Jupiter Rising

by Zachary Brown

  “Poor Rai,” I murmured. “It was only a matter of time.”

  “Execution by suicide mission?” Lang asked shakily.

  I thought about Hideo’s words to Rai. This changes nothing, Mawusi. The numbers don’t lie. “I think so,” I said. It was one of the harsher traditions of the Manhattan Resistance, and I’d seen it continue in some of the Ships as well.

  The weak stim pills from the drugstore were already wearing off, but I forced myself to pick up the pace. We went through neighborhoods that had already been tagged, and the sprinkling of orange discs looked like a blight. I knew the tags were part of the surveillance network the Accordance was rolling out over Manhattan to flush out the Conglomeration and keep closer watch on human activity. I knew they also worked well as visual propaganda, an obvious “we are watching” that would be both psychologically and technologically effective. As we passed streets with increasingly more aliens and fewer humans, I couldn’t help but notice that there were no humans at all among the Accordance soldiers. I glanced up and realized that the airspace was clearer, but now it was all military hoppers and jumpships.

  Lang read my thoughts from the direction of my frowns. “Uh-huh. Looks like another Manhattan siege, but this time, the aliens are on the inside.”

  16

  * * *

  Devlin ticked off his points finger by finger. “Attacks on training bases, several resistance movements joining Earth First, and most of all, Ghosts sighted in Manhattan—”

  “Most of all,” Ken repeated dryly. He was sitting on my right, Devlin on my left, both trying to sit comfortably on the too-soft bed. They didn’t have a choice. Lang’s bedroom was pretty much mattress-sized, and the tiny living room/kitchenette was at capacity with two unoccupied suits of power armor. Their weapons lay at the foot of the bed along with a thoroughly cleaned Bugkiller. Lang stood in the doorway of the bedroom, supposedly on guard, but also partly listening and partly admiring the boys in their underthings.

  “All reasons for what’s happening now. It’s not just a curfew and more surveillance. They’re shutting down Orlando and merging it into Empire State. More Accordance troops are being flown in via God knows where because they’re not telling us—”

  “They’re not even telling Anais. He is pissed—”

  “—and when I start feeling sorry for Anais, it means the times are dark indeed.” Devlin exhaled sharply, paused for a moment of contemplation, then looked back at me worriedly. “Have you slept?”

  I waved a reassuring hand at him. “Shower, clean clothes, and nap all managed, thanks to Lang and her friends. Don’t worry about me. What about you? Are you even allowed to be out?”

  “In power armor, yes,” Devlin said. “Rank has its privileges.”

  Ken made a rude noise.

  “We have yet to see a Ghost in Accordance power armor,” Devlin insisted. “So, yes, being of the rank and training that permits the use of power armor is a privilege.”

  “Anais miss me yet?” I asked cheekily.

  “Anais is busy being the buffer for a lot of shit being thrown our way,” Ken said soberly. “The CPF may notice you’re AWOL after they’re done reprocessing everyone, but for now, you’re safe. Anais has better things to do than be petty about you.”

  I gave him a surprised look. He sounded really stressed. He met my gaze and sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been working with him, trying to see if there are any other incidences of lost or stolen materiel that might prove we have a serious Ghost infiltration on our hands. Anais, Gerrard, there’s a group of them that have been covering for us for a good while now. The bio-bombs were too big a deal not to be noticed, but . . .”

  Devlin picked up the story. “The concierge wasn’t bluffing. I’m really not sure about Anais, but I think there are a few officers in the CPF who have some kind of connection to Earth First. It might be as slight as mild sympathy, or we might have a general who’s a full Earth First spy.”

  “Is that good news or bad news?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Yesterday, I would have said bad. Today? The most I can manage is a ‘maybe.’ You see, if there are Earth First plants in the CPF, then why didn’t they warn them about the bio-bombs? Why didn’t they warn them about the Ghosts?”

  I lay still, feeling my mind spark with little connecting pieces of information. There was a subtlety to the indexing program that I was just beginning to notice now that I’d finally completed the prescribed sleep cycles. Even ordinary conversation provided it with enough cues to curate relevant information and set it to the side of my consciousness for me to dip into without distraction.

  “The CPF has known about the Ghosts since we encountered them on Icarus,” I said. “I bet Earth First has been aware for a while. The discovery about Ghost neuromelanin in bootleg tattoos was made around the same time, so that’s when the backlash against alien tech began. The bio-bombs were first used on Titan. That was only a couple of months ago, and although everyone now knows what they can do, few people know what the bombs look like. That’s one of the reasons the Accordance was so quick to execute that many staff when they went missing.”

  I sat up and started to talk faster as the pieces fit together in my brain. “I don’t think we have a serious Ghost infiltration on Earth. I don’t even think we have one in the CPF. Remember the ghost sign in New Jacksonville? That radio signal could be picked up anywhere, another continent, even the Moon and beyond. It doesn’t mean the Ghosts are here.

  “We need to look at nonmilitary organizations that have a presence in space. Mining companies, research institutes, engineering consultants—they don’t have the specialized tech and the ingrained paranoia to look out for ghost sign like we do. Michael Slate was an example of an early, crude takeover, but remember good old Chris, who was working beside those engineers and saving lives and making friends? I bet there are plenty of other crews who have a mate like that—never encountered on Earth before or after the job, just turns up one day and fits right in.”

  “And then, even though they don’t go back to Earth, the ones that they subvert do,” Devlin said.

  “Exactly. And I’m noticing a trend. Small group, high-risk environment where trust and bonding are part of survival, low-security location where it’s easy to appear and disappear. Ghosts can’t operate in New York. Huge, settled population, constantly tracked and monitored with every food purchase, every residential rental—they’d stand out.”

  “But Amira,” Ken said slowly, “what about the Ghosts we fought?”

  I said nothing at first. My mind was replaying my conversation with the Ghost and highlighting the things I did not want to hear. “They’re not based here. They weren’t trained to blend in.” My mouth went dry. “Ken, what happens when a single bio-bomb goes off, like at Newark?”

  Ken watched me closely. “The area is dead, like a blast zone without the physical damage, but it will recover. I’m not sure of the time frame. Months. Maybe years.”

  “The last Ghost I fought told me we will have our breeding hives. Is that how it starts? Sterilize and seal the area, then bring in what you want?”

  His eyes widened. “Planetwide eradication of life depends on the chain reaction of several bio-bombs with overlapping destruction ranges. Space them out well enough . . . and yes, a bio-bomb is only a sterilization tool.”

  “The Ghosts are exploiting the situation,” Devlin guessed. “It doesn’t matter whether or not they led Earth First to the bombs. All they had to do was make sure they had control over the target locations so they could take advantage of the aftermath.”

  “Because their influence, even over someone like Slate, is not total. We saw those engineers. Even a Ghost couldn’t make them go against their natures. They persuade, they manipulate, they lie, but they can’t compel.” I found that comforting, but then my cynical side silently warned me not to get complacent.

  Ken looked at Devlin and tapped his wrist. “Time.”

  Devlin stood up. “We gotta go. Anais want
s us at a meeting.”

  “This late?” I asked.

  “It’s been tomorrow in Shanghai for a while,” Ken pointed out.

  Shanghai. That city was almost entirely Arvani, the Miami of the east. It hadn’t been an Earth First target . . . probably too difficult to smuggle in a bio-bomb. According to the newsfeeds, Beijing hadn’t been so lucky. A large chunk of their Accordance enclave was gone for good.

  Lang helped Ken and Devlin suit up without shattering her aged chipboard furniture and maneuvered them with care and patience, one at a time, out of the front door. I left the bedroom, got myself a drink from Lang’s small fridge, and stood in the cool breeze from the window. The weather wasn’t all that warm, but four human bodies and two suits of power armor could be a tad overpowering in a small space.

  “It’s only ten thirty,” Lang said. “Do you want to go out? I thought you might like to meet some of my Ship mates, or if you want to meet up with people you know, that’s cool too.”

  She was enthusiastic and awake and so completely unconcerned about any Accordance-enforced curfew that I was sorry to disappoint her. “Since I got drafted into the CPF, I’ve tried to keep face-to-face contact with my old Ship mates to a minimum. I’m sure you can understand why.”

  “Oh, yeah, I understand.”

  She didn’t really, because I didn’t tell her. After Icarus, I went briefly AWOL in New Haven, hoping to slot back into my old networks. The timing was bad. The news of the Conglomerate attack was all over the feeds, and though I was still anonymous to the public (Anais never liked using me for PR, sensible man), I was too well-known as a soldier to be welcome. I paid a few courtesy visits, bartered some useful information, and limped back to the CPF. Post-Titan was much worse because I couldn’t avoid getting caught up in the PR machine, but I suppose something in me still hoped, which was how I ended up searching for Ship 503 in my spare time.

  Being in Manhattan where the Ships first began was like coming home, but with all the upheaval and shifting loyalties, I just didn’t want to push my luck.

  I silently finished my drink, gathered up my courage, and spoke in a quieter, more formal tone. “I’m sorry about your Ship mate. Sorry we couldn’t save him back there.”

  “Oh. It’s all right.” She laughed mockingly at her own words. “I mean, of course it’s not all right, but . . . he’s not the first, and he won’t be the last, y’know?”

  I was about to ask his name, but she went suddenly tense, staring at the curtain as it moved in the slight breeze. I instinctively put down the glass and picked up a kitchen knife. She pulled a gun from her belt, and I felt a lot less guilty when I saw it was a newer, better model than the one she’d given me, the one I’d thrown away.

  “Get off the fire escape,” she ordered the half-open window. “They’ll shoot you out there and I’ll shoot you in here. Choose!”

  The would-be intruder cautiously nudged his way past the curtain with his hands up. Hideo. In Manhattan. With his fucking coat and all.

  “Fuck! You!” I shouted. I threw the knife—not at his head like I really wanted to, but hard into the nearby kitchen sink.

  “Is it a Ghost?” Lang yelped, aiming her gun steadily at his head.

  “No, just a damn fool traitor,” I snapped.

  Hideo kept his hands up and nodded slowly. “I deserve that. Part of it. Not the traitor part. I may have miscalculated somewhat. Missing variables will do that to you.”

  “Lang, I take it back. I’d love to meet up with your Ship mates. I remember O’Connell—he’s fairly high up in the ranks now, isn’t he? He can authorize this moron’s execution. I’d do it myself, but I wouldn’t want to rob you guys of the pleasure.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” Hideo said gravely. “I’m afraid this isn’t over yet.”

  I dragged my hands over my face, spun around, kicked the wall a couple of times to release my growing desire to punch him, and turned to him again. “What have you done?” I asked him quietly.

  “I know where the rest of the bio-bombs are set.”

  I froze. Staring at the wall, I scanned the information. The Accordance had never revealed how many of the bombs went missing. I had accounted for thirty on Earth, nine of which exploded on time and on target in spite of our best efforts, and twenty-one that had been seized and secured and were now on their way off-planet once more. I hoped.

  “How many bombs came to Earth, Hideo?” I queried politely.

  “Thirty.”

  I breathed again in relief. Two seconds—then another thought choked the breath in my throat. “How many bombs were stolen from the Accordance?” I whispered.

  “Three hundred,” he admitted. “Two hundred and seventy bombs never came to Earth. They were kept off-planet, closer to their final destination.”

  “Which is?” I pressed him.

  “The Jupiter front. Io, Ganymede, Callisto, Europa, and all free-floating structures and battleships in the area.”

  “That’s all that stands between us and the Conglomeration. Why would you even think to do that?” Lang said. Her voice shook, but her hands didn’t, and the gun was still aimed at his head.

  “We didn’t. It was meant as a bluff, the real opener to negotiations. The first stage was to prove we had them and we were prepared to used them. The second stage was never meant to be more than a threat to hold their attention.”

  “Oh, Hideo,” I said. “I do believe you will have their complete attention on this.”

  “I don’t blame you for hating me, Amira, but you owe me too.” Two feet from a bullet and he was still cocky as hell.

  “How do you figure that?” I sneered at him.

  He slowly reached out a finger and touched my clean, natural hair. “You freed yourself. You listened to me.”

  He was so full of it. I owed more to Slate and Russo and even the Ghosts that chased me. I began to tell him so, but he cut me off.

  “And you still need me, at least until all those missing bio-bombs are tracked down and made safe.”

  I gritted my teeth and breathed deeply. “Lang?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the crisp reply.

  “You seemed very comfortable about breaking curfew just now. How quickly can we get this joker to Empire State?”

  “Half an hour if he cooperates. An hour if he doesn’t. There are a couple of abandoned walkways between here and there, so we won’t be on the streets for long.”

  “Hear that, Hideo? Cooperate.”

  I switched on the comm and called up both Devlin and Ken on a private channel. Ken answered quickly in a hushed voice. “Amira, is everything all right? This isn’t a good time.”

  “Hideo,” I answered in a flat tone.

  “Here?”

  “With me, here, right now. And it gets worse.” I told him quickly about the location of the rest of the missing bio-bombs.

  Several long seconds passed before Ken spoke again. “A little context. Devlin and I are at a briefing with Anais and General Gerrard. We are about to go into a teleconference to convince a bunch of scared Arvani that disbanding the CPF and processing all humans into vast internment camps is, in fact, not the best way to deal with the Ghost problem.”

  My only reply to that was a long exhale.

  “I have to tell them,” Ken said. “I have to tell them right now.”

  “Of course. And I’m bringing Hideo in.”

  “Good. We may need a bargaining chip.”

  There was one more thing I had to do. I dropped an invitation message at JP’s contact codename. I didn’t have long to wait before my comm buzzed with an incoming.

  “You’re still alive.”  The relief in JP’s voice was flattering.

  “Trying to stay that way. I wanted to let you know that your old boss is here in front of me.”

  She hissed out a breath. “Is he, now. I hadn’t heard from him, but I thank him for that. The last thing we need is to be tied to his failure. We’ll have to stay peaceful and polite for a while to build bac
k some cred. We lost a lot of good people on his gamble.”

  I thought about Slate. “I’m sorry, JP. What can you tell me that won’t shock any eavesdropping grandmas?” I wasn’t sure how much she’d been able to do about the Conglomerate surveillance in New Jacksonville.

  She sighed. “Not much. Our mutual friend already gave you all the good stuff. I’ll try to send along what I can via one of his more mobile seconds. It may take a little time.”

  “I appreciate it. Stay safe.” I broke the connection and reflected for a moment before speaking. “Lang, I know about the walkways. I can get to Empire State. This might be a good time for you to bow out if you want to.”

  Lang shook her head, still concentrating on keeping Hideo within her sights. “I’m kind of interested in seeing where this goes.” She flashed me a quick, challenging glance. “If you don’t think I’ll be in your way, that is.”

  I smiled and allowed myself to feel a tiny bit of optimism. “Not at all.”

  + + + +

  I remembered the networks of old walkways very well. Most had been closed long before the Accordance came. Many did not survive the Arvani’s aggressive aquaforming of Lower Manhattan. Naturally, we avoided the sewers. The Arvani had constructed their own underwater pathways, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t run into a rogue Arvani hunting an illegal trophy of human bones.

  Some of the streets had utility tunnels below, narrow but passable. Some didn’t, forcing us to cross aboveground with the help of my enhanced vision and Lang’s knowledge of where surveillance lapsed and the line of sight failed. Hideo shut up and followed our mute signals with the obedience of sensible self-preservation. We counted four squads of curfew enforcers on our way, most of them struthiforms, all of them armed and jittery.

  The fourth group kept us pinned down behind a dumpster for several minutes while they waited as one of them fussed over an energy rifle. I breathed deeply and quietly, forcing myself to be patient as I listened to their voices chirping and clicking without benefit of translation collar.

  Then I frowned. Something floated into my consciousness like an auditory hallucination, a low, tired grumble.