About Oleg? Pyke had thought that Mojag was about to ask for severance when they next hit port, but now he was puzzled.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
Mojag smiled faintly. “Do you remember when you hired us nearly two years ago?”
“During that stopover at Darien Orbital, yes, I remember.”
“I made my hire-us pitch, and gave you a summary of our skills, and those involving my data implant.” He tapped the side of his head. “Everything I told you about the prosthesis was absolutely truthful, but I didn’t really go into detail on the full range of its functions. Sure, there is a huge amount of storage in there–I have all the high European classical music of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, for example, and it takes up a tiny fraction of the main store.”
Pyke regarded him. “I’m assuming that this omission has not been the cause of any difficulties in our dealings.”
Mojag’s eyes widened. “No, no, Captain, not in the least!”
“Okay, so what’s this got to do with Oleg?”
Mojag’s gaze wandered off a little and he gave a faintly sardonic half-smile. “Remember that cargo of genadapt cow zygotes we smuggled to Floresta about a year ago?”
Pyke smiled wryly at the memory. The zygotes had been stored in waist-high stasis canisters, 400 of them, which they’d collected from a secluded biolab on a grey-law world in the 4th Modynel and ferried across the Earthsphere border to a comparatively new Human colony world called Floresta. All went smoothly after the pickup, no hitches at all until they touched down on Floresta. The agreed drop-off point was near the mouth of a wooded valley and they had offloaded about a third of the consignment when unseen hostiles opened up with small arms fire. Mojag and Oleg had been driving the loaders and were forced to take cover while rounds and beam pulses flew either way with the Scarabus caught in the middle. Boundary disagreements between their client and his well-armed neighbour had erupted into a full-blown range war earlier that day and it took a nerve-racking hour before the return fire persuaded the neighbour’s forces to withdraw.
“Yes, that was a touch more arduous than I would have cared for,” Pyke said. “But we were still well paid for our trouble.”
“And I knew, and Oleg knew, that risk is part of the job,” Mojag said. “But not long after, Oleg sat me down and asked me for a favour, a very specific favour that only I could fulfil.”
“With your data implant?” Pyke said.
Mojag nodded. “After that little episode you diverted to a system on the Gerlan border…”
“Erjef-Sessax, that amalgamated habcity in the asteroid belt.”
“Yes, big maze of a place,” Mojag said. “Me and Oleg asked around and eventually found a corto-services vendor who agreed to deepscan Oleg’s brain and create a meta-fractal copy of his mind-state—”
“Wait a second—”
“—which was then transloaded into my data implant.” Mojag regarded Pyke warily. “So strictly speaking, Oleg is still alive. In a sense.”
Pyke stared at him for a moment or two then burst out laughing, his thoughts caught between surprise, disbelief and a momentary dash of the absurd.
“Sorry, Mojag–not making fun or being disrespectful,” he said. “But you’re serious–you’ve been walking around all these months with a copy of Oleg in your head? Why would you–why would he do such a thing? Did he think he was going to die?”
“He wasn’t expecting death, Captain, despite the inherent risks, and he knew that you always kept our safety in mind.” Mojag gazed upwards and sighed. “He just wanted to increase the chances of finishing his Spursong.”
“And what would that be?”
“A long poem describing all the key moments of a Kiskashin’s life. The Kiskashin are an ancient race with several distinct branches and Oleg’s branch, the Idekri, are scrupulous about maintaining the Spursong tradition.”
Pyke was nonplussed. “This copy of Oleg you’ve been carrying around all this while–it’s been writing poetry?”
“Not just that,” Mojag said. “We converse on many subjects—”
“How?” Pyke said. “Are you talking with him now? Is he listening to us?”
“He can observe what I observe, and we usually meet and chat in a virtual meeting place I’ve set aside in my data implant.”
Pyke smiled and nodded, despite a continuing puzzlement. “Well, I can truthfully say that I never imagined that I would ever have a conversation like this with, well, with anyone. I mean, I know about the AI companion implants they have on Earth, although I haven’t seen many lately.”
“They went severely out of fashion after the Battle of Darien and the failed AI coup in the Hegemony,” said Mojag.
“Just as well,” Pyke said. “Gives me the crawls just thinking about it.”
“This is nothing like that, Captain,” Mojag said. “Oleg was–is a friend.”
“Yes, I get that. Have you spoken to Dervla about it?”
“Not yet. I’m unsure of how to proceed.”
“Be straight with her–that usually works. And I’m glad that you came to tell me as well–although I should warn you that I won’t be paying you two shares!”
Mojag grinned. “Furthest thing from my mind, Captain.”
At which point Scar’s voice spoke from the vokers out in the corridor.
“Captain Pyke to the bridge–this is a command alert.”
Stackerbot repairs forgotten, Pyke got to his feet. “Scar,” he said loudly. “What’s new?”
“A few moments ago my sensors picked up a compressed communications burst from a location on the planet’s surface. Linguistic subsystem is currently analysing…”
“Right, I’m on my way.”
With Mojag hard on his heels Pyke left the storage booth and hurried along to the companionway leading for’ard. A minute or two later he was striding onto the vacant bridge.
“Any luck with that translation, yet, Scar?”
“The comm-burst is a verbal message but the syllabic groups have no match in my database. The syntactic analysis, however, strongly implies a plea for aid. The voice-stress evaluation corroborates.”
“So what’s happening around down there?” Pyke said as he dropped into his leather couch, which creaked in protest. “Any sentient lifeforms?”
“No Bran, but there is a group of lesser creatures gathered around a hillside structure which could be shielding occupants from being scanned. From the same location I am also detecting what could be energy-weapon discharges.”
Suddenly Pyke was back on his feet, feeling invigorated.
“Right, rescue mission.” He thumbed the shipwide on his console. “Kref, Win, this is the captain. Get yourselves to the shuttle bay and break out the heavy gear.” He looked up. “Scar, how dangerous is the environment down there?”
“The hillside structure is sited on the periphery of a ruined city which seems to have avoided being hit by nuclear weapons. The weather system, however, still blows around a variety of toxic risks, weak residues of aerosolised biochem agents, even pulverised dust carrying motes of radioactive material. I should recommend full hazmat rigs, Bran, but if you decide to use just face-breathers and ensure to leave no skin uncovered you should suffer no ill effects. As long as planetside activity is kept as brief as possible.”
“Got it. Anything on that translation yet?”
“Sorry, Bran–I’m not any further forward. I need to converse with a native speaker in order to gain a basic understanding.”
“See what I can do about that.” Pyke turned to Mojag who had been peaceably observing the developing situation. “Mojag, don’t forget to let Dervla in on the secret.”
Mojag looked reluctant. “How do you imagine she might react?”
Pyke shrugged. “Ah, the mysteries of a woman. I’ll tell you this, though–if you don’t tell her and she finds out later it might not go too well for you.”
“I take your point with gratitude.”
Py
ke grinned and headed for the bridge hatchway.
When he reached the main hold he encountered Dervla coming out of the double sliding doors.
“Scar tells me that you’re taking the shuttle down to the poisonous mudball on some daft rescue mission,” she said, the hardness in her eyes belying her composed smile.
“I cannot tell a lie,” Pyke said, hurrying past her. “There’s folks down there who need help, our skilful, well-armed help!”
Inside, the shuttle had been lowered from the shadowy fuel and refit area above the launch ramp. Close by, Kref and Win were standing next to a big pull-out rack, trying on pieces of body armour.
“I thought about getting at you for putting your own crew in mortal danger,” Dervla said, following him in. “But truth is, they’re just as crazy as you are.”
“What a thing to say about your crewmates,” said Win Foskel as she snapped a magazine up into an assault rifle.
“Well, naturally I meant crazy in a good way.”
Kref paused from filling a backpack with extra ammunition, his broad forehead creased with a frown.
“Am I crazy? Why does Dervla think we’re crazy, Captain?”
Pyke shook his head. “It’s okay, it’s not you she thinks is crazy. However, I would certainly be crazy to go on this mission without those Lewison heavy pistols which are hanging right next to you.”
The Henkayan chuckled. “With the explosive rounds?”
“More firepower is better than less.”
By now Pyke had strapped body armour onto his torso, arms and legs. The holstered guns that Kref tossed to him were claw-bonded to either hip. He almost felt invulnerable, encased in all this gear, but he knew that he would be slower on his feet.
Yeah, well looking like Captain Dangerbad is one thing, staying alive is another.
“Okay,” he said. “Time to go. Scar, until we get back Dervla is in command.”
“Understood, Bran.”
Dervla crossed her arms. “So do I get to keep the ship if you don’t come back?”
As they reached the shuttle’s gaping hatch Pyke glanced back over his shoulder. “Sorry, that’s not what it says in my will.”
“You have a will?”
He laughed. “Keep an eye on things on the bridge, dear heart. Don’t want to be caught by any surprises.”
With that he tugged the heavy hatch down and thumbed the autoseal. Bolts clunked and the hydraulics made the hatch airtight. Then he turned to regard Kref and Win, the hulking Henkayan standing over the diminutive, almost elfin Human, yet from past experience he knew that it would be difficult to say who was the more deadly in combat.
“Ready to ride to the rescue, you crazies?”
Kref snorted, and Win shrugged.
“As ever,” she said.
Out in the hold, the pre-launch systems screened off the shuttle bay with layered forcefields designed to prevent atmosphere leakage while shielding against any thrusters backwash. From a monitoring recess in the hold bulkhead, Dervla watched the underside bay doors part and the wedge-nosed shuttle swing down on the guide rails. Grips snapped open, rear manoeuvring thrusters emitted bright, half-second bursts, and the craft was gone.
“They should be okay, do you think?”
She glanced up to see Mojag standing between the open entry doors.
“Well, they’re lugging enough heavy weapons for a small war.” She paused. “But this hunt for Khorr is cracked. I think that bastard is connected to this planet-jacking operation somehow, and Bran is going to get us all killed.” She shook her head, reining in her temper.
“Hopefully not today,” Mojag said.
“Yeah, just a day’s worth of good luck is all I’m asking for at the moment.”
“Eh, Dervla, was wondering if you can spare a few minutes–there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Well, I have to get to the bridge to monitor the feeds for Bran and bear witness to his mighty triumph over some mutant radioactive mouse or the like–eh, can you tell me about it on the way?”
“I can certainly do that.”
So he did. By the time they reached the bridge she was listening with uneasy fascination to the explanation of how the Oleg in Mojag’s head was just as aware of events as he was. And how when the real Oleg was found dead, the Oleg-copy had wanted his existence announced straight away, thinking that this would forestall grief and upset since he was actually still alive, in a way. Mojag, however, had thought this inadvisable.
“I felt at first that our crewmates would need time to come to terms with the loss of the flesh-and-blood Oleg,” he said. “And then, after a while, we could reveal the copy’s existence. But in the light of the changing situation we decided to let the captain in on our secret, and he said to tell you.”
By now Dervla was seated at Pyke’s console, trying to clear away some of the cans, food trays, schematic flexis, miscellaneous components and trick-tools.
“I think your instinct was right,” she said. “The others wouldn’t see a copy of him as being the same as the original.” She frowned. “And of course, he’s hearing all this from me as well… just how like him is it?”
Mojag’s smile was a little sad. “It was a highly detailed scan down to the meta-fractal range–in my mind it sounds and speaks and thinks exactly like him.”
“But doesn’t he feel—”
The AI Scar’s voice interrupted her.
“Dervla, there is an incoming comm-feed from the shuttle.”
“I’ll take it here, Scar.”
The command console’s holodisplay winked on to show a side view of the shuttle’s cockpit. Pyke was closest and gave a rakish smile while Win waved from the copilot’s station.
“So glad you could join us,” Pyke said. “In the interests of fast engagement, we opted for a plunge re-entry so we should reach the target location in about twenty minutes.”
“Plunge re-entry,” Dervla said. “I bet that was fun.”
In the display, Win Foskel rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.”
“If we could keep the mutinous commentary for later,” Pyke said. “We have a mission to carry out, so while we manoeuvre for approach Dervla will coordinate with Scar on the wider picture, using her judgement to spot any potential hazards.”
“Yes, my captain,” Dervla said, giving a quick salute. “Dervla shall.”
“I’ll be remembering this mockery when it comes to reckoning the bonuses,” Pyke said. “Now can we get on with it?”
Glancing round, Dervla saw Mojag perched on the edge of the command console, smiling and shaking his head. Sharing the smile, she shrugged and went about the task in hand. Scar provided additional screen layers detailing environmental and lifeform readings at the target location as well as local and regional overviews. Also, there were sensor scans from both the planet’s near-space environs and the wider system–and as far as she could see there was no threat-level activity, no sign of intruders or anomalous presences. If something sinister was happening, it was happening somewhere else.
“Nothing to report,” Dervla said on the open comm-link. “No contacts.”
“Any change at the target location?” said Pyke.
“The local scan says that the predator pack lost a few to weaponsfire but others have joined.”
“Sounds shady. Right, we’re still some minutes out so while we get the masks and headcams ready I’ll need you to stay on-station.”
“Not got anything else to do,” she said. “Don’t worry, we got you covered.”
As attention within the shuttle shifted to landing prep, Punzho and Ancil arrived on the bridge together. A muttered exchange between them was cut off by Ancil with a palm gesture and the word “later”. The tall Egetsi nodded then came over to kneel by the command console, long hands folded and resting on the edge of the desk surround. Ancil stood back a few feet, leaning against the bulkhead.
“Shuttle is seventy-three seconds from touchdown,” said the AI. “Switching to headc
am feeds.”
The single steady view of the shuttle cockpit was replaced by three bleached, grainy, jerky visuals from the headgear cams. Dervla had had to deal with these feeds before and adjusted their filters individually before arriving at a measure of shared clarity.
“I’ll be taking point,” said Pyke, now looking into Win’s cam. “Kref and Win will be on rear flanks.” He fiddled with his mask, setting it firmly into position, then gave a thumbs-up.
“Sensors show four of the lesser lifeforms gathering around the shuttle, Bran,” said Scar.
“Okay, time we chased off the wildlife,” Pyke said, punching the release code into the hatch controls.
The hatch was hardly open when a slender, long-necked scaly head thrust itself through the gap, closely followed by a skinny taloned limb, and a second.
The view from all three headcams jerked about while everyone started shouting, Kref and Win urging Pyke to just shoot the thing, shoot it now. Pyke was yelling back that he didn’t want to wreck the hatch while holding it shut on the snapping, lashing beast. Through the clamour Dervla heard Win say, “Screw this!” as the cam-view ducked under Pyke’s arms and angled up at the intruder. Then she raised her laser carbine, shoved it against the bottom of the creature’s neck and pulled the trigger. With the first hot white burst the thing shrieked and with the second it writhed in agony as it tore itself back outside. Dervla thought that Pyke would then tug the hatch shut–instead he pushed it open and dived through, guns blazing.
She exchanged an appalled look with Mojag before going back to the headcam displays.
That first frantic encounter set the tone for the intense minutes that followed. Pyke’s assault left two of the scaled creatures blown apart and scared any others off into the cover of smashed buildings. The shuttle was parked on level ground at the foot of a cracked, rubble-strewn road that swept up a hillside past yet more near-levelled ruins. Pyke pointed with one of his heavy pistols at what looked like a curved canopy jutting from a rocky outcrop shouldering out of the hill halfway up.
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