Jupiter Rising

by Zachary Brown

  “Or?” I asked as I frantically thought, Shipment? What shipment? Is that the armor being sent out? Is it something else?

  She paused, drank a little from her mug, and set it down. First she addressed Devlin. “For you, the carrot. If you promise not to interfere, we can arrange for you to see your parents.”

  I saw the flicker of hope followed by deep hurt in Devlin’s eyes and I hated her a little more. She turned to Ken.

  “For you, the stick is very complicated. Your brothers and sisters are under protection in Tranquility City. We wouldn’t presume to threaten them, but . . .” She paused and considered her words carefully. “. . . There are many of us in the CPF, and it would be so easy to reach them. I don’t believe in murder myself. You can only kill a man’s family once, and then you have no hold left over him. But there are many who want revenge on all collaborators, and under such circumstances, protection often fails.”

  Ken’s jaw clenched tight. He stared at her until she looked away, almost but not quite discomfited.

  “Amira, I have nothing you want and no one to threaten on your behalf, so for you—truth. That shipment is a small part of a symbolic strike that will send a message to both Accordance and Conglomeration that humans are not helpless. When they see we can do them real damage, then the negotiations can begin.”

  “My father would never agree to that,” Devlin protested.

  “Your father had his chance to try another way. It hasn’t worked. Now, regardless of ideology, everyone is assembling under the Earth First banner. I look forward to the day when the officers of the CPF can openly claim us. Until then, all I ask is that you look the other way.”

  “You ask a lot,” Ken said, his voice so low and dangerous, it was almost a growl.

  I swooped in and snatched up the mug of tea from her side. “I think etiquette demands that you leave us while we consider the terms of your blackmail.”

  She pressed her lips together ruefully. “Of course.”

  I showed her to the door.

  + + + +

  I spent a few minutes rechecking the room for surveillance devices. I had faith in Hideo’s sense of hospitality and courtesy, but not hers. “Clear,” I said shortly, and flopped down on the couch. “I told them about the ghost sign. They didn’t believe me.”

  Devlin exhaled and stood up. “Transmitter is ready, receiver is calibrated, extra battery . . .” He gave me a glance; I nodded. “. . . is here. Let’s go. Let’s get as far away as we can, send out a signal, and get some support.”

  Ken kept still in contrast to Devlin’s nervous energy. He quietly asked, “And the shipment? The planned attack?”

  Devlin stood in front of him and spoke just as quietly. “One thing at a time. We’re not the only ones who can stop them. Forget about what she said.”

  “You guys go on without me. Like she said, she has nothing on me, so let me handle it. I need to be sure that Ghosts don’t have a part in this.” I told them what I’d learned from Slate about the composition of nano-ink and my suspicions about the Ghost-led mutiny we’d crushed. “We tell Anais this, he informs the Accordance, and they’ll kill whoever’s involved without asking questions. If the Ghosts are making humans do their dirty work, I have to find a way to stop it. I have to investigate that shipment.”

  “What about you?” Ken demanded. “We saw what Hideo did to you through your nano-ink, and now you’re saying that Ghosts could use it to turn you into some kind of puppet? We’re not leaving you on your own.”

  “We’re sticking together,” Devlin agreed. “You said it yourself, you need us. You can’t do this solo and you don’t have to.”

  I bowed my head, remembering Slate’s words, the look in his eyes. I imagined what it could be like, becoming something you could not depend on. “It could be dangerous,” I admitted reluctantly. “If I can’t trust myself—”

  “Don’t trust yourself, then,” Devlin said. “Trust us. My father once told me that family isn’t who you like, it’s who you trust. We’re family, Amira, and no one can bargain that away, not even you.”

  I glanced at Ken. He had the most to lose. He came up to me, leaned over, and gripped my shoulder, giving me a gentle, reassuring shake. “You heard him. Family.”

  I blinked away the embarrassing moisture that blurred my vision. “Understood. We go together.”

  13

  * * *

  There was one last errand on my list before I could leave New Jacksonville for good. Returning to that bungalow felt like revisiting my friend’s death, but desperation drove me.

  “You came back.”

  His eyes looked a little sad, a little hopeful. However rich the life he lived through his other selves, his own body was doomed to the loneliness of the static life-support machine. I understood that, but I had neither time nor energy to feel sorry for him.

  “I need your help.”

  He put a hand high on the doorjamb and leaned in casually—both resting and posing. I recalled Jasen doing that same lean midway through a workout to draw attention to his abs.

  “What would you like?” he asked calmly.

  “Everything you can give me on 507 and their New York connections and activities. Any reports or rumors of Conglomerate presence on Earth. Techniques to isolate or disable nano-ink.”

  He pursed his lips and gave a slow nod. “Anything else?”

  I stopped and considered, then said slowly, “As much as you’re willing and able to give me.”

  “I’m willing, but you may not be able,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you about indexing fatigue.”

  Another term for input-overload hallucinations. “No. I know about that firsthand.”

  He straightened. “Come in.”

  I followed him into his inner room. I avoided looking at the machines and focused on his face as he settled into his recliner. “How much will this cost me?”

  “You can owe me. I think I’d like that.” He grimaced at my unimpressed glare. “I’m kidding. Call it a gift from an old man who’s done a lot of bad things in the past and wants to do better.”

  “If things go the way I think they will, a lot of people will owe you.”

  “Hm.” His face went pleased and smug all at once. “Never been a hero. That’ll be nice. Now pay attention. I’m giving you three shots of data. The first is about 507 and New York. The second includes the Conglomeration and the nano-ink and some extra stuff I think you might find interesting. The third is entirely miscellaneous information which I hope will be useful to you at some point. That’s as much as I think you can safely take.”

  I started to say something. “I’m not done yet,” he admonished me. “It would take you months to look over all this. I’m also giving you a program and a patch. The program will index everything and alert you when input from your environment cues data in the records. Good for unfamiliar faces or finding a back door quick. It’s challenging, but I think you have the training to handle it. Now, the patch . . . the patch is very important.”

  “What does it do?” I asked, frowning.

  “It’ll make you sleep, and you will need to sleep. Don’t skip this part. I like you and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “How long?”

  “Forty-eight hours or so, not counting food and bathroom breaks. Unless you’d like to stay here and download in comfort. I can hook you up.”

  “Thanks,” I said doubtfully, “but I don’t have time.”

  “Your loss.” A freshly packaged triple shot—three datachips in a neat row—ejected from a nearby console. He took them out, placed a sealed patch on top like a round mini–band aid, and handed it to me. “Shots go in the mouth, patch goes inside your elbow. The patch is a slow time-release, so if you need to be awake, set an alarm, peel it off, and give yourself at least an hour for full recovery. Ten minutes if it’s just a snack or a piss.”

  I took the packet carefully. “Side effects?” I asked.

  “Don’t drink alcohol. Don’t
operate heavy machinery. Hydrate.”

  Gratitude made me take a moment. “Are you going to be okay here?”

  He shrugged. “For now. If things get too exciting, I have other retreat locations. Packing is a drag, but I have the staff support to manage it.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  He smiled. “Anytime.”

  Devlin and Ken were waiting outside in the jeep. I pocketed my information and swung myself into the back. “Let’s go.”

  “We should get to the transmission point in about forty minutes,” Devlin told us.

  “Do you want to take a nap?” Ken asked me worriedly. “I can drive.”

  Devlin’s driving was still a little jerky when he was caught off guard, so I understood the question. I looked up at the starlight. “It’s barely twenty-two hundred. Are you going to mother-hen me all the way to New York?”

  “You said to make sure you slept regularly,” Devlin noted reproachfully.

  The packet felt hot in my hand. “You don’t have to worry about that. I got something from Russo that should help.”

  I briefly told them about the shots and the prescribed sleep. I mentioned how to wake me up in an emergency and we settled on a schedule of breaks during the day and an uninterrupted block of at least eight hours at night. When we reached the transmission point, I slid the first datachip into my mouth, applied the patch to my elbow, and got comfortably comatose in the back.

  The first wake-break was at early dawn the following morning. Devlin gave me a moment, then put a box of juice and a pastry in my hand. I shifted upright and heard a rustling; there were shopping bags wedged all around me.

  “Extra clothes. Rations for the trip,” Devlin explained. “We didn’t want to risk you going hungry. How are you feeling? Any smarter?”

  I made a face at him and removed the emptied datachip from my cheek. “What do you need to know?”

  “Shipment time, route, vehicles in use. Whatever you can give us.”

  I twitched. Each word sparked a strange sensation between memory and déjà vu. I tried to access what I needed, but it blurred and slipped away. “Give me a minute.”

  Devlin settled back with his own box of juice. “The radio transmission went well. Ken picked up an acknowledgement message before we had to shift. We’ll check in later. He thinks it may take them a while to do a full decode. We warned them to look for radio ghost sign.” His face went sour for a moment. “Reported our power armor stolen. Added our speculation about terrorist activity planned for New York.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “We blamed Rai and Earth First for that. We’re not turning in your friends yet.”

  “Yeah, my friends,” I said with slightly weary sarcasm. “They’ll start looking for us soon. The tracking function in the jeep is purposely low-tech to match the design. It’s basically a proximity warning. The moment we go beyond the suburbs of New Jacksonville, it’ll activate.”

  “And the shipment?” Devlin asked me again.

  “Twenty-one hundred. They’re heading north along 301, then diverting to the bypass road that parallels the train route. Three jeeps, one van.”

  “Good!” He jumped up, excited. “I’ll brief Ken. Go back to sleep.”

  Ken supervised the next few breaks, partly because he was catching up on sleep himself after a long night with the radios. By afternoon I’d already absorbed the other two shots, and I was feeling strange. I had no flashbacks or hallucinations, but I had overwhelming anxiety that only calmed down when I reapplied the sedative of the patch. Devlin gave me a few worried looks. Ken said nothing, but before he took his last nap before nighttime, he put the backseat fully down, making space for both of us. We slept back-to-back, and sleep came quickly, aided by his warmth and heartbeat.

  I woke up from that sleep before dawn of the next day. The jeep was on the move, and from the smoothness I thought at first that Ken was driving. I quickly revised my thought—it was the smoothness of a well-maintained road, something that New Jacksonville did not have in abundance, nor the between-cities network, slowly crumbling in favor of the well-maintained, well-monitored railways. I opened my eyes and sat up slightly.

  The driver glanced over his shoulder at me—it was Devlin—and shushed me softly. “Don’t wake Ken. He’s taking over after we pass Charlotte.”

  “What are you doing?” I whispered furiously.

  “Ken’s idea. We timed our departure with the other jeeps, so we look like we’re part of the shipment escort. We think it’s working! Besides, unless the concierge told your friends about the little talk she had with us, they’ll expect us to go south, not north.” He paused. “Anything new?”

  “No,” I grumbled. “Don’t get us caught.”

  “Nah. The road’s busy and I’m keeping my distance.”

  “Good. They’ll have a stop near Richmond. I think it’s one of the Earth First camps, so don’t go wandering in behind them.”

  He didn’t look back again, but I could hear his grin in his voice. “Thank you.”

  “Hear anything new on the radio?”

  His positivity dimmed. “No. We’re well out of range. We’ll report in when we get to New York.”

  Perhaps he said something else, but by then I was asleep again.

  + + + +

  I woke up a couple of hours later in the middle of a tense exchange between Devlin and Ken. “She can’t do this, she needs rest. I can get there, check for our armor, and get back in seconds, and if anyone tries to stop me, you just drive in and distract them.”

  “Like, ram them?” Devlin sounded too eager.

  “No, fool,” Ken said critically. “A sideswipe at most. We’re trying to keep out of trouble.”

  I tried to open my eyes, but in addition to the heaviness, there was a painfully bright light flashing red and bluish-white somewhere on the highway. I tried to speak to Ken, but the passenger door slammed and he was gone.

  “What’s happening?” I groaned. I sat up and slowly peeled away the patch.

  Devlin was startled, but he recovered quickly. “Accident. Doesn’t look serious, but traffic’s backed up.”

  “I mean Ken. Where is he going?” I blinked, finally managed to focus, and raised my voice suddenly. “Why has he got Bugkiller?”

  “Quiet,” Devlin said. “He’s going to check out the van.”

  Ken wasn’t the only one walking on the road. Others had left their vehicles to get closer and see what was causing the blockage. I fumbled to get my door open. “No, not the van. Van’s a decoy. Second and third jeep.”

  “Shit. I’ll go get him.” He hopped out of the jeep before I could open my mouth to protest and sprinted ahead to yank Ken to the side of the road, which was dark and shaggy with overgrown brush. Between the flashing lights and other people moving about, I soon lost sight of them.

  They weren’t hard to miss when they came back. They were running with three other figures chasing on their heels. Devlin reached the jeep first, jumped in, and started to shift gears before the door was fully closed. Ken slowed to sweep a wide pulse at them, as if killing crickets, then made a mighty sprint to get in the passenger side before Devlin reversed at speed down the empty shoulder of the highway.

  “The hell?” I said inarticulately.

  “Not now,  Amira! Give us an escape, a side road, anything!”

  I glanced around, quickly estimating our location from the signage I could see. “Access road, five . . . six hundred meters back. Faster if we jump the ditch about—now!”

  Devlin reacted instantly. I was beginning to realize that his style of driving was naturally combat-oriented. We sailed a short distance, struck earth hard and aslant, and then the tires gripped and we were gone, flying down a nearly empty lane on the edge of a half-abandoned town.

  “What just happened?” I shouted at the front of the jeep. “Hand over my EPC!”

  Ken handed it clumsily back to me. “Sorry. At least I took out their comms for a while.”

  “What were you two do
ing?”

  “We thought we might have a chance to grab our armor,” Devlin answered testily. “I feel naked out here.”

  “The jeeps don’t have our armor. They’re carrying bombs,” Ken said tersely. Devlin nodded, his face grim. “Biological bombs,” Ken clarified. Devlin’s head whipped around and he stared at Ken in shock. Ken put a steadying hand on the steering wheel as the jeep veered.

  “Slow down,” I said, not sure which one of them I was talking to. “You saw actual bio-bombs being transported in those jeeps? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I looked at everything to do with that case, every document, every report. If I can remember the names and faces of each and every one of the CPF personnel who were executed when the bombs went missing, I can sure as hell remember what those damn bombs look like.”

  “I don’t know. . . . I imagined they’d be . . . bigger, or . . . spiky or something,” Devlin said softly.

  “No,” Ken said. “Relatively small and extremely well designed.”

  “How many did you see?” I asked.

  Ken shrugged. “We didn’t have time to count. Maybe two in that one jeep?”

  I thought and calculated. Two bombs per jeep, six in total. “That’s nowhere near enough to wipe out Earth. It’s supposed to be a symbolic strike against the Accordance. Central Park for sure. Where else would you choose? Newark?”

  “You don’t know?” Devlin almost yelled.

  “I’m still indexing!” I yelled back. “Besides, the exact locations of their targets might be a little more classified than the number of jeeps they’re using!”

  Ken interrupted our squabble. “We can’t count on just six, and we can’t count on it being symbolic. What if Ghosts have tricked the Earth First leaders into using these particular bombs instead of human weapons? Maybe they have no idea how dangerous they are.”

  I shook my head. “They hate alien tech like it’s their religion. If they’re using bio-bombs, it has to be because humans haven’t developed an equivalent weapon.”

  “This is beyond us,” Devlin stated. “We send a full report to New York as soon as possible, get backup, and let the colonels and generals take over and earn their pay.”