by Adam Thielen
Cho continued walking toward what looked to be a small angular jet sitting neglected at the far end of the room. She passed a row of flight simulator stations equipped with virtual reality headsets and physical controls.
“You never thought to make another one?” she asked. “An airship, I mean.”
Diego continued to follow her deeper into the vast space. “Morale was low after we watched it wreck, and it was considered a failure in concept. A large single craft, no matter what its armaments, was too easy a target.”
“Is this the next attempt?” asked Tsenka, nearing the fighter jet.
“That is the Sylph, named for its speed, though I would have preferred we call it the Drake,” said Gimon. “But don’t get excited, it wasn’t built for offense. We needed some form of defense from potential invaders, and with our airship gone, the council scrambled to come up with ideas. This one was immediately popular, challenged only by advanced monocopter tech. On paper, it was cheap, and the idea was to create a squadron of unrivaled fighters.”
“But there’s—”
“Just one,” he said to finish her sentence. “Turns out, fitting two hotboxes and all the newest tech into a small frame isn’t as easy as it sounds. But about twenty years ago, the team finished this prototype. The council couldn’t get a majority vote to produce more due to costs and concerns that yet another redesign would be needed to keep up. Since then, laser weapons have become feasible in the New Republic military while our jet uses magnetic propulsion and gunpowder.”
“Hardly obsolete,” said Cho. “I mean, lasers are easily thwarted.”
“In theory,” he said. “Still, if I had my way, we’d retrofit beams onto them and make at least a dozen more.”
“That’s not many.”
Gimon stood next to Tsenka as she reached up to touch the short wing of the aircraft. “The armor is next-level,” he claimed. “Even today, no other fighters come close. Same for its maneuverability. The outer hull is capable of image-mapping to camouflage itself for short periods. Just ten of these would decimate any invading air force.”
Cho smiled. “Bold claim. You ever fly in it?”
“In it?” he said. “I’m one of only a handful of nocturnals who have piloted it during testing, and the others are engineers and scientists. The original goal was to start a small flight academy, but as of now, I am the only one authorized to fly this thing in combat.”
“Ooooh,” she said, caressing the successor’s abs through his shirt. “Impressive. Are those flight simulators custom for this thing?”
“Those sims were almost as expensive as the jet. That might be an exaggeration. They’re great fun, and the scripting team had a lot of time to work on scenarios while the council bickered.”
“So you’re an ace flyer, eh?” she teased, walking to the sims.
“I am… competent,” he said, following her. “Lucky for me, the onboard AI can compensate for hiccups or clear mistakes.”
“I bet it’s hard to fly,” she said.
“It was very rough at first,” he admitted. “You should try it. It’s almost as good as the real thing, and with your interface, you will think it is the real thing.”
“Sure,” she said. “Why not? Sounds like fun.”
“I’ll watch you on the big screen.”
Cho sat in the first seat and caressed the flight stick suggestively. Diego grinned and turned on the machine, then used the touch screen to request syncing with Tsenka’s implant. She accepted, then accepted again to enter the simulation. The empty room disappeared and in its place was the cockpit of the fighter plane. She was on the surface above, the fighter resting on the ice and snow.
A voice spoke into her ears. “Bogeys incoming. You are clear to engage.”
In front of the flight stick was a demonstration screen instructing Cho on how to lift off. Having experience with a monocopter, she understood what it directed her to do, and she pushed the button to switch flight modes, then pulled the stick back to lift off the ground. She switched modes again and the jet dove unexpectedly. She pulled back again, preventing a collision with the ground, then clumsily engaged the thrust. Her implant allowed simulation of g-forces not possible through the normal VR headset, and she emitted a sharp cry at the sudden acceleration.
She could hear Diego chuckling, and when an enemy fighter appeared and locked on with a missile, she tried to veer to the right but became overwhelmed with the options on the screen. The missile landed and the jet dove to the ground. Large letters appeared in front of Cho that said, ‘Simulation Failure.’
At that, Diego laughed but cut it short. “It’s a harsh message,” he said. “But we all see it.”
“I thought there was some sort of AI to help,” she complained.
“The simulation doesn’t enable it at first,” he said. “Pilots need to learn without it.”
“And just one missile takes this thing out?”
“Also just for the simulation,” he explained. “It’s not exactly fair, but again, the technology can become a crutch.”
“I’m going again.”
“Have at it,” he replied.
On her second attempt, she dodged some gunfire and a missile before a second fighter caught her by surprise. Tsenka growled in frustration while Gimon watched in amusement. She started it a third time, and when the voice spoke, she ignored it, opting instead to fiddle with the controls.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
For a moment, he received no response. Then she told him, “I’m rerouting some of the readouts to my HUD along with a few of the controls.”
As she finished her sentence, one of the enemy jets dove at her, guns blazing. She activated thrusters, causing the Sylph to hop into the air. She then rolled it to the side, evading the barrage, then thrust away, putting distance between her plane and the enemy.
With radar displayed the way she liked, Cho could finally see the enemy fighters as they came into range. Interfacing with the control systems allowed her to react quickly and intuitively, and she understood what he meant by maneuverable as she flipped the jet around without stopping, then thrust the opposite direction, exerting several Gs of force on her body.
To Diego’s surprise, Tsenka went on to make short work of the enemy, and large letters appeared to say, ‘Simulation Successful.’
She disconnected from the machine and exhaled. “That was incredible,” she said.
“In more ways than one,” he replied. “You learn fast.”
“My neural interface can bridge between motor functions and the controls,” she explained. “I use it with my monocopter, too.”
“I’m so hard right now,” he said, running his fingers through her hair.
She grabbed his crotch for verification. “Can we do it in the jet?”
“I… don’t think so,” he said.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
They hurried back to the successor’s quarters, and again they made love. He started in missionary, but after his first orgasm, Tsenka played with him until he was ready to go again, then mounted him, riding up and down, slowly and methodically. She enjoyed the process, not just the finish, and did her best to make it last.
Afterward, she watched him go to sleep, then drifted off herself. A few hours later, she awoke to see his sleeping face beside hers. Cho looked at the door and rose from the bed. She pondered why Diego hadn’t asked about her early departure the previous day. Perhaps he didn’t care. Or maybe he did care but did not want to press her on the issue. Tsenka grabbed her clothes and moved to the door. She stopped and stared, then decided maybe staying wouldn’t be so bad. She climbed back into Gimon’s bed and resumed her slumber.
When she opened her eyes again, an empty bed lay in front of her. She sat up to see Diego pulling on his pants.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About nine,” he said. “Big day today.”
“You leaving?”
He grabbed a dress shi
rt from the closet. “I have a meeting and then Matthias wants to hang,” he said. “Make yourself at home. Eat something. I will see you at the arena later tonight.”
“Matthias, eh?” she said suggestively.
Gimon laughed and bent down to kiss Tsenka on the forehead. “Did he tell you about us?”
“I have an eye for these things,” she claimed, reaching out to grab his thigh.
“There’s no thing anymore,” he said. “But he’s a nice guy.”
“I’ll bet.”
He moved to the door. “Can’t wait to see you fight. Later.”
“I’ll… see you later,” she replied.
He left and Tsenka felt a longing for him to return and a feeling of relief at the same time. She waited a minute, then stood at the door to ensure that Diego had truly left before moving to his wall and activating its built-in computer terminal. A password prompt for his profile appeared, and Cho synced up her neural interface.
For a full minute, she stared at the prompt, uncertain if there was anything she would find that would make her more satisfied than he had made her feel the last two days. Yet she knew that any stay in her quest for truth would only be temporary; such was her nature. Tsenka had to be sure. She entered the password Desre had given her, but the terminal responded with, “Authentication Error, four attempts remaining.”
“The hell?” muttered Cho. She tried a second time with the same result, except with fewer remaining tries. I was sure, she thought, logging in with a guest account.
Even with its limited access, she was able to upload code under the guest account that allowed her to bypass some of its restrictions, including file management. She navigated to Gimon’s personal data store and downloaded it all at once, minus heavy media files, to her implant’s drive.
She took a deep breath. “Here goes.” Tsenka applied the decryption key to the data store and her com began the compute-intensive process, reporting that it would take a few minutes. She opened the fridge and took out an imported smoked sausage and began to slice it into thin discs. Tsenka noticed a large reservoir of blood in the refrigerator with a spigot. She estimated he had a month’s worth of blood rations inside.
She filled a tall glass and poured it into her mouth, allowing it to funnel down her throat. She filled it up a second time and drank it while nibbling her sliced meat. Cho instructed the nanites flowing through her circulatory system and residing in her digestive tract to capture the blood and hold as much in reserve as they could.
Cho had returned to the screen to browse through TV program dumps that the city collected from its scouts when her HUD informed her that the decryption process was complete. She brought up the files, and each of them had readable names, segments, and categories. She began to organize them by the file type and age. There were a lot of files, and some of them stretched back almost thirty years.
Tsenka started with his personal documents, then moved to an assortment of correspondences including chat transcripts, instant messaging, forum contributions, and email, much of it cached in temporary files rather than saved intentionally. Her eyes widened the more she read. She compiled the text into a master record and then began using keywords, such as Matthias or Makida, to create new threads.
As she read, her skin decided she needed to cool off and began to sweat. Cho stood, leaving a wet imprint of her butt on the bed.
“I have not forgotten you,” she read aloud from an old journal entry. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I will rip his heart out. He will know your pain.”
“No,” she reacted, pacing around the room. “No fucking way.”
She stared at the empty bed she would never share again as tears welled in her eyes. I’m a monster, she thought. He’s a monster. We’re all a bunch of monsters.
Part of her had known, and another part had held out hope that Haven was truly gone. As she digested what she had read, she steeled herself for what she must do. With only a few hours before her scheduled bout, she pulled her clothes on and hurried out the door.
Tsenka quickly moved to New Apulon’s communication offices. There, she argued with security until the Dracul’s assistant confirmed that Cho was to be given unfettered access.
“Who oversees your information security?” she demanded. One of the officers escorted her to a back room where a balding man sat surrounded by screens simulated by a com projector built into his desk. His nameplate read, ‘Rogers.’
He looked up at her. “Yes, what is it?” he asked, looking at the officer who, instead of answering, looked at Cho.
“I need to look at satellite records,” said Tsenka. “I want a list of all connections and who made them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, then looked at the officer again. “Who is this?”
“I know about the satellite,” she continued. “Just compile the damn list, on the authorization of the Dracul.”
“Is she serious?” the man asked, still addressing the officer, who responded this time with a slow nod.
“We checked, sir.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Rogers. “The list of nocturnals with access to that system is extremely limited.”
“I also need you to check Matthias’s wall terminal for a backdoor and pull network logs to see what unsolicited requests were directed to it.”
“Well, which one am I to do?” he asked.
“This is important,” she said, moving to his desk and leaning toward him. “You’ve been compromised. I suggest you pull people in and start delegating because I’m not done. I also need logs for the antenna, with timestamps, and you need to open a new report chronicling any verbal or otherwise unrecorded conversations you have had with anyone regarding access to any of these systems outside of staff members under your direct supervision.”
Rogers sat up straight and waved his com off. “We’ve run a tight ship here,” he insisted. “Everything has gone smoothly without a blip for years. I don’t have time for all of that.”
“You will make time, and you will start now,” said Tsenka. “Just check the sat logs for connections you can’t audit, then you’ll know how serious this is.”
Rogers’s round face puckered as he stared at the table. “Fine, that is what I will do.” He began waving his hands around, pulling up two apps and a log repository that listed log files and their matching integrity hashes, numbers that could verify that no tampering had taken place. “None in this file,” he said.
“Check one from five days ago,” she instructed.
“That would be the most recent one,” he said, pulling it up. “Match, match, match,” he said aloud, then stopped. “Where… hmm. I see an orphaned connection.”
“About the time I arrived, no doubt,” said Tsenka, reciting the Unix time when her monocopter touched down.
“Dammit, how did this happen?” he said. “How did you know?”
Tsenka looked at the officer who, if he was surprised or intrigued, did not show it. “Can you leave us?”
Her words took a moment to register. He looked at her, then at Rogers, then nodded and left.
“Officer,” said the infosec manager, “keep what you heard here to yourself.”
Alone with Rogers, Cho confided in him how she had come into possession of the information, gauging his reaction and hoping she could trust him. She explained the various dots that needed connecting, and he invited her to help him work. Together they dug, sorted, and sifted through the piles of network logs, terabytes in size. Two hours later, Tsenka’s alarm rang and she stood.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Should we bring the Dracul or council into this?” asked Rogers.
“Not yet,” said Tsenka. “I know you want to pass this on, but consider what you’ve seen so far. Who do you trust?”
“But if we can’t trust the council, we are doomed.”
“I’m not saying all of them,” she explained. “If there’s one you know you can trust, have th
em come here and see what you’ve seen. But give me a few hours before you do, please. If I don’t fix this, my head will be one of the ones rolling.”
“At this point, I’m not sure it matters,” he said. “No offense.”
“Just a few hours,” she repeated.
“Very well, Ms. Cho. Whatever you’re planning, good luck.”
* * *
The stout man called Sai sat in his favorite chair, one he had scavenged two years prior, and sulked. He knew the day would come when he would have to move on, but he thought he would have seen it coming. The seat was too large to fit in their van with all their other possessions, so it would have to be abandoned. Their friends were another matter. It had been agreed that once they were near the border they’d wait for a day before leaving Abriham or the others behind.
Having already planted the virus inside the regional com system, Sai stood and began to dismantle his assortment of terminals, projectors, screens, and peripherals so that he could pack any of the hard-to-replace items. At the same time, Nina went from room to room, plucking posters off the walls and going through her clothing, deciding what to take and what to leave. She sat on the floor and rubbed her eyes, refusing to get weepy over a storage building while old memories continued to push their way into her consciousness.
She stood and joined Sai. Together they observed a silence that hadn’t been present in the warehouse since they had claimed it as their own.
“Remember when Jack brought those rats in?” said Neen, sniffling.
“Lordy, do I,” said Sai. “Almost as bad as that dog Abe had.”
“Roofie was a dear,” defended Nina.
“Uh huh,” he replied, then sighed. “I thought I hated this place.”
“Kind of a shame to leave,” she said, “after all that work you did to clean it up.”
“We’ll find a new place, and it will be home.”
“Without Abe, or even Dar?”
To this, Sai did not have a response.