsk doesn’t get that many visits from PSI starships. And nobody gets a visit from Chryse.”

  When she said the name of the PSI ship, Gladkoff sat forward, all eagerness. “I know! Isn’t it amazing? I knew, when the others lost that first piece of hardware, that this was an opportunity. One little square component, and they screwed it up. And here I am, looking at a whole starship. This is what I’ve been working toward for years.”

  “Well, I hope you get a promotion out of it, Gladkoff,” she said. “Because an awful lot of people have died for this all to be for nothing.” What does he think he’s going to be doing with Chryse?

  “That’s not my operation,” Gladkoff insisted. “I have nothing to do with the Fifth Sector. After this, though . . . I hate domed cities, you know? Give me a properly terraformed planet any day.”

  And before Jessica could call him a snob, the door behind her burst open and the room was full of people.

  Startled, Gladkoff jumped to his feet, holding up the gun; Jessica, hoping the people behind her were from her own side, flung herself out of the chair and over the desk. She connected with Gladkoff’s midsection, and both of them fell to the floor, but he managed to keep the weapon in his hand. He fought to point it at her and she scrambled to pin his flailing arms. He’s better at this than I thought he’d be, she realized; and as he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, she jerked up her elbow and caught him square in the nose. He gave a startled shout, and she took the moment’s distraction to twist the gun out of his hand. She saw his eyes widen and his palms open, and she wanted to kick him: I’m not interested in you, jackass. “Stay down,” she ordered, her hand firm on the gun, and turned to see who had come to her rescue.

  And found a crowd of scavengers.

  There were at least ten of them, and so far they weren’t doing a terrible job with Gladkoff’s guards. She could tell immediately that they weren’t professional hand-to-hand fighters, but they had moved in quickly and started hitting, keeping both guards off-balance enough to prevent them from getting one of their rifles in position for a shot. She saw Dallas, and caught that dark-eyed glance; and then the scavenger was swinging the hilt of an aging pulse rifle at the head of one of the guards. The man staggered, and almost dropped; and then the other guard turned, rifle in hand, and aimed.

  “Dallas!” she shouted.

  A pulse charge fired . . . and the guard went down.

  Jessica joined Dallas in regarding one of the other scavengers with a surprised look. The other was taller than Dallas, and bigger, and was staring down at the dead man looking as shocked as any of them.

  “I didn’t think the gun was working,” he said.

  “I didn’t say they were all rubbish, Friederich,” Dallas said. Friederich’s eyes stayed on the body, stunned, but Jessica didn’t think Dallas was angry with him.


  Moments later Jessica heard the cadence of footsteps, and Bristol and his platoon ran into the room, weapons raised. Evaluating the situation quickly, they disarmed Gladkoff’s downed guards, and moved them into a corner. “The boss is under the desk,” Jessica told Bristol. “And it’s nice to see you, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bristol, who was not prone to insubordination, looked very much like he wanted to tell her he’d told her so. She just grinned at him.

  Behind Bristol, Dallas was talking quietly with his friend Friederich, who looked more than a little nauseated. Surely with all the executions around here, Jessica thought, this shouldn’t bother him. Then again, she knew from her own experience that nobody ever really got used to death—at least, nobody she ever wanted to rely on.

  She took a step toward them, meeting Friederich’s eyes. “You did the right thing,” she said firmly, banking on her authority as a soldier.

  Friederich blinked. “I didn’t think I was doing anything. I just—it was—”

  “Instinct?” When he nodded, she said, “Staying alive is instinct. Sometimes, so is saving someone else. He would have killed Dallas.”

  “Don’t go thinking I owe you,” Dallas said to him, with what Jessica hoped was mock seriousness.

  Friederich grinned a little, and steadied, and turned back to the others. Jessica faced Dallas.

  “Nice to see you breathing,” Dallas said easily, as if they’d met in a grocery store.

  “Yeah, well,” Jessica said, “it would have been nicer to have avoided some corporate sales drone getting the drop on me. Did you know there were nukes in the env system, Dallas?”

  And to her surprise, Dallas said, “Yes. Also know why. Can you cut that signal, Lockwood?”

  “I can try,” she said. “But what’s going on?” Irritably she realized she was without a comm, and she waved Bristol over. “Give me a blank, will you, Lieutenant?” He pulled one out of his uniform pocket and gave it to her, and she pressed the small chip behind her ear. “Ted?” she began, hoping he was already connected.