Fuck. They want to transfer that addict's mind into my body. Like my head isn't crowded enough already.
I try to scratch him, but he slaps my hand away and knocks my head back against the crate to gentle me. I go fuzzy, and he turns to yell over his shoulder, "Hey Stella. Gimme a rope or sumthin, will ya?"
I look around desperately for something, anything, to knock him out with. There's a welding torch lying atop a crate not far from me. My fingers crawl along the edge of the crate toward it, bit by bit, as Stella rummages through the garbage for something to bind me with.
"Hold still, doll," the man grunts in my ear. "Don't want to ruin your pretty face just yet."
I reach the torch, and wrap my fingers around the handle.
He draws a strong breath, savoring the moment before he moves on to break my last resistance. His face goes slack as I swing the heavy torch up into the side of his head. There's a crunch of bone and a crack of teeth, and a moment of silence. He totters, then drops me as he stumbles back, hand pressed to his cheek to staunch the blood flow. I drop the torch and tumble through the doorway, ears ringing.
I hobble down the sidewalk, fast, focused straight ahead.
Jade bumps into me mid-run, ducking out of the bar. "Get out of here," he pants. Raised voices and the smash of shattering glass filter through the open door of the bar.
I don't take the time to answer, just sweep him up and pull him along.
"Where's Bray?" I pant, glancing over my shoulder as we run for the port. Several men have poured into the street, two of them coming after us. We pick up speed.
"Got into a fight."
"Idiot."
"He's fine," Jade pants. "I hope."
We turn the corner around the Center and slow, then stop, sides heaving. I can already see the ship parking zone with its many loading bots and mobile ramps.
Jade draws down a lungful of air. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Let's just—get out of here. Leave the system."
"I know it's not your dream spot, but leaving's not an option."
"I can't stay here, Jade. Not a minute longer."
"What's your plan, eh?" He's not taking me seriously. But I'm dead serious. I can't linger here, waiting for some drunk or some floathead to ruin my life, or for Preston to turn me into a fucking lab-rat. I straighten up, hold my aching side, and walk back to the ship.
Jade falls in step beside me. "Taryn, what happened? What's this really about?"
"Nothing. I'm going home, Jade. That's all. Back to Maza."
When we reach the ship I slap my hand on the bulkhead scanner and open the bay door. Jade follows me silently all the way to the cargo hold. I'm still shaking from head to toe as I heave myself up into the Transiter. Jade climbs in after.
"How do I fly this thing manually?" I ask, turning on the spot.
"Are you crazy?"
"Fuck, Jade, I have to get out of here. Now."
"Alright. Alright." He settles into one of the chairs. "Calm down and buckle up."
He plugs his nacom in, and nods at me to sit down. The Transiter's AI cycles through the pre-flight prep, and as soon as the gates open the Transiter bucks up and jets out of the ship.
Jade maneuvers us over the port, dealing with the local authorities, feeding them whatever lies Preston taught him to get us back out. When we're cleared, he leans over and looks me straight in the eyes. "Will you tell me what happened?"
I avert my gaze.
He huffs, frustrated. "Tau Ceti it is, ma'am." Then leans back and brings up the containment fields.
19
Kriahm's orders are to take his vessel back to the Ascendancy's home cluster, Nobelanin, and have the unclassified organisms that attacked it purged and analyzed. The Kaluvian must be freed of the infestation before the parasites can damage its integrity. And the parasites themselves will need to be thoroughly investigated as well.
But Kriahm is not comfortable leaving Amharr alone in charge of an assessment. It goes against Ascendancy orders, but more importantly against his own instincts. Something isn't right about Amharr's attitude toward these neophytes. So Kriahm postpones his departure a bit longer to find out what's going on with Amharr and these... humans. He begins by investigating the human vessel that crossed his path.
Unlike Amharr's Undawan, equipped with Raimerian surveillance technology and a plethora of weapons, the Kaluvian is a charting and storage vessel. It carries only scanners, sampling automatons, and other necessities for planetary assignments. It also doesn't have a caste of Kolsamal warriors like the Undawan, but a small contingent of menial Semri-Ar.
Kriahm detests the fact that when this section of the Grand Helix was assigned for inspection Amharr was the one to snatch the executive rights for himself, while Kriahm was left to chart and analyze inanimate bulk with a pathetically equipped vessel. There was at least the promise of apprenticeship, if a containment occurred. Being given the opportunity to learn from Amharr redeemed this unfortunate assignment in Kriahm's eyes. Amharr is renowned as among the most effective of Dominants: ruthless and swift, unwavering in the face of challenge, and favoring action over discussion. Which makes his hesitation concerning these humans all the more puzzling.
It's possible Amharr has learned something of value he's not sharing. Or that he plans to exploit the humans to his own advantage, before he declares their containment. Regardless, Kriahm is certain something is the matter. Amharr is indecisive, distracted.
If nothing else, this may finally allow Kriahm to outgrow his position. The prospect of demoting Amharr and assuming command on the eve of a containment is deliciously seductive.
To that end, Kriahm deploys three Semri-Ar to the conjoined human vessels he's been quietly following. Their brutish mechanical merger has forced both vessels to temporarily drop their shielding, creating a perfect window.
The Semri-Ar are an eerie but useful plasma-based species, primarily employed for stealth observations and data analysis. They're particularly good at infiltration, as their biology allows them to penetrate alien environments unobserved—a very useful side effect of their 'flexible' molecular cohesion. And they're virtually undetectable to most conventional scanning technologies.
The Semri-Ar return surprisingly quickly to report their findings, relaying image by memorized image to his vessel's Onrysses. Kriahm's interest is piqued.
The humans have already begun experimenting with the parasitic organisms, infecting various captive creatures. Among their test subjects are three Totorkha adults and a breeder pupa. They're the last thing Kriahm would've expected to find on a human vessel. Do the neophytes not know the Totorkha's nature?
Soon after the infiltration the Totorkha Worker sensed the presence of the Semri-Ar and tried to escape confinement to attack them. The humans subdued it, remaining thankfully unaware of why the Worker had gone berserk, his Semri-Ar returning undetected.
Now Kriahm has far more to ponder than Amharr's agenda.
Where have the humans captured live Totorkha? Their race is contained and isolated—isn't it? What relationship, parasitic, symbiotic, or otherwise, do they have? What can they possibly hope to achieve by testing the organisms on Totorkha? Are they seeking a way to exterminate the beasts, or to defeat the parasitic infection? Or perhaps gain some disquieting knowledge.
Kriahm can think of several instances of technological races using inferior deconstructive races as weapons in war or conquest. The Ascendancy has forgone tolerance toward such unions. If the humans are attempting something similar they'll have to be contained immediately. The assessment is obvious.
So why does Amharr hesitate?
Kriahm's mind runs in circles. If Amharr doesn't know, then Kriahm won't hand him the information freely. He would have to admit he'd stayed to investigate. And if Amharr is aware, then something is very wrong.
He must know more, before he is too far removed to act.
Kriahm re-deploys the Semri-Ar to follow the merged human vessels in secret unt
il his return, ordering them to infiltrate whenever possible and gather intel. Then he sets his infected vessel's course for Nobelanin. He intends to engage Amharr well-informed and well-armed upon their next meeting.
20
Bray escaped the brawl at Salute with nothing more than a swollen lip and sore knuckles, thanks to Costa and a few men loyal to him. But by the time he got back to the ship, Taryn and Jade were nowhere to be found, and the Transiter was missing.
He caught up with Costa in the morning, who then contacted Preston. Now, Bray makes his way into Erano, Preston's blame still lying heavy in his gut. He doesn't even know where to begin looking for them. And without Taryn and her 'infection' to occupy Preston, he's not sure what's going to happen next.
Bray gets off the cargo speed-train at the city border. Like most domed colonies in the Confederacy, Erano has five radial districts with a sixth in the center reserved for the seat of government and administration offices. He has to cross D3, the industrial district, to enter D2, the technological development district—Erano's 'hot-zone.'
Bray heads quietly toward the nearest gate, hoping Preston's makeshift codes will guarantee safe passage. Or at least keep him out of prison.
Preston's somehow been involved with the riots in Erano. He's been in contact with the people instigating them for a long time, has even kept tabs on their activity from a distance. Bray asked him about that logo, repeatedly, until the doc eventually owned the truth: he's part of the Dabaran Syndicate, the most notorious resistance movement in the Confederacy, headquartered on San Gabriel, and once led by none other than Maican himself.
The fucking Dabaran Syndicate!
Why not tell him sooner? Hasn't he earned Preston's trust after all this time? Doesn't he deserve to be in the loop?
Bray grinds his teeth. Best he can do now is try to catch anything potentially dangerous coming his way. Bad enough he's being roped into terrorist activities, but not knowing exactly how deep he's in is fucking crackbrained.
As he passes the filter at the gate, Bray glimpses the city between the heads of men and transport droids, and his jaw drops. Gigantic buildings and towers grow between broad boulevards and Maglev highrails like an untamed jungle. Bray's never seen anything like it. The industrial area on Bessel's Eye could fit at least five times inside Erano's.
TMC sentinels scan the crowd entering the district, reading their synets with handhelds, like processing livestock.
Bray wonders how many of these overpaid thugs he could take in a fistfight. He straightens and keeps his chin high as he walks the gauntlet, flanked by armored men with faces stern as stone. Maybe if they weren't armed he could split some lips and make a run for it. But Ticks are always armed. Automatics are strapped to their ribs and submachine guns peek over their shoulders. Bray stays in line, head down, until he's through.
Once inside D3 he boards a Maglev to the main entrance into D2, roughly fifteen clicks northwest. The embedded positioning app in Bray's nacom has already connected to Erano's datasphere and floods the small, flexible screen with tourist information. It also connects to a waiting hook that links him to Preston's underground network and directs him to the team's whereabouts.
The hydrogen-powered Maglev jets between various buildings and blade-shaped skyscrapers erupting from the cityscape, sporting huge screens with hyper-bright animated ads, busy shuttle landing platforms on their sides. Bray gawks at the impressive constructions, struck suddenly inconsequential. He shrugs it off and try to clear his mind.
The Maglev takes a turn as it approaches the Spoke to D2. Bray cranes his neck to look at the gigantic Rebreather dominating the view. Obscured from afar, hidden by steam and smoke cascading from its cap, the Rebreather reveals its dizzying size in full now. An enormous mechanical mushroom eight hundred meters tall, dwarfing the rest of the skyline. Its carbon-filtering gills rumble as its turbines suck in polluted air—audible despite the Maglev's sealed windows. Hundreds of shuttles buzz around it like angry wasps, enveloped in light-blue fluorescent fields.
Erano's pentagonal Hub, with its own five Rebreathers, is connected to the outer wall of the city by five Spokes, functioning as district separating walls. They also hold ducts and data relays, power lines and a jumble of ventilation shafts. Each Spoke has an additional Rebreather midway, like the one Bray is approaching now. The team's HQ is located not two hundred meters further in—a noisy spot, for sure, but it places them right next to one of the city's aortas. Preston planned well.
Bray has to pass through yet another filter as he enters D2. He queues up with a couple hundred other people, shoulders hunched and inching forward, and looks up at the gigantic Spoke wall, then further up to the strangely checkered artificial sky. A lightning bolt arcs overhead to strikes the cap of the Rebreather with a crack like thunder. Several of these spontaneous discharges from the filament net are visible all around them, striking Erano's mechanical mushrooms in a continuous storm.
He's through the filter, heading down the district's crowded central boulevard, when he bumps into Vik and Franky, dressed in worker overalls with matching caps and backpacks.
Vik eyes him up incredulously. "Bray? I thought the doc told you to—"
"Long story." Bray licks his cracked lip. "Where you two headed?"
"Scouting," Franky says. "Wanna come?"
"You better meet up with the doc," Vik says, shaking his head. "He's gotta be pissed."
"I will. Later." Bray places an arm around Franky's shoulder. "So, where to?"
Vik nods up-street, and takes the lead. They round the next corner, digging deeper into the urban jungle with each block, Franky keeping close to Bray's heel.
If it weren't for the kid's insane skills with long-range scanners, Bray'd kick him out of the team himself and send him off to get a home and a life somewhere safe. Except Franky has nowhere to go. His parents are both rotting in an asteroid prison-camp in the Procyon system, and his baby sister's being methodically ground down in an orphanage on Bessel's Eye. Bray already checked to see if it's the same one he grew up in. The girl's luckier than that.
They spend a couple of hours stalking through back alleys, marking surveillance towers and tracking drone patterns, before Vik decides—to Bray's chagrin—they ought to head back to Preston's makeshift HQ.
The building is cylindrical like a water can, about thirty meters high and fifteen in diameter. It's connected to the building next to it by a common shuttle parking tract spanning between roofs. The main hallway's narrow and the air stuffy. They file into an elevator, shoulder to shoulder, and head down four levels, not up. Bray's stomach bottoms out too. If Preston's chosen an underground hide-out, things are going to get ugly pretty damn fast.
They exit the elevator and stop in front of an apartment door labelled Nanotech Fiber Lab D2-G41, Temporary staff housing -213.
"This it?" Bray asks. "This is the best he could get us?"
"Don't worry, you won't have time to bring girls back here," Vik says with a wink and opens the door via his nacom.
"Hey, Bray." Amelia. Grinning widely with red-glossed lips. "See you finally caught up with us. And you lost your annoying tail, too. My bunk's this way."
Bray shakes his head. "I already have a roommate." He lays an arm around Franky's shoulders, and follows him. Amelia's a complication Bray doesn't need right now. He could use a break from trouble, at least until the other trouble comes back from wherever she's gone and can resume fucking up his life.
Ever since he crossed paths with Taryn nothing's worked right. Once she's back in Erano he'll have no way of avoiding her, what with Preston making him her watchdog. He'll have to put up with her insufferable temper every day, listen to that throaty voice as she complains about things, watch her roll her hazel-green eyes every time she sees him.
Bray's hands start sweating, and he dries them on his pants. What is it about that walking disaster that has him so ruffled? She's a damn nuisance. A brain-worm of the worst kind. With her piercing stare, and he
r pouting lips, and the way her chin creases when she's angry—
Stop the fuck now, man. Damn!
Bray ruffles his hair angrily and shuts the door behind him, startling Franky. The room is much smaller than any he's had to live in before. A fucking tomb with datasphere connection.
Franky busies himself with his backpack. "So... you thought about what I said?"
"Maybe," Bray says, unzipping his sweat-drenched overall.
"We could lift a shuttle, head to the main port. Go from there."
Bray leaves his overall in a lump on the floor, grabs a protein bar from the pathetic welcome box on the table, and climbs into the top bed. Stretched out, he knocks his head and feet against the bed-ends. He cusses and takes a fair chunk out of the bar, then crumples the plastic wrapping in his fist. "I don't know," he mumbles around the protein bar. "It's too risky."
"C'mon, Bray, please." Franky grabs the edge of Bray's bed with both hands and looks up at him. "We can't stay with Preston. He's going to get us all killed."
"We all die someday."
"Not like this, man.... I want to get Meg out of that shithole and help her gain some ground. Teach her how to fly a shuttle, how to hack her first synet. You know. I wanna be there to bust the nose of her first boyfriend."
"I can't help you with that, Franks." Bray breathes deeply and closes his eyes. Taryn's face flashes out of the darkness, knocking his heart around his chest again. He squeezes his eyelids tighter until the dancing sparks drown her out.
"You don't have to do everything Preston tells you to, you know."
Bray glares down at Franky. "You think I wanna be here?"
"No, I—"
"Even if we do make it out of Erano, hijack a ship from the main port—which is teeming with Ticks, by the way—how the hell you plan for us to get off San Gabriel? We just flip them off and leave the system, waving out the port hole? Have you seen how many fucking Darts and warships are buzzing around this rock?"
"Don't be like that, I didn't—"
The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1) Page 15