Raven's Children

by Sabrina Chase

  “Anybody else out there?” Alan shook his head. “OK, we’re going to try another place.”

  “What are we looking for?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” That was the good thing about having a junior assistant. An adult would be getting upset right about now, but Alan just accepted it and went on. She took out her pocket vid and captured the map for future reference.

  It took a lot of time to get to maintenance, and more than once Moire considered giving up and trying somewhere else. The shortest route was too busy, so they had to take a longer, more nerve–‌wracking path that went past several occupied offices. They were both tired and jumpy by the time they reached it.

  It was empty, as she had hoped. If his boss was out chances were he would be too, which was one reason she had kept going. She also suspected the head of maintenance would have some very useful information, if she could get to it.

  Alan took up a position behind the door, watching out the clear sidelight as she went to the desk. Of course the viewscreen didn’t come up when she tried to activate it; she was expecting that. She started searching.

  This desk was not locked. Nothing obvious was visible, however, and she stared at the viewscreen hoping for inspiration. The frame was smudged on one side. She glanced at the wall beside the desk, which had a rack of tools and equipment. Did he really need to adjust his screen position all the time?

  She felt along the edge of the screen frame, her fingers finding a small, round hole on the back surface near where the support connected. She smiled. Physical security. Someone like the maintenance guy was a hacker’s friend, too. Careless and resentful of rules.

  Moire examined the desk again. Besides the screen, there was a dock with a small datapad; a pile of textsheets; a small handmade and vaguely obscene sculpture of old grommets and link fasteners; and a tangle of cable. She narrowed her eyes. Part of the sculpture had a thin layer of dust on it, but not the base. She picked it up. In a few moments she had figured out the catch and a short, slender clear blue rod dropped into her hand.

  It fit the hole in the viewscreen frame perfectly. The screen blinked and came alive, and she grinned madly. Finally, they had a break. Ah, security. Doesn’t matter how good the tech is if an idiot is using it. She was definitely getting the feeling the ordinary folk of the station had no real fear of a security breach and had gotten very sloppy in consequence. This would make everything easier.

  She glanced at her chrono and swore. How had they managed to use up so much time? She would just have to grab as much information as possible. She started searching through everything on the screen. There were a lot of diagrams and repair requests.

  Then she found a systems plan of the station. It took her a moment to realize exactly what it was, then she studied it carefully. Locating the dock gave her their current location. The station was separated into two distinct areas, the one they were in and a very secure section labeled “Production.”

  She could see that getting in there was not going to happen this trip. She would just have to do what she could to prepare for the next time. The map had filters, and she selected the one that said “monitors.” It showed the vid monitors on the level they were on and several others. The main control was in a room on the next level up.

  She had to copy the map. Moire pulled open the desk drawers, rummaging through the contents. She finally found an open package of datatabs and pulled one out. Hesitating, she wondered if there would be some means of recording the copying of the map, then shrugged. It would look like the station maintenance chief wanted the map, and he obviously had the clearances to look at it.

  Alan had not changed position at the door, still alert. She copied the map, then a collection of items from a “general information” node that included a station comm code listing and emergency procedures. It would have to do.

  Moire plugged the tab in her own datapad, just to make sure they could read it. It showed up fine. Then she hurriedly removed the blue code rod from the screen and replaced it in its hiding place.

  “Come on, kid,” she said to Alan as she opened the door. “Let me show you how to have fun with sabotage.”

  Once she got inside the control room for the vid monitors, Moire no longer wondered how Alan had managed to escape. All the active security was in the Created section—‌the vids in the cargo area were on storage loop. Nobody was watching them.

  “It would have been nice to know earlier,” she muttered. But there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be watched, just when most inconvenient.

  “What are you doing?” Alan hovered over her shoulder.

  “Telling lies to a machine,” Moire said absently. “For when we come back.” The storage loops could be loaded for viewing. With some experimentation, she had them set now to show the same empty loop, forever. A cleanup routine then stored the real loop somewhere unexpected. She’d tried to get it to delete the loop, but it wasn’t working and she didn’t have the time to figure it out. They had less than an hour before the ship left.

  She blanked the cargo area vids, and a few on the upper levels. The risk was too great to mess with any of the others; that might get noticed.

  “All right, let’s get out of here.” She took the viewgoggles and the spycrawler controls back from Alan.

  He looked at her hopefully. “Going home?”

  “Yes.”

  They ran for the cable room and the hole to the lower level, sparing precious minutes to return the feedthrough plate and the boxes to their earlier positions. The lower level was empty, too, the cargo track silent and motionless. Moire rummaged in her vest pocket for two flatbombs as they ran for the cargo hold. The vid monitors were happily replaying an empty loop, so they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

  “Go back to the ship! Get inside the hold!” Moire said, pushing Alan ahead as she ran. She dodged down the branch corridor, where the cargo loading area was. Feeling for the spycrawler goggles, she groaned as she realized she’d forgotten to get the spycrawler from the upper level. It was too late now; they couldn’t take the time to go get it.

  The loading area was empty, just as the monitors had shown. She ran across the room to the heavily secured doors. They had a separate control panel on one side, and she peeled off the adhesive cover on one flatbomb and stuck it to the underside of the console. The other she put on the back surface of a green tower with the label “Control repeater.”

  She turned to leave. Alan was standing in the doorway, terror in his face. “The door is closed!”

  Oh, terrific. She felt suddenly cold. Had she mistaken the time? Had they left early? How the hell were they going to hide out for a month without getting caught? She took a deep breath and put the viewgoggles on, switching to the first spycrawler on the bridge of the ship. It took her a moment to reorient herself, but when she saw nobody was sitting at the pilot’s seat, she forced herself to relax. They hadn’t left yet, just shut the cargo doors.

  She had to get the doors open, and only the ship could do that. They’d find out, and…‌

  Who were they going to tell? This ship was scheduled for a violent crew change in the very near future. Moire pulled out her datapad, which still had the tab with the stolen data, and called up the comm listing. It had a directory of divisions, as well as one listed “outside dock.”

  There was a comm panel on the wall by the entrance. She punched in the outside code.

  “Yeah?” said a puzzled voice after a moment’s delay. Alan was looking at her in horror. She just grinned and put a finger over her lips.

  “Oh great, you guys are still there. This is Marga Toos. Look, can you do me a big favor? Maintenance needs to check the interlocks to the bay. If you could just open your doors for five minutes they could do it without EVA suits, but if you have to leave right away, never mind.” She held her breath, hoping and praying.

  “Um, sure, we can do that.” Moire sagged with relief. “Why didn’t they do this earlier, though?” Good question.


  “They were supposed to, the dumbshits, but I just started my shift now and saw they forgot.”

  “Good thing you caught us, then. OK, opening the doors….‌”

  “They’ll shut the dock doors when they’re done.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The pilot cut the link, and Moire and Alan ran for the cargo hatch. Moire slammed the hatch manual override as soon as she heard the vibration of the ship hold opening. Alan dashed in as soon as he could fit through. Moire waited for the doors to both fully open. Reaching around the edge, she hit the manual switch again and pulled herself in as the station hatch began to close.

  A few minutes later, the ship hatch doors closed as well, and then they heard the sounds of the dock connections releasing. Moire leaned against the wall, suddenly very tired. The hold was crowded now with crates, she couldn’t even see theirs. It didn’t matter. They weren’t going back in that damn thing ever again.

  They rested in the little space they could find near the hold door. When she felt the bone–‌itch that told her the ship had made the transition to webspace, Moire slowly got up and pulled the pistol from her side pocket. Alan looked at her, his eyes solemn.

  “You ready?” He nodded. Moire took one last look at the spycrawler view—‌the bridge had just the first pilot, nobody else. The door was open.

  They moved silently through the ship, up to the bridge level. No sign of the other pilot, who was probably in her quarters sleeping. When they reached the bridge entrance, Alan swung around with his weapon drawn, guarding the way they had come. Moire aimed at the pilot and fired, missing the first two times she tried but hitting him the third time. The tranquilizer dart was visible in his neck as he fell. He’d seen her, but it didn’t matter now. She sat down at the controls, preparing to drop out and take Speedi–‌Web III to a new location. The ship was theirs.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Ennis stood at attention in Colonel Garner’s office and attempted to make one last argument. “Those fragments are still useful, sir. The only analysis we’ve done is what I was able to do personally. Fleet has experts that could get even more information.”

  Garner gave him a weary look. The skin was loose on her face, making her seem even older than she was. “Then someone needs to come and get them, because the experts are not coming here. Besides, you knew enough to make a good report. This is a war, Ennis. We will never have enough resources to do everything we want to do the way it should be done. I’m sorry, but the hangar needs to be cleared.”

  “Yes sir.” He tried not to sound bitter. Maybe Garner had a real reason, but he suspected pookball had played a more important role than ship maintenance in influencing her decision.

  “You did an excellent job with the means at your disposal. You know, I begin to think someone has been setting the base code wrong for transfers,” she said, apparently at random. “At first I thought you were just an anomaly. Now here’s another, apparently competent and in no obvious disgrace. It’s baffling.” She shrugged her thin shoulders, once. “But I’m not complaining. With reliable people on duty I can rinse my brain with chemicals without concern.”

  It was stated so calmly he almost misunderstood, then he couldn’t think of anything he could safely say. Then he realized she was looking at him with sad understanding in her red–‌rimmed eyes.

  “Sir, I….‌”

  “Blank send, Ennis. I don’t impair myself on duty, you know that.”

  “Yes sir. I know.”

  “You have my permission to report me, if you think it will help.” She sighed. “For a year or so I even reported myself. They didn’t care. Or they didn’t have anyone else who had screwed up enough to punish with this post. Knowing oblivion awaits at the end of the day is the only thing that keeps me alive, sometimes. I just want you to know that having good people to count on when I’m…‌not available eases my conscience. What there is of it.”

  She turned back to her screen. “So, we now have Junior Weapons Technician Sendali Oberst, late of Alpha Centauri Training Center. I hope she’s not expecting much in the way of action. We can’t count on the crabs getting lost here again.”

  When Ennis finally met Technician Oberst, he had a suspicion why Lambert Base had been given the honor of her presence. She was certainly competent. However, she was also so new she squeaked and credulous beyond the dreams of the station pranksters. Sergeant Vyasandran started off by sending her to get ten meters of flight line. The cook gave her hell about using oxygen dihydride without filling out the dangerous chemical report. When she finally figured out it was a trick, she would give a little whinnying laugh and carry on as if nothing had happened. He had to give her credit.

  Still no word back on the report he’d sent on the crab ship fragments and his analysis. He’d sent a reference link to the report to Namur, just in case Umbra might find it useful. And, he admitted to himself, to remind Namur he was still alive.

  If Cameron was out there she wasn’t looking for him. He couldn’t think of any reason why she should. She would be avoiding any Fleet station by a wide margin.

  He picked up the block of polyacrylate on his desk with the ceramic needle he’d removed after shooting her. He’d have to be careful not to think about that too much, or he’d end up like Garner. Taking a chemical vacation in his off–‌hours.

  At least his books had arrived. They helped, but his mind would still wander in the midst of a passage and he would suddenly remember the scent of bloodglue and antiseptic bandages, strands of straight brown hair scattered over a too–‌pale face, hair that was soft against his cheek when she leaned against him…‌

  To steal my gun. And I let her do it.

  A noise made him look up quickly. Technician Oberst was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she stammered. “I was looking for the sergeant.”

  “He’s out. Won’t be back until tomorrow, late, probably hungover. Is it urgent?”

  She shook her head sharply, her eyes wide. “Oh no, sir. I just thought he could tell me where people go for fun around here.” Oberst smiled, a little uncertain. “I guess there isn’t much, huh, sir?”

  “I don’t go out.” It sounded curt, and he relented when he saw her look away. He remembered what it was like being new and ignorant. That was why he had refused to take part in the pranks. “You’re right, there isn’t much. Ask Yoshi. He manages to get himself in trouble on a regular basis, not that I’m recommending you follow his example.”

  She grinned and took a tentative step closer. “Is that a souvenir from a fight, sir?” she asked, pointing.

  Ennis looked down at his hands. He was still holding the polyacrylate block. He could feel his face harden.

  “A reminder. Of a mistake.”

  When he looked up again, Oberst had gone.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  “How many are there?” Gren asked, joining Moire at the galley table.

  “Thirty–‌four. Madele says they're starting to wake up now. The ones she gave stimulants to.” She swallowed another gulp of cold coffee. At least now that they had rendezvoused with Raven she could get some rest. “Alan’s down there helping out. He knows how to talk to them.”

  “This Enver—‌think you can trust him?” The main pilot of the cargo ship had turned cooperative. Mengai, the woman, still refused to talk.

  Moire shrugged. “Now that he’s seen what he’s been shipping all this time, he’s more afraid of Toren than the law. He knows enough to guess his life isn’t worth much if they find out he’s been caught. They won’t want him telling the world about their secret facility in the middle of nowhere.”

  Gren grunted thoughtfully and drank from his mug. Enver had given them a lot of useful information.

  “He knows the locations of previous shipments,” Moire added.

  “You’re thinking of going after them?” Gren gave her a sharp look. “How long before Toren figures out something’s wrong?”

  She hesitated. �
�Worst case, six weeks if they have someone expecting that ship at Kerezin. Enver says they don’t always, but there’s no way to know for sure.”

  Gren took out his datapad and arranged it carefully on the table. “You can’t rescue the ones at the main site and the ones that were shipped. You have to choose. There isn’t time for both.”

  “How can you say that?” Moire snapped. “They’re children, Gren! Nobody else is going to help them! I looked up some of Enver’s drop–‌off coordinates. No listed stations. More secret facilities. If I tell Fleet, are they going to go off and look just on Enver’s testimony?”

  Gren looked at her, puzzled. “Why Fleet?”

  “They got ships, they got guns,” Moire said, hoping her face wasn’t too red. “Toren isn’t going to just hand the Created over for a search warrant.”

  “Fleet’s busy fighting the crabs. I know you want to save them all, but you can’t,” Gren said bluntly. He pointed a finger at her face. “You have a hard choice and I don’t envy you. But isn’t saving some better than saving none?”

  Moire stared into her coffee mug, hoping for inspiration. She knew Gren was right, but it still hurt. How could she choose? Was there anything she could do to protect the ones she couldn’t rescue?

  They had to go after the main facility. It was the source, and as far as she knew the only one. They wouldn’t kill the other Created if they didn’t feel threatened by them, which meant they had to conceal the fact the facility had been attacked by outsiders.

  “We go after the main site,” she said finally, feeling sick. “And we don’t leave any evidence. Blow it up, make it look like an accident.” She was going to get Enver’s information to someone, though. She wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t.

  Gren nodded solemnly. “That map you got is real useful,” he said after a moment. “Think we can get that lower level secure, the one with the dock?”

  “I’ve diddled the monitors, assuming anybody’s looking at them. Nobody much there. Why?”

  “We can access a lot from there, or the next level up. Air circulation.”