Jupiter Rising

by Zachary Brown

  I have nano-ink in a few places, but everyone focuses on my eyes. They think I’m doing amazing things with them. Superhero X-ray vision, data from hacked sources drizzling down my field of view, the power to stare into the sun with impunity . . . well, actually, I can do that, but so can any filter in a power armor helmet. Dipping into the IR and UV ends of the visible spectrum is also straightforward. My eyes weren’t done just for that.

  The nano-ink on my scalp allows me to access just a fraction of the potential of my corneas. Theoretically, with more training and improved tech, I could be doing superhero-level things in twenty, thirty years. Theoretically. I could also buy some corneas grown from my own DNA, get a transplant, and never worry about nano-ink again. No maintenance, no hallucinations when remembered data leaks outside of your dreams, no nosebleeds when you overload your tech.

  My hair is another thing that draws attention. Purple—kind of stupid for a resistance fighter who might need to go unnoticed, but it’s not for fashion or rebellion. The ink that coats my hair also shields the tech on my scalp from electromagnetic pulse and some—not all—kinds of hacking.

  My grandfather used to say that the tools are only as good as the craftsman. Good tech can give you options, but it can’t make you a genius if you bring nothing to the table. I started with an edge—my experimental eyes and the circuits that supported them—and I specialized. Some hackers grab and go. The ones I trained with call themselves sneaks, and they don’t always use computers to get the job done. They taught me to infiltrate real and virtual environments.

  Being in the CPF with that kind of background is a challenge. It’s safer to find the official way to do things, or bribe someone with access to get you what you need. I’ve been stockpiling information for years, and it makes me look quicker or smarter than I am. I have a storehouse of access codes and manuals that I picked up by being in the right place, or talking with the right person. It doesn’t matter if the data looks useless or trivial at the time. I can bring up information quickly and work with whatever I have.

  Devlin thought I sussed out the power armor within minutes of our first training session. I learned about them months in advance. The Accordance was drafting more and more “volunteers,” and I’d wanted to be prepared. It wasn’t common knowledge, but it was hardly top-tier intelligence.

  I had a theory about power armor.

  My job was to train the recruits in handling power armor and larger weapons after they’ve finished basic physical fitness, zero-g familiarization, and personal weapons training. The course barely scratches the surface. They get most of their real training on the way to the front lines. Earth-based camps are meant to weed out the truly incapable and provide a steady supply of admin and grunts who know how the system works and how to follow orders. Recruits like ours were considered sacrificial lambs, but maybe CPF had let a wolf into the fold, a wolf who knew more about power armor than any recruit should, particularly the cloaking and evasion functions.

  I could have marched to the quartermaster and demanded an inventory of the power armor suits. I was the instructor, after all. But, just in case Rai’s disappearance and our actions became the subject of an inquiry, I decided to do it in a way that wouldn’t have my name attached to any paperwork.

  4

  * * *

  I headed for my quarters as fast as I could without actively running. Devlin snagged my arm as our paths crossed outside the mess hall. “You heard?”

  “Ken told me. Take it easy.”

  “Take it easy? You know Anais has been waiting for me to fuck up.”

  “Come with me. We’re going to get Ken, and then we’re going to check something out.”

  Ken was in our room, sitting on his bed in apparent deep thought. He sprang to his feet and gave Devlin a nod that showed both relief and reassurance, then looked at me. “Ready.”

  I shut the door, leaned against it, and closed my eyes for a moment of intense work. The surveillance protections I’d placed throughout our quarters were less extensive than Makani’s but still as sophisticated as I could make them without drawing the official attention of IT and security. Devlin and Ken waited patiently, knowing what I was doing.

  “Rai’s moving about the base in power armor using camouflage mode,” I said as soon as I could speak.

  “Are you sure?” asked Devlin, just as Ken said, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  Devlin glanced at him and then back at me, repeating his question silently.

  “We’re going to check if any of the power armor is missing. If there is, we’ll armor up. I’m not risking myself tracking someone who could kill me by mistake.”

  Finally, Devlin nodded. “Okay. Lead the way.”

  I climbed onto my ordinary, non-screen, standard-issue desk, and stretched my hands up to slide open a ceiling panel. Putting a finger to my lips, I signaled the other two to join me. Devlin was dumbfounded. Ken simply shook his head at me, but he looked amused when he saw Devlin’s face and realized that Devlin had no more idea than he did about this new route. I smirked and swung myself up into the crawlspace. I had learned a lot about the base schematics and access codes when I helped IT and Procurement set up the Speakeasy.

  We traveled in silence, dropping out of the crawlspace into a small access corridor and then squeezing through an even smaller hatch to enter a storage hall with rows of power armor hanging empty and open from ceiling hooks.

  “What are we looking for?” Devlin asked softly.

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” I said, turning slowly, scanning each row. “There! Notice anything strange?”

  Ken spoke first. “That’s a closed suit.” He reached for his sidearm.

  I put out a hand to stop him. “No need.”

  I ran toward the closed suit, skidded to a stop in front of it, and whipped my hand through the helmet. The illusion vanished. I examined the small decoy projector I had snatched off the suit’s hook. Devlin and Ken came running and I held it up for them to see. Then I dropped it, set my heel on it with a harsh crunch, and quickly swept up the remains and dumped them in my pocket.

  “Shit,” said Ken.

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed.

  Devlin looked pissed. “Okay, armor up. I’m calling this in now.”

  I opened my mouth, not sure what I was going to say.

  “Wait, Devlin.” Ken got in first. “We’re in Orlando, surrounded by Arvani. It’s possible, but improbable, that we’ve been infiltrated by Ghosts—”

  “I would have sensed them,” I interrupted, my voice sharp with anger and bad memories.

  “Exactly,” Ken said soothingly. “So, considering that the threat we’re facing is probably entirely human, could we make the most of the little time we have before Anais shows up?”

  “Desertion equals execution equals bad PR, and we know how much our dear colonel hates bad PR,” I said sarcastically. “He won’t mind if you bend the rules for that.”

  “True,” Devlin said, his lip curling in contempt. “Okay, not calling it in, but the armor-up command still stands. If anyone asks, tell them we’re going to assess sites for power armor training. And we are. All over this damn base.”

  “You still have to keep an eye on preparations for the inspection,” Ken pointed out.

  “PR,” I reminded him.

  Devlin clenched his jaw so hard we could hear his teeth grind.

  Ken clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Captain. Rai’s had plenty of opportunity to assassinate you before, so I doubt that’s her goal. But we’ll armor up now and be ready for hunting later.”

  “Ken’s right,” I said. “Besides, there’s someone I need to see.”

  We armored up. Apart from training sessions and public appearances, it had been a while since we’d put on armor under threat of real combat. There’s a different hum, a unique vibration to when that suit clicks shut and your blood is singing with adrenaline. We’d crept in like rats; we strode out like giants. Some people eyed us with curiosit
y, a few even with envy, but people were busy and, above all, they knew not to ask questions in case the answers led to more unwanted tasks.

  I made a call and went straight to Jasen’s quarters. I didn’t waste time. As soon as the door slid shut behind me, I shucked my armor. I didn’t stop there. I stripped to my underwear and stuffed each item of clothing and the fragments of the decoy into a clothes hamper at the door and watched the hamper’s readout intently.

  “You, of all people, really don’t have to do that.” Jasen’s voice was deep, amused, and relaxed. I waited until I was certain that the decoy was dead and my clothes hadn’t picked up any bugs before I turned around. Like any good and professional pretty boy, he was already naked, and he was lounging with the right amount of casual but artistic sensuality.

  “While it’s true that I can bug-scan with the best of them—and you, my dear colleague, are one of the best—today is a day for double-checking.” I walked over and sat at the end of the bed, swinging my legs up and rubbing my feet playfully against his. He had the expected handsome face, but the intelligence and awareness in his eyes were what made me smile. Then something else caught my attention. “Ouch. Gorgeous, but ouch!”

  He shrugged with studied unconcern. “Only the best can afford the best.”

  “Yes, but . . . may I?”

  He nodded permission. I bent closer, taking his penis in hand so I could scrutinize the faintly raised texture of several square centimeters of top-grade nano-ink. It was a dense, beautiful pattern, deceptively artistic, and practically an epidermal supercomputer. On anyone else, placed anywhere else, it would have been glaringly illegal, but on him it was merely a toy’s toy, part of the pretty-boy arsenal. Better than studs and ring piercings, too. Less obvious, and much harder to rip out.

  “And people freak out about my eyes. Good for you! Did it take long?”

  He couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Oh yes.”

  “But it’s useful,” I stated.

  The sexy slipped as he suddenly geeked out. “Oh yes. In all kinds of ways.” And he proceeded to tell me, at length and in detail, precisely how useful as I continued to hold and examine his greatest asset with bemused fascination.

  At last, and somewhat sheepishly, he wound down and finished his spiel. I released his penis and gave it a politely respectful pat, saying cheerfully, “I like it. A lot. It shows dedication to your craft.”

  Sneaks and professional pretties have been friends for decades. When the news media shifted from scripted to raw delivery, the established intimacy firms lobbied for special exemptions. Officially, they got slightly better than the standard bathroom-privacy blackout. Unofficially, their richest clients were making sure that they had the training and tech to turn any house or room or closet into an information black hole: everything flowing in, nothing going out. I make a point of getting friendly with the resident pretties wherever I go. They’re good people to know, and many of them have heard of me already.

  Jasen told me once, “There’s a long and rich history of courtesans as spies. We can go everywhere.” They do, and when they do, they carry things with them that would never be stored on a hackable network.

  “So,” I said, “got anything for me?”

  “Come and see.”

  The professional smile was back in place. I was puzzled, but I played along and leaned in to meet him for a kiss. It was as good as I expected; his lips were sweet and soft, and his tongue gently pushed a datachip into my mouth. I tucked it away between gum and cheek and enjoyed the rest of the kiss.

  “Something like that?” he said quietly, pulling away slowly.

  “Yes, thank you, that’s great,” I murmured, a little distracted.

  “More?” he asked, and glanced at my hand, which was still resting on his thigh.

  I hesitated and considered, but he seemed like an important resource and I didn’t want to risk an attachment. Besides, thanks to his dick-tech lecture, I’d already spent twenty minutes, plenty of time for an unremarkable midevening quickie.

  “Sorry,” I said with true regret. “I want to see you again, soon and often, for work. We’ll play another time, when this is behind us. And I have to save up. Can’t just pay for the standard rate now you’ve told me about those additional features.”

  He nodded, pursing his lips in a brief pout of disappointment. “Yeah. Well, I think Grant’s free now if you want—”

  “Nah, I’ll just—wait, what? Lieutenant Grant Boone?”

  “In training. Says he needs the extra funds.”

  “But he’s not . . . never mind. As I was saying, I’ll just go for a run.”

  His expression brightened. “Can I come watch?”

  “Some other time,” I told him with a grin.

  + + + +

  My granddad insisted that I never get used to anything. Not coffee, not alcohol, not sex. Didn’t matter how it made me feel, or whether it was good or bad for me. The important thing was to never be dependent on any single thing or person.

  And then he trained my body to run, and later they trained my brain to sneak, and I’ve never been able to shake my need for the adrenaline rush they give me.

  I was dressed in freshly debugged clothes and armored up. Jasen’s datachip still sat inside my mouth, flush against the epithelial tissue in a wash of saliva, quietly communicating with my nano-ink and dumping loads of data. Anais’s location and ETA, power armor override codes, names and times of base cart use, the newest updated schematics for the ever-shifting ways above the ceilings and in the hollow walls. Some of it was old stuff; quite a lot was new. I wondered if my meeting with JP had unlocked another level of access, or whether I was simply being given enough rope to hang myself in the search for Rai. The uncertainty only added to the rush.

  When the dump was complete, I checked in with Devlin and Ken. Both were busy with recruits and duties, so I simply updated them as best as I could, given the short time and lack of full privacy. For a moment I thought about leaving my armor in my quarters and running light as I usually did near base, but the thought of encountering Rai in a power suit made the back of my neck prickle. I didn’t feel completely dressed until I took out my EMP cannon and slung it over my shoulder. Veteran’s privilege. That EPC-1 had been with me for a while—modified, personalized, and best of all, completely liberated from the CPF ordnance records. Messily stenciled lettering spelled out BUGKILLER along its length. I doubted I’d find any crickets to zap, but the cannon would at least slow down anyone with nano-ink or implants.

  I waited until after nightfall. I went out, closed my helmet, and started running, trying to guess where I’d go if I had just stolen a suit of armor and was trying not to be conspicuous. I was also sorting the new data by priority, and thinking over my conversation with Jasen, my brain taking simultaneous multiple tracks from the trivial to the technical.

  Grant Boone? I’d stopped myself from saying something rude in front of Jasen, but the truth was Grant Boone wasn’t really that pretty. To be fair, most of the pros hadn’t been born pretty either. They enhanced themselves by various genetic and surgical means to fit a range of aesthetic templates to draw a certain clientele. If Grant was in training and hadn’t even bothered with the most rudimentary tweaks to his appearance, then what did that mean? Was he taking advantage of a new fad in sex work? Were the pros now considered too polished and the boy next door preferred? And what did he need funds for?

  Suspicion was my natural state of mind. I put this information away as something to check on later and ran to one of my safe spots.

  Personal security on base is a challenge. In a place saturated with high-level surveillance, the presence of a blank space is as telling as a piece of incriminating data. You have to hide data so well that there are no missing pieces and the landscape is seamless. I’ve done so much work for the CPF, for the Accordance, that they know a lot of my old methods. I’ve had to be creative and find new ways to sneak.

  Running helped me find all the places out of s
ight of Arvani view and beyond the reach of all human and Accordance networks. I was looking for someone else that had found those spaces, something with the familiar signature of Accordance power armor in cloaking mode.

  Power armor isn’t really made for cloaking. There’s a tradeoff between wanting to know where your soldiers are situated and allowing them to hide from the enemy. Somewhere between the two states there would be enough of a trace for me to find the rogue suit.

  Tech cuts both ways. There was also enough of a trace for me to be found.

  I was knocked sideways, armor clashing against armor with a muffled boom. I grabbed an arm instantly and took my attacker with me, dragging us through dead leaves and brush until we fetched up against the side of a dike. The dike’s viewport glass cracked—a satisfying sound. It wouldn’t break, though. The base and the dikes were built to stand up to Category 5 and higher. I took the opportunity to slam her helmeted head against the glass, a futile move for any real damage, but I hoped the shock would confuse her.

  “I’m not the enemy!” The words came over my private channel and rang in my helmet, too loud and panicky.

  I banged helmet to dike again. “I’m not convinced. Prove it.”

  “We need just one suit. We’ve been reverse-engineering a lot of shit, but we need to develop our own space armor.”

  I flipped her onto her back, kept a hand on her shoulder and a knee on her leg, and cued her helmet open with a quick, silent override. She blinked at me, either helpless or pretending to be. My own helmet opened and retracted into its collar, and I gazed directly at her with my best no-bullshit stare. “Who is ‘we’?”

  She blinked again, looking a little less innocent. “Ships on land, Ships on the sea. You know. Maybe Ships in space very soon. You’re the last person who’d want to stop us.”

  I straightened, shifting my weight as I slowly took control of the rogue suit, locking all the joints. “You think you know me?”

  Shadows fluttered on the other side of the cracked glass. We both glanced sideways at it. Arvani, turning up to see what the noise was, of course. I stood, extended a hand to Rai, and we made a show of her being helped to her feet and the two of us walking away. All the while I was maneuvering the second suit like a marionette. I took us to another safe spot nearby and commanded Rai’s suit to turn, face me, and freeze in position.