Asimov's SF, December 2011

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “How can you know this?”

  Bari sighed. “The Rooan use gravity wells to modulate their velocity, right? If you simply look at the alignment of the planets in this system and their current heading, their trajectory is obvious—and gives them no more options in-system. This has to be the last pass.”

  Ceen was silent a moment. “I suggested that to Cardin six months ago and he said I was wrong. He said I was an idiot.”

  “Well, when you get out of here, be sure to remind him.”

  “Am I going to get out of here?” he asked.

  “You might,” she said, and slapped the patch on his arm.

  “What is it you want?” he asked, his voice already fading as the sedative grabbed a hold on him. He was out before she could answer, but she did anyway.

  “To sleep at night,” she said. Pulling him across the cabin by one arm like a strange balloon, she stuffed him into the chair beside Vikka. She buckled them both in and down, pulling the straps tight to keep the two of them in place.

  There was banging on the floor hatch, muffled and indistinct. She ignored it for the moment, and tapped open her mic. “Okay, Omi, the ship is mine,” she said.

  [Right on time. I'll let Turquoise know.]

  Bari slipped into the seat Ceen had vacated so abruptly, swapping tethers once she was fully seated and strapped in. Pulling open one of the access panels on the helm console, a small blade took care of long-range communications. Then she reached over and turned off all of Cardin's external sensors. Sorry, Professor, but I don't need any recordings of this.

  “I'm taking the ship further into the herd,” she said.

  [Turquoise says you're clear, and the front of the herd appears to have begun to turn.]

  The intercom on the helm began blinking. She pressed a button, and a moment later Cardin's voice rang out tinnily in the main cabin. “What the hell is going on up there, Ceen?”

  “I'm sorry, but Ceen is unavailable.”

  “Ms. Park. Put Vikka on.”

  “Vikka is also unavailable.”

  “Did we have an accident? A malfunction?”

  “No accident,” she replied, as she logged into the helm console with Vikka's password and changed all the passcodes. “Ship systems are all green.”

  “We've lost gravity and the hatch above me is stuck fast. What do you call that?”

  “I call that one small switch and a medium-sized lock, Dr. Cardin.”

  The pause was longer this time. “Ms. Park, explain. Now.”

  “I decline,” she said. “If I were you, I'd get a hold of something shortly, because I'm about to start shutting systems down and I assure you, sharp things multiply in the dark.”

  “Morus put you up to this. How much did he pay you to infiltrate my team and sabotage my project?”

  “A poor guess. I've never even met Professor Morus,” she said. “Please rest assured that my real client has no interest in the success or failure of your project; you are merely a convenience.”

  “What is it you want?”

  Everyone keeps asking me that, Bari thought with some annoyance. For Cardin, she had a more practical and immediate answer. “I want your ship.” And then, because she didn't really want to talk to him again, she turned the intercom speaker back off.

  [You're just about in position,] Omi said over her private link. [Turquoise is going to help spot for you, so I'm patching him back in. A fair warning: he's still complaining about being itchy.]

  [It does itch!]

  “I'm certain it must, but it's not for very much longer,” Bari replied, trusting Omi to translate. “How am I looking?”

  [Do you see the big female ahead? Pull up beside her.]

  Bari leaned forward and peered out the window. She'd closed the distance between her and the herd, and again she was struck by how singularly massive all the Rooan were. And how much, if they'd been green instead of gray-black, and hadn't had shifting fluorescent colors along their underbellies, they'd look like gigantic space pickles. “How do I tell which ones are female?” she asked. Or “big"?

  There was a pause, then Omi answered instead of Turquoise. [I'm not translating that.]

  Banging started up again on the hatch, easily ignored. Bari picked one of the several looming shapes in front of the ship and sidled up between it and another. “Is this good enough?” she asked.

  [It will do.]

  [The herd is on a straight trajectory now, and will cross into Auroran territory shortly,] Omi said. [You should lower the ship's energy output to avoid detection.]

  “On it,” she said, and she already was, shutting down all non-essential systems and the Turd's primary engines. Unless something went terribly wrong, she wouldn't need anything more than minimal thrusters to keep her position amidst the Rooan. Just before hitting the lights, she glanced around the cabin and spotted a small silver ball hovering, idle, near the ceiling at the back of the ship. She snapped her fingers. “Bob,” she called. The bob lit up, glided near. “Light,” she ordered. “Thirty lumens.”

  The bob switched on, casting a light bright enough for Bari to make out the controls but not much brighter. She turned off all ship interior and exterior running lights. There was a brief flurry of sound from the hatch that sounded faintly like someone scrabbling for purchase, then nothing. I did warn him.

  With the faint light from the bob sufficient for what she needed, she killed all remaining main and auxiliary power feeds to the ship. A faint hum she'd long ago stopped hearing became noticeable by its sudden absence, and reflexively she took a deep breath. Ceen and Vikka, unconscious, breathed shallow and slow, and she resented only one of them what air they used. Cardin's supply was his own. Bari would use only a little herself, and if they didn't all die at Auroran hands she'd have plenty of time to turn the air generators back on before anyone felt any ill effects.

  Leaving the helm controls on auto, she stripped out of her coveralls and pulled on the suit that she'd taken from her locker, a tight-fitting, matte-black, alien-made biosuit much less cumbersome than the Turd's, and worth far more than all Cardin's grants and endowments combined. She slipped her jacket back on over that and buttoned it up. The jacket was fine black linen, a double-row of magnetic buttons up the front placket, and a small semi-circular starburst of silver thread embroidered where mandarin collar met left shoulder, where sleeve met arm. She ran her fingers lightly over the old thread and thought of long-forgotten things.

  [I'm picking up incoming from the outpost. Four ships, probably showing up for some more target practice on the Rooan. They don't appear to be in a hurry, but they're definitely coming here.]

  “Got it,” she said, pulling her suit hood up over her short-cropped hair and sealing the face-plate. Next she put on a vest, quickly checking each pocket to make sure it was still sealed and its contents secure. Ignoring Cardin's maneuvering rig, she pulled a much lighter-weight, thin-profile pack out of her locker and slipped it over her shoulders, fastening straps across her chest, abdomen, and crotch. A small plug connected it into the suit. Then she took out the last item she'd need, sliding it into the narrow sheath just over her shoulder.

  She flexed the muscles in her hand in sequence, powering on the suit's systems. “Can you hear me?” she asked.

  [Loud and clear,] Omi answered.

  [Are you coming out to play?] Turquoise added.

  “I am,” Bari said, and she cycled herself out the airlock into space.

  As part of its camouflage, the outside of the Space Turd had been given a rough, uneven surface. It had made adding covert handholds to it trivially easy, and Bari used these to move up and on top of the ship. Around her the Rooan shifted ever so slightly, giving her an unnerving vertigo. She wondered where among them her friends were hiding—nowhere easy to find, certainly.

  No one who had not been explicitly invited there came intentionally within reach of Aurora. This inactivity made the pilots who flew along the border outposts bored, and bored pilots found any ent
ertainment they could. On their last two passes a third of the Rooan herd had been lost; much more and they wouldn't have the numbers they needed to survive.

  The gigantic animals must have become aware of the approaching ships, because the flashing on their undersides became more intense. [The ships are on direct approach,] Omi said. [They should be in range in three point six minutes. The herd is getting nervous.]

  At the apex of the ship, perched on the nose, she unclipped the large energy-cannon she'd tucked there just before the Turd left Glaszerstrom Station to intercept the Rooan. “I need a window,” she said.

  [Working on it. These things are hard to nudge.]

  The Rooan to Bari's left began drifting upward, and Bari could make out four small pinpoints of light moving toward them. In the distance was the faint blue glow of Outpost One. Deep in space behind that was the heart of Aurora itself, with its implacable, invincible warlord, who took everything he could see, and owned everything he could touch. She gritted her teeth, raised the cannon, and took aim at the closest of the incoming ships.

  The first one will be the easiest, she told herself, and fired. The pinpoint of light flared for an instant and went out, as immediately the other three veered away. Now the hunt would begin; they'd be scanning the area, but the Turd, powered almost fully down, would be virtually invisible. Her Dzenni suit, far more sophisticated than anything found in human space, was a total insulator: she would not radiate heat, she would not absorb it. She would not be easy to find.

  One of the remaining ships moved nearer, slowly edging up on the herd as if scanning for something on the far side of it. She checked the cannon's heat load—still only 12 percent, still cool enough—and then shouldered it again.

  The second ship flashed and disintegrated.

  “I don't see the other ships. Omi?”

  [One is circling around the Rooan. I don't see the other.]

  All of a sudden, around them, the Rooan began to shift and scatter, their light-patterns now oscillating wildly. [I believe he's trying to use the herd for cover while he looks for the source of the fire,] Turquoise said.

  “That works for me,” Bari said. She turned around, then threw herself backward in a panic, flat onto the surface of the ship as a Rooan barreled overhead, nearly knocking her off the ship. Big mistake, Bari, she told herself. No matter how big they are, they aren't going to make any sound when they move. Pay more attention.

  The passage of the creature had left a small gap, and she could just see the edges of the third ship behind them. She got the cannon up, took the shot, and missed. Swearing, she checked the heat load again—a little over 40 percent now, starting to get warm. The ship banked, disappeared behind a cluster of Rooan, and briefly reappeared farther up than she had expected. Ship's moving in an evasive pattern. “Can you see him?” she asked.

  [No . . . yes. He's banked low again, circling around.]

  “Thanks,” Bari said. She lined up the sights on a gap ahead, and smiled when the ship appeared. Another flash, and then there was just one.

  Don't run home yet, she thought at it, I need you.

  She ejected the power cartridge from the cannon and let go of both pieces, where they drifted along with the herd. The cartridge would cool off quickly in open space. Unencumbered, she looked around the herd to get a sense of their positions, stood up straight, and launched herself up and forward toward the bright yellow-orange underside of the ancient Rooan who had nearly knocked her down moments ago. A quick squeeze of one hand sent enough thrust from her pack to carry her forward, and she reached the big creature and got a grip on its craggy, pitted underside, oscillating from yellow to orange and back again under her gloves. Two more jumps brought her forward.

  “Where's my last fighter, Omi?”

  [I still can't see it. Turquoise?]

  [It's directly ahead. The herd is moving around it. You've almost caught up to him.]

  If only Cardin knew how thoroughly his Rooan-camouflage would be tested, she thought. The problem was, Cardin had only designed it to stand up to the scrutiny of dumb animals; as aggressive as Aurora's fighters were, “dumb” they were not.

  She moved hand over hand along the side of her Rooan until she was up near the pointed front, then flipped her faceshield to infrared. Even then the enemy fighter wasn't immediately obvious. It was only as one of the Rooan directly ahead of her swung slightly out of line to avoid something that she spotted it. He's playing the same trick I am, shedding his heat load to avoid detection while looking for his enemy. If she wasn't wearing her Dzenni suit, she was sure she'd be lit up like a nova on his screens.

  She had maybe a minute before he was close enough to the Turd to spot it for the fake it was. She smiled and reached into her pack. Not a problem.

  As her Rooan ride neared the ship, she kicked off and tumbled, silently, across the intervening space as the Auroran unwittingly headed toward a rendezvous. Her timing was perfect; she reached out one hand and touched the side of the ship just aft of the pilot's view, a silhouette in faint light just visible inside. With her other hand she slapped an EMP mine onto the hull. Then she pushed off again, breaking physical contact with the fighter as the mine flashed once, twice, and the ship went truly dead.

  The herd continued to move around her, the Turd slipping silently past along with them. She squeezed her fist and moved forward to where she could grab onto the dead fighter again. Taking the second mine out of her pack, she placed it next to the first. This one she didn't back away from, and she could feel the thrum even through the multilayered hull as the pressure-wave grenade activated.

  The airlock had to be operated manually, of course.

  The pilot was floating unconscious near the inside door, an energy pistol dangling from one hand. He'd known someone was coming for him the moment the EMP mine went off. Her mag boots kept her upright as she cycled the lock closed behind her and took his gun. Slipping off his helmet—damn, he's young—she peeled back the collar of his uniform with its own, less intricate starburst embroidery and slapped a sleep patch on him as well. Then she dragged him to the back, found the single-occupant escape pod, stuffed him in, and melted the lock.

  Climbing into the pilot's seat, she buckled herself down and rebooted the systems. As the helm tried to bring itself back to life, she tapped her suit mic. “I'm in,” she said. “How far behind am I?”

  [You've almost dropped out behind the herd,] Omi replied. [I see three more ships on intercept from the outpost on max burn, about six minutes out.]

  The helm was flashing a long, thin red line. Bari slipped on the pilot's helmet, then carefully ran her left forearm over the bar. For a long second she was afraid it wouldn't work, that the chip under her skin was too old or obsolete, but the bar flashed green at last even as the rest of the console came back online.

  “The ship's mine. Light up the decoy can,” she said.

  [Done,] he replied, just as a faint flare appeared on the screen of her own console, on the far side of the herd. From a distance, it would not be distinguishable from an imperfectly-dampened engine signature. Close up, it wouldn't matter.

  Four ships down, counting this one, she thought, and three more on the way. Outpost One had, by her best estimates, twenty-six combat ships at the moment—a recent border skirmish with Glaszerstrom had cost them three others. The remaining pilots would be off-shift, but were probably now being roused and told to stand by. And at least half of those would be too drunk to fly. Or so she hoped. It was the largest of Aurora's outposts, a cornerstone of its defense.

  She plugged a line from her headset directly into the ship's comm net. “Can you pick up traffic?”

  [The signal is weak from here and it's heavily encrypted.]

  “So that's a ‘no'?”

  [No, that's a “give me a minute or two."]

  [The herd is nervous,] Turquoise added.

  “As long as they don't scatter, we're okay.” Bari had engaged the craft's engines on minimum thrust and moved furth
er into the herd, the ever-shifting rainbow of a Rooan's belly above her like the landing lights of an insane, upside-down, psychedelic runway. Cardin's translating machine would have choked on this much incoming data. She was surprised to realize she felt a tiny pang of guilt for having so thoroughly derailed his project. If the man hadn't been such a puckered-up old assvalve, she might have considered leaving a few of his data-collectors on.

  [Got it. You want a live feed?]

  “Absolutely.”

  . . . an ambush? See it now, on the far side of the stupid squids. . . . Can't believe anyone got the drop on Mejef and Beck. Kirbenz, though . . . Is that Tonker, hiding in the middle? Tonker, is that you?

  “Modulate my voice to middle-young adult human male, Auroran accent, add 10 percent static when you encrypt,” she said.

  [Ready.]

  “Shut up, you idiots! Maintain silence,” she said, and heard it go over the comm network after a moment's delay passing through Omi. It didn't sound like her at all. Good.

  The three incoming ships fell silent, and pulled more tightly together as they came in. They're going for point-to-point, she realized. Direct light-based comms wouldn't be able to be intercepted by any normal tech. It also meant they wouldn't bother to encrypt it.

  Luckily for me, I have some abnormal tech indeed, she thought.

  [They are discussing the best approach, through or around the herd, and whether to stay in formation or come from multiple directions,] Turquoise provided.

  That meant they most likely believed her to be Tonker, among other things. “I'm going to need an exit.”

  [Passing it on.]

  [They've split their approach,] Turquoise said. [I'm working on nudging the herd a little so you can come out behind one and above a second. The third will pass in front of the herd, so you will have to find your own strategy for that one.]