by M. R. Forbes
She stowed it all for the moment. Time and place and this was neither. All of them were tired, sweaty, and on edge. She trusted Gant. She trusted Airi a little. The others? She and Bastion had never gotten along since he had helped Pok attack her, under Packard’s order or not. Pik? She had never spoken to him, but he ran with Pok’s gang of assholes, so that made him one, too. She didn’t recognize the other inmate and didn’t know his name. Captain Mann? He was Republic military. HSOC? A couple of months ago she would have followed him without hesitation. That was before people in the Republic, people like Davis, had fragged her.
“We’re here,” Mann said, announcing it directly to the five of them in the cargo hold, loud enough that Bastion could hear him from his position in the cockpit.
“Are you kidding me, Captain?” Bastion said, leaning over in the seat to look through the narrow corridor connecting the two parts of the vessel. “When you gave me the coordinates I thought we were headed for a battleship. A destroyer at least. Not whatever you want to call this hunk of space shit.”
Abbey turned her head, trying to see out the viewport from her position. She got a small glimpse of what looked like the edge of a wing, decently sized but worn, with faded paint and burn marks along the top.
“Trust me, Worm,” Mann said. “Where you’re going, you’ll be better off in the Faust.”
“The Faust?” Gant said. “How apropos.”
“I’m surprised you’re familiar,” Mann said.
“Ancient Terran history is part of my repertoire,” Gant replied. “I can also make a mean omelet.”
“Gant,” Abbey said, her voice coming a little easier now.
“Yes, Queenie?”
“Shut up.”
Gant chittered a laugh.
Captain Mann looked at her. “Feeling better?”
“Getting there,” she replied. “Being hit six times with a nerve baton is not my idea of fun, and I was imprisoned in Hell.”
She spoke the words deliberately, to judge his reaction. He bit part of his lip but didn’t say anything. What did he know that she didn’t?
“Six?” the inmate she didn’t know said, whistling. “Damn. You’re one lucky girl, Queenie. You should be dead.”
Mann tapped on his communicator. “Ruby,” he said.
“Yes, Captain,” the voice came back. Female. Young. Synthetic. She could hear the slight distortion in the inflection.
“Move the Faust into sync and get us hooked up. I don’t know if the incoming Republic forces are going to give chase, but if they do, I want us gone or close to it by the time they arrive.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ruby replied.
“Worm,” Mann said. “Get us stationary. Ruby will take it from here.”
“Aye, Captain,” Bastion said.
“I don’t get it,” Pik said. “Why’d we have to break out of the prison? I thought you were going to get us out legal?”
“That was the plan,” Mann said. “Don’t worry. It’s all legal or will be. I’ll get everything straightened out.”
“Straightened out?” Abbey said. “What’s happening on Hell, Captain? And what kind of deal did you make with these other cons?”
“I don’t know what’s happening yet, Lieutenant,” he replied. “I intend to find out, but to be honest I wasn’t expecting to walk into the firestorm I found. Even so, it isn’t my primary concern right now. As for the deal -”
Abbey cut him off. “Not your primary concern? Captain, I don’t know who you are or what service you work for, but I have reason to believe that Warden Lurin, and Packard before him, and who knows who else, were abducting prisoners and either using them to conduct illegal experiments, or have been making illicit deals with them to bolster some kind of militant force.”
“Kind of like you,” the unknown inmate said. “I’m Benhil, by the way,” he added, looking at Abbey.
“Abbey,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
He laughed in response. “Likewise.”
“There’s nothing illicit about what I’m doing,” Mann said. “To answer your question, Lieutenant, my name is Captain Olus Mann, Director of the Office of Strategic Intelligence. I have full, documented authority from General Iti Soto of the Republic Armed Services Committee to do anything necessary to complete my assigned mission. You and your crew were hand-selected to help me do just that, and as soon as I get in contact with General Soto, I intend to validate my actions and receive her final blessings for taking them. I’ll also debrief her, not only on what I personally discovered during my time on Hell but also in reference to your experience.”
Abbey stared at him. “You’re Olus Mann?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Every Breaker wants to retire into OSI. Well, almost every Breaker. I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve been out of touch with the galaxy for awhile. What’s going on that has you in the field?”
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
“That’s right,” Mann said. “You don’t know. Four weeks ago, two prototype starships, the Fire, and the Brimstone, were taken from Eagan Heavyworks on Feru during a private demonstration of their new technology. Before leaving, the perpetrators responsible for the theft decided to demonstrate the capabilities of the ship by destroying the ring station orbiting the planet and everyone on it, as well as an entire Republic fleet.”
Abbey felt a sudden coldness wash over her. “What?”
“A few days ago, one of the ships, the Brimstone, made an appearance in the Fringe. It confronted a Republic border patrol there, attacking and destroying every ship it encountered.”
“On its own?” Abbey said.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Mann replied. “We have reason to believe the Fire was brought into the Outworlds so that it could be studied, its technologies replicated. We also believe that the Outworld Governance is behind the attack and that it is only a matter of time before they decide to use the ships to destabilize the Republic and break the stalemate that this conflict has become.”
“The prison is connected,” Abbey said. “It has to be.”
“I do not doubt that you may be right,” Mann said. “But as I said, it isn’t and can’t be my priority right now. The lives of a few disgraced, court-martialed soldiers versus hundreds of individuals in good standing? You can’t in good conscience tell me that you would do any differently.”
“No, sir,” Abbey said.
A soft vibration ran throughout the ship, creating a low resonance.
“Docking synchronization complete, Captain,” Ruby said.
“Thank you, Ruby,” Captain Mann said. “Prepare for boarding.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“We can continue this discussion on the Faust,” Mann said. The airlock between the cockpit and the cargo hold hissed and opened. “If you will?”
Abbey forced herself up, her legs still a little shaky. Airi moved in beside her, helping her stay upright.
“Thank you,” Abbey said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied.
“Go into the airlock, enter the Faust, and wait in the de-con chamber,” Mann said.
“Decontamination?” Abbey said. “What for?”
“I wouldn’t call Hell the friendliest of atmospheres, would you?”
“You think we have some kind of disease on us or something?” Pik asked.
“Lieutenant Cage was in the medical ward as recently as a few hours ago. I can’t discount the possibility, and the last thing I need to worry about is a sick crew.”
“I guess a sterilization bath couldn’t hurt,” Benhil said. “It’s just light.”
Abbey followed the others to the airlock, and then over the threshold to the adjacent ship. The decontamination chamber was small, leaving the seven of them packed tightly into its confines. She had been through de-con plenty of times before. A blue light followed by a red light, the wavelengths able to penetrate and destroy most biohazards, as well as break grime and blood and sweat away in a hurry. Th
e resultant particles would be sucked out of the chamber and evacuated into space. De-con was especially important after visits to foreign worlds, to prevent cross-contamination and inadvertent transportation of invasive organism that could really screw up another planet’s ecosystem.
“Pik, that had better be your gun,” Bastion said, standing in front of the Trover, who had to crouched to fit in the space.
“It’s a gun all right,” Pik replied.
“Can we make this quick?”
The hatches on either side of the chamber hissed as they sealed them in, the guide lights turning off and leaving them in total darkness. A moment later, the blue light came on, so bright it forced them to close their eyes.
It had been on for a few seconds when Abbey smelled something.
“Captain, what is that?” she asked.
“What is what?” Mann replied. His voice sounded different. Muffled slightly.
The smell was getting stronger.
“Gant, do you smell that?” she said.
“I don’t smell anything,” he replied.
She began to feel a little nauseous. She opened her eyes.
The light was being distorted through the haze of some kind of gas that was filling the chamber. She glanced at Gant. He was standing beside her with his eyes closed, undisturbed. She looked at Airi. She was just as calm. In fact, she looked almost too calm.
Pik was the first to crumple, dropping to the ground behind Bastion, who moved as if in slow motion in an effort to evade him, failing and being knocked to the ground as well. She shifted her attention to Captain Mann.
His helmet was on, his breathing steady. He was looking back at her, stone-faced.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said, starting to move toward him. Gant collapsed beside her. Airi and Benhil, too. She was the only one still upright.
“You’re criminals, Lieutenant,” he said calmly. “I’d be an idiot to expect compliance without a bit of leverage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Murderers. Traitors. Thieves. What incentive do any of these individuals have to stay within mission parameters, especially now that they’re fugitives with a ship designed to take them to the Outworlds, and enough disterium to live very, very comfortably for years? What incentive do you have to stay and fight instead of going home to your daughter? As far as the records from Hell are concerned, you’re already dead.”
Abbey made it to him, but she could tell that her body was succumbing to the sedative.
“I’m not a traitor,” she said. “I was set up.”
“I don’t care,” he replied. “The Republic is on the brink of war. That’s my concern, and now it’s yours.”
She reached out, grabbing him by the shoulders. He was wearing a softsuit. He could have overpowered her if he wanted to. He didn’t make any moves to stop her.
“You son of a bitch.”
“I can be,” he agreed. “This isn’t about you or me, Lieutenant. This is about the safety of the Republic.”
He put his hands on her wrists, easing them away from him. She was getting lightheaded, unable to concentrate on standing any longer. He lowered her gently, placing on her on the floor with the others.
Her final thought before she passed out was that she was getting sick and fragging tired of being medicated.
33
“Take care of Lieutenant Cage first,” Olus said, exiting the decontamination chamber and removing his helmet. “She probably won’t be out for long. Send her to me when she wakes.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ruby said.
Olus looked the SI-10 over. Although he had been issuing instructions since General Soto had provided the synthetic intelligence, he hadn’t seen her until now.
She was young and shapely in appearance, with a slightly disproportioned chest and long legs. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips full, her hair thick and wavy, cascading down to her shoulders in a soft wave.
“Where did Iti pick you up?” he asked. “The Red Light District on Centauri?”
“Your request was for an untraceable SI, Captain,” Ruby replied. “My software has been updated with standard military protocols, and extended with the packages you requested.”
It was as close to an affirmation as he was probably going to get. “Were you wiped first, or integrated?”
“Integrated, Captain. Wiping would have taken three days. You requested my availability within one.”
“Disable those systems. Completely.”
“Full disable will require a reboot.”
“We don’t have time for that. Take care of Cage. And when I say take care, I mean insert the kill switch.”
The synthetic laughed, the sound of it likely provocative to some. “Yes, Captain.”
Olus headed away from the chamber. He had studied the layout of the Faust on his way to Hell, and so he didn’t have any trouble making his way from the docking airlock to the cockpit of the starship.
He could feel himself stiffen as he made his way into the control center. What the hell had Iti given him? He had asked for something untraceable and anonymous, but he had assumed she could have found something built in the last century. Instead, he was looking at a setup that predated his own flight training, a setup composed of multiple component boxes with separate displays, attached by wiring that ran exposed along the walls and ceiling of the space, leading forward to a small viewport and a pair of worn and torn seats that were barely big enough for an average sized Terran. They were positioned behind twin vectoring yoke systems, manual controls with no computer augmented guidance. In the center between them rested a larger box with a projection floating above it. The FTL master drive control unit, a computer capable of making the intense mathematical calculations needed for successfully navigating the stars at many, many times the speed of light. This one looked at though it had been carried over from an aging starship when this starship had been brand new.
Olus fell into the pilot’s seat, spending half a minute searching for the comm. He found it behind his head, a manual toggle to activate the system, and then an interface on the control surface beside the yoke to select the communication service and frequency, and enter the receiver’s identification. She already had a setting for Republic Milnet. He was surprised to find one for the Outworld’s SyncSys as well.
He selected the Milnet and entered in his credentials and General Soto’s identification sequence. The aging system didn’t have projection capabilities, and it hissed and sputtered despite the fact that the entire thing was digital and nearly instantaneous.
“General Soto,” he said.
He waited a few seconds for a response. She didn’t answer. He tried a second time and again received no reply. It wasn’t a cause for concern. As part of the Council, she was often busy and not in a position to respond directly to hails. His effort would be logged and noted, and he was sure she would get back to him as soon as she could.
He left the comm toggle active, examining the other switches and displays in the cockpit. Bastion was a highly-skilled pilot, but he had probably never flown something like this before. Then again, the controls were more akin to a dropship than a standard starship, which used positional calculations and computer algorithms for steering instead of direct, manual control.
“Captain Mann.”
Lieutenant Cage’s voice took him off-guard, and his head whipped back to where she was standing, framed in the entrance to the cockpit. There would be no outwardly visible sign of the implant, but he knew Ruby wouldn’t have let her up without having completed the surgery.
“Lieutenant,” he replied. “How are you feeling?”
“Pissed.”
“Understandable. Have a seat.” He motioned to the co-pilot’s chair. She looked at it but didn’t move.
“Leverage,” she said. “What did you do?”
“Ruby inserted a small device into your head, behind your eye and up into your brain. She’s duplicating the procedure on the others right now. I
t’s a kill switch, a control module like the bracelets in Hell, only without the breakable centralized control system. Each module has an identifier and a short-range comm receiver built in, scanning system frequencies about fifty times per hour. As long as your identifier stays off the multitude of networks, you’re safe. If it gets transmitted out, the first time you’re within comm range it will break down and release a very, very nasty virus into your brain, one that will kill you quite painfully.”
“So it’s only effective in comm range?”
Olus smiled. “Try to find somewhere to survive that doesn’t have a network within reach. It’s effectively the same thing as killing you outright.”
“Bioweapons are illegal.”
“Their use against enemy combatants, prisoners of war, and civilians is illegal. There’s nothing saying they can’t be used on convicts.”
Cage was silent for a moment, considering the implications. He appreciated her thoughtfulness. The others might not be as levelheaded.
“So, you decided to use inmates to help you with the starship problem,” she said, moving over to the co-pilot’s seat and dropping into it. “Why?”
“A few reasons,” he replied. “Deniability, for one. I’m sending you into the Outworlds. If you get caught, the Republic doesn’t have to worry about increasing tensions because you’re not being supported by the Republic.”
“Even if we are.”
“Prove it. You’re acting on your own, for your own gain.”
“I don’t think the Governance is stupid enough to believe that.”
“Behind the scenes, maybe not, but there’s enough of a question that they can’t and won’t make public accusations.”
“And the other reasons?”
“Second, I can’t just go to the Council and ask them for the best soldiers they have, regardless of where they’re currently assigned. Not only would it circle back to my first reason, but let’s face it, most Republic soldiers have too much at stake to do the things that will probably need to be done. I don’t want moralization here, Lieutenant. I want results.”
“And criminals have no morals?”