Tyche's Deceit

by Richard Parry

  “They make me want to shoot them all,” said Nate. “That’s about it.”

  Grace walked to him, put a hand on his arm. She leaned close. “Nate, they get in your mind. Under your skin. Take you over. Remember what happened to me on Absalom Delta?” She flicked her eyes back Amedea’s way without turning her head, and lowered her voice. “It’d be hard to know what they’d do to you if they had enough time.”

  “I’m okay,” said Amedea. “They didn’t … turn me.” She touched tentative fingers against her swollen eye. “They just hurt me. I don’t know what they wanted.”

  “Back in the day,” said Nate, “when I wore the Black, the Intelligencers could break someone’s mind. Or into, I dunno the term. Never sat right with me. But the way they told it, there were weak people and strong people. Weak might not be the right word. You espers…” he trailed off, picking up the flattening of Grace’s face, the hardening of her heart as she waited for just another normal to slander her. He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Grace, turning her face away.

  “It’s really not,” said Nate. “It’s … hard. What they did…” The silence stretched.

  “Captain,” said Amedea, wobbling to her feet. “We are not all cut from the same cloth.” She tried a chuckle, wincing as it turned into a cough. “Some of us are more … homespun.”

  Nate glanced back at the darkness of the trapdoor. “I get you. Anyway. The … Intelligencers, they would get in your head—”

  “We called it Unlocking,” said Amedea. “Not breaking.”

  “Call it what the fuck you like,” said Nate. “But they’re using your tricks on you.”

  “What tricks?” said Grace, looking between Nate and Amedea.

  Amedea spoke first, hunched like her shoulders were too heavy to lift. “Pain is never a good motivator for the truth. Torturers of old worked this out, and as better tools became available … drugs, sensory deprivation, social isolation … intelligence communities adapted. You don’t have to hurt someone to get them to tell secrets. When you have people who can pick thoughts out of someone’s mind? You just have to look inside.”

  “But if someone’s mind is strong, you can’t look,” said Nate. “You need to smash the walls down.”

  “Unlocking,” said Amedea.

  “If memory serves, you can weaken walls by hurting the body. Take enough time, use enough pain, and…” He shrugged. “That’s what Dom said, anyway.”

  “The Emperor?” said Grace.

  “Yeah,” said Nate. “He and I never agreed on this particular point.” He looked at Amedea. “I guess it kind of sucks to have your tricks used on you, right?”

  “It kind of sucks,” she agreed. She started a slow walk towards them. “They don’t want me. They want her.” She raised a shaky arm to Grace.

  “Why?” said Grace.

  “Well, that’s what I mean by ‘everything,’” said Amedea. “The problem with Unlocking is that it’s a two-way street, if you’re good enough. And I’m … they used to say I was one of the best.” She pushed past Nate and Grace, walking towards the trapdoor. “The rest of them are down there. Many of them are hurt. Some of them have been turned. We still need to get them out.”

  “We’ll solve that problem in a minute,” said Nate. “Back to the ‘everything’ part.”

  “Well,” said Amedea. “What do you know about the moon?”

  Nate’s comm chirped, El’s voice coming over it. “Cap, we’re closing in on your location.”

  Nate felt the grin coming to his face. Finally. A little honest backup. A few people in your corner. They’d be on the Tyche in a moment, safe and sound. “Glad to hear your voice, Helm. We’ll have a few to pick up.”

  “Yeah, not likely,” said El. “I’ve brought friends.”

  Nate felt his grin become fixed. “Uh, El? Come again. What do you mean by ‘friends?’”

  “A whole party,” she said. “I don’t know. Republic, I guess?”

  “How many?”

  “All of ’em, I think,” she said, cutting off the comm.

  “Well, shit,” said Grace, Nate watching as she looked at the hole. Her face turned to look at her broken sword. “This day isn’t going quite how I thought it would.”

  “I need a weapon,” said Amedea.

  “I need a vacation,” said Nate. “Neither of those things is likely to happen anytime soon. Tell me about the moon.”

  “The Ezeroc’s homeworld,” said Amedea, “is a ball of rock. Or it is now. They ate pretty much everything else. The apex predator of all apex predators.”

  “Are you saying they’ve got a base on the fucking moon?” said Nate. He looked up at the roof, like he could see the sky, then felt foolish. “Those assholes.”

  “Not a base,” said Amedea. “I’m saying this: they have corrupted the Republic government, right at the top. They have mastered the genetics of humanity, and can now build human clones with insect brains. And they have built a new starship, captain.”

  “A starship,” said Nate, not getting it.

  “Oh, my God,” said Grace. “The moon.”

  Nate blinked, looking at Grace, then Amedea, then the hole in the floor. “You’re kidding.”

  “No,” said Amedea. “This warehouse is a tiny outpost. The real action is up there.” She pointed at the ceiling. “They can … feel us, Captain. Across space. The Intelligencers … the espers, if you will. We’re the fire that brought them here. Like a beacon. But we’re also humanity’s last hope. We can fight their minds with our minds.”

  “All y’all assholes,” said Nate, “were humanity’s downfall last time.”

  “Maybe it’s time to give us another chance,” said Amedea.

  Nate stared at her. “You want us to trust you?”

  “Yes,” said Amedea. “What do you say, Captain?”

  Nate just stared at her.

  “Captain?”

  “I’m thinking,” he said. “I’d like to say … well, my initial answer is this. There is no way you guys are getting put in charge again.”

  “We’re best suited to leading,” said Amedea. “We’re—”

  “Shut up,” said Grace.

  “Grace,” said Amedea. “You know—”

  “Shut up,” said Grace. “The captain’s right. There’s no way people like us should be in charge. The unrepresentative few should never rule the many. Especially when so many of us are … evil.”

  Nate knew she was thinking of someone else, a man who should have loved her and protected her but did nothing like that. He cleared his throat. “I tell you what, Amedea. Let’s get your people out first. Because much as I have problems with evil mind controlling overlords, an insectoid race that uses humans as fuel is a little worse. And, I guess, fire with fire, right? We’ll need each other before this is done.”

  “You must follow my direction,” said Amedea.

  “Not a chance,” said Nate.

  “But—”

  “My ship, my rules,” said Nate. “If you don’t like it, get your own ride home.”

  • • •

  The steps down into the holding pens were dark, slick with moisture. The moisture was some kind of slime, a pale green to Nate’s light. “That is unpleasant.” Along with the moisture were the tendrils, those feed lines leading down to … something else.

  Grace stepped down the steps. “It’s not wholesome,” she agreed.

  Amedea was behind them, slower in pace, and not at all happy with how things were working out for her. That was just fine from Nate’s perspective. There was governing, and then there was ruling through mind control. The second? Not a great option. He wondered though: when they built the espers in the lab, did they mint them with a special asshole function?

  His eyes went back to Grace, and he thought: No.

  The pit — because that’s what it was, a cavern carved into the earth — was not very large. There were pens constructed of an organic material, a little bit lik
e the vines that had tethered Amedea to the chair. I do not want to meet whatever is extruding that shit. The mission was clear: get to the Resistance, get them out. If they happened to stumble on a couple big bombs, maybe they could apply chill-out to the monster at the end of the cave, but it wasn’t a priority. Besides, Queens didn’t move that fast, what with them stuck to the feeding tendrils.

  Still. As Grace had said, unwholesome. “There’s a thing that I don’t get,” said Nate. “Why aren’t there any guards?”

  “You don’t need guards when you can control minds,” said Grace. She held her sword low and ready.

  “I’d like guards as a kind of backup,” said Nate. “Against people like me, you know?”

  “You are kind of annoying,” said Grace.

  They reached the bottom of the steps. Call it two stories down. The drip of … moisture sounded from farther in the cave. Nate played his light around, picking out the occupants of the cages. People, men and women who looked tired, hungry, sleep-deprived, and in most cases, beaten bloody. The vaunted Resistance, mostly resisting dying of exposure about now. Nate sighed. That wasn’t helpful thinking. Best get them out. He hurried over to one cage, gaunt faces looking back at him.

  “Hey,” he said. He softened his voice. “Hey. We’ll get you out. Back up. Away from the … bar … stuff.” He gestured with his blaster, the occupants of the cage backing away. He fired plasma into the material, shearing it with ease. Some of it fell away with a wet plop, some of it crisped.

  There was a hiss from further back in the cave. “That’s not good,” said Grace.

  A man, tall and thin, came through the cage first. He clasped Nate on the shoulder. “Thank you, friend.” His eyes found Amedea. “Amedea.”

  “Chad.” Chad. Really? But Amedea was already pointed up the steps. “That way. We’ll have a ride coming soon.”

  Chad turned to look at Nate. “Have you taken care of the guards?”

  “See?” said Nate. “Guards. What did I tell you?”

  “Yes,” said Grace, giving him a look. “The way up is safe.”

  “Oh,” said Chad. “Oh.”

  “Uh,” said Nate. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “It’s nothing,” said Chad. “We’re all going to die, is all.” His eyes went up to the ceiling of the cavern.

  Nate followed his eyes, then — almost as an afterthought, because he didn’t want to look — he played his light over the roof. Up there, clutching at the rock, were crabs, the massive Ezeroc guardians. They moved and shifted under the light, scuttling out of its touch like cockroaches exposed from under a rock. One of them — a particularly big, nasty-looking one — gave that hissing noise.

  “Uh huh,” said Nate, lowering his light. “I figure we’ve got to pick up the pace.” He moved to the next cage, using his blaster to open it up. Grace was moving along the opposite line of cages, working at the organic material with her sword, making an exit for the occupants.

  “They’ll never let us leave,” said Chad. He was following Nate. “You’ve doomed us all.”

  “Tell you what, Chad,” said Nate. “You leave the rescuing to the professionals, hey?”

  He had released the last of the cages, the Resistance leadership clustering in a forlorn knot in the middle of the cavern. Nate was farthest away from the stairs leading out, Grace at his side. Like we were made as a matched pair. Like we should be together. It was a good thought. It was a bad situation to have that thought, but a good thought to have.

  “Nate,” said Grace, her eyes moving to the wall at the end of the cavern.

  “Yeah,” said Nate. “Crabs. Don’t make sudden moves. Don’t make eye contact.”

  “No, Nate. It’s a Queen.”

  Nate sighed. Why can’t anything go smooth? He turned to look, pointing his blaster’s light like an accusing finger. There she was, all right: Ezeroc Queen, feeding tubes leading into her, angry-ass face looking out at them. “Hey. How about we back up nice and slow?”

  “Sounds great,” said Grace, already backing away.

  There was the thump of an explosion nearby, and the cavern shook, pieces of rock and … moisture … falling around them. Nate looked up, but the crabs remained stuck to the roof. Good so far. He edged away from the Queen, flashing a smile. “So, we’re going now. You guys have fun when we’re gone.”

  Another explosion came, this one right on top of them. The room shook like a struck gong, pieces of rock falling around them. The Resistance leaders made a break for the stairs, running like their lives depended on it — which they might. Nate started after them — step-squeeeeak, step-squeeeeak. A dust cloud broke into the cavern from the trapdoor above, people running for it. Terrified people. Resistance leadership they might be, but being buried alive in a rocky cavern with alien mind insects wasn’t a great way to go. Speaking of which, you need to hustle, Chevell. He picked up the pace, his metal leg dragging. Grace was ahead of him, her athletic form vaulting fallen rock or dodging out of the way. She had a good ten meters on him before she realized she was leaving him behind. She turned, arm out. “Nate, hurry.”

  I am hurrying, goddammit. There was a crunch as a massive object fell between them. A massive object that was moving: one of the Ezeroc crabs, legs flailing as it righted itself. It turned in a circle surveying Grace, then Nate, then Grace again.

  “Hey!” said Nate. He raised his blaster, squeezed off a round of plasma into it. The thick exoskeleton shrugged it off just like he expected, but at least it turned towards him, ignoring Grace. Which was great, just great, except for the fact that it was between him and the exit. And he was between it and its Queen. Not good planning, Nate.

  There was another crunch and another crab fell. Then two more crunches, bringing the total of crabs in the room to four. Nate looked at his blaster, remembering the last time he’d fought just one of these things. It had shaken him up, tossed him around like a baby’s rattle, and ignored blaster fire until he’d scored a hit underneath. Getting underneath was a challenge in itself, and — well, let’s be straight up about it: you’re not walking away this time, Chevell.

  At least he could buy Grace some time.

  “Hey!” said a familiar voice, and Nate raised his eyes towards the trapdoor. “Don’t worry, Cap! I got just the thing for these assholes.” There stood October Kohl, laser carbine in hand. The big man pointed the carbine down into the cavern, and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  KOHL WAS STARING out the back of the Tyche like he was seeing the biggest show on Earth. El was up on the flight deck, making the Tyche race like a greyhound. Kohl had kicked the back airlock open because he wanted to watch the show. And he was about to jump out of this perfectly good spaceship.

  The Tyche’s hull was sealed now, Hope’s welds as good as any Kohl had seen. She’d done that while they were racing along, air trying to suck the both of them out. For a scrawny kid, she was okay, and it was a wonder Kohl hadn’t seen that before. The pink hair was a thing he found hot, and she was cute, but he didn’t dig on criminals as a general rule. It was fine to be one, but not to date one. That she saved his life helped some. That she might not have been a criminal at all helped a lot. And like the two hundred thousand good Republic coins—

  Goddamn Kohl, that was a lot of coin to leave on the table.

  —he’d left to help Grace out, he faced an uncomfortable series of thoughts.

  The first, prime among these, was that he was a bigger asshole than he’d given himself credit for. Making a name for himself on the streets had been a tough job, and involved a certain … asshole quotient. He’d picked up everything he’d needed to know by looking at the people around them. It worked out okay. But he’d always figured on being smarter than the rest of them. Not smart like the cap, because Nate was a tall glass of water physically but brains and heart second to none. And not smart like El, who could conjure flight plans and delta-v and other horseshit that made the Tyche fly through the hard black wit
hout breaking a sweat. Not smart like Hope, because she had saved all their lives over and over by welding things together that shouldn’t ever work.

  Maybe a little bit smart like Gracie, though. Kohl figured he knew how people worked at a fundamental level. The kind of soil they were planted in, and what kind of weed would grow. And in Hope’s case he’d got it wrong. So that was the first thought.

  The second thought, chased around by this first thought, was that maybe he’d got everything in his life wrong. This kind of thinking led to a deep sea of confusion for Kohl, who was used to pointing guns at people and making them stop existing. When you needed to get back to basics and question whether he’d been pointing guns at the right people, it made his head hurt. But aside from that, he’d got it all wrong about Gracie, who’d not only spared him when she could have turned him into a kebab, but also about Hope, who’d just lost her wife. Truth: it made his head hurt, and something else too. Something in his chest.

  Which left nothing for it: he would jump out of this spacecraft.

  Not because he wanted to end it all, but because he felt he needed to uncomplicate his life. It had become fucked, and leaving this spacecraft with his carbine would unfuck it. He wouldn’t be shooting people. He would shoot insects, and while he was confused about whether he was shooting the right people, he was over one hundred percent sure the insects were evil. They were allied with the devil himself, and they needed to be shot.

  The insects were not on the spaceship. Thus, he would leave the spaceship, just as soon as El slowed the Tyche down to something closer to a walking pace, and preferably put ’er closer to the ceramicrete they were skimming over. It didn’t look far, but Kohl figured if he left the Tyche now all that would be left was a long smear and a series of unhappy memories for people watching.

  Hope tugged at his sleeve. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Hope.” He frowned. “I’m real sorry about … what’s her name?”

  “Reiko.”

  “Her, yeah,” said Kohl. “I’m real sorry about that.”

  “Thanks,” said Hope, looking down at what she held.