Jupiter Rising

by Zachary Brown

  Devlin gave me a smug “I told you so” look.

  I raised my hands. “No, but seriously, did you guys really think I was going to put myself under CPF control? Ken, I’ve sent the key for my band to your private contact. Devlin, I’ve given you a backup in case Ken can’t reach me for some reason. The band won’t respond to the standard restraint codes, so keep those keys safe because they’re the only way to take me down if I go rogue.”

  Before they could argue, Buchanan walked in with Ikvar. She sat at the head of the table and Ikvar sat beside me. “First run of the reclamation protocol has been completed. I’ve seen the footage, but before I say anything—Ms. Singh, why did you transfer command and leave early?”

  “I had reason to believe that I might be compromised and went immediately to sickbay to review my medical data,” I explained.

  “I see,” Buchanan said. “Are you?”

  “Apparently not, but precautions have been taken.”

  She eyed the band. “I am aware of some of those precautions. Ms. Singh, can you tell me why the code for the band on your wrist does not appear on my list of detainees? Do you perchance have other precautions in place that are not mere theater?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I replied. I admired her wording. She had said just enough and framed it with plenty of wiggle room for both of us in case of any future inquiries.

  “Splendid. Based on information from Commander Ivchenko, I have decided to proceed with the protocol as follows. The commander is granting us a detachment of medics and officers to train for our next encounter. A small contingent of our medics led by Subcommander Ikvar will join Ivchenko’s crew on a mission to secure Ceres. Ikvar will remain on Ceres to establish and maintain a medical base to screen, clean, and band humans as required. Ivchenko will divert to encounter the nearest CPF or civilian transport in the vicinity and begin the process anew.”

  I really admired how she’d taken hold of the word “encounter.” Friendly meeting or military engagement—let the Accordance propagandists decide.

  Buchanan leaned forward and addressed me. “I heard about your theory that Ghost infiltration started in the mining communities. If you’re right, we have to screen every human in the asteroid belt, no matter how long it takes.”

  Ikvar nodded in agreement. “With respect, until that is done it will be hard for any of us to trust a human face.”

  Ken frowned. “Are you saying you want us to do what the Arvani are doing for Earth and the Moon? Register and record every human and monitor their movements?”

  “I don’t believe it will come to that,” Buchanan said evenly. “Awareness and regular screening should be enough to protect the smaller space communities. The banding is only a temporary measure for declared dissidents and any who demonstrate unclear loyalties.”

  Ken looked doubtful. I stiffened slightly but kept my expression blank. Neither of us said anything. Devlin stared at the major, so obviously radiating attention and obedience that it almost made things worse.

  “Our next encounter,” Buchanan continued, raising her voice slightly and closing off the previous topic. “Another troopship, but this one has a much higher probability of Earth First infiltration. As for Ghosts, that remains to be seen. Ms. Singh, can I count on you to identify the dissidents and get the information we need to find the lead ship? Now that you have taken precautions, there should be no need for you to abandon your post midmission.”

  Ouch. The only real difference between sergeant and consultant was that the reprimands were delivered with pointed politeness and no swearing. I preferred the swearing. “Of course, Major Buchanan,” I said.

  + + + +

  There was time for me to deal with my distrust of power armor. I enlisted Ken and Devlin’s help and they practiced being my puppets in one of the holds where we wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “I thought you would bring Hideo in,” Devlin said at one point.

  “He’s the source of most of our problems. I don’t want him around when I find the solutions. He’s not getting any information out of me again. Ever.”

  “Okay,” Devlin said. “Can you unlock my leg now? It’s going numb.”

  I froze and unfroze them both several times, did some recalibrating, and then finally managed to fail to freeze them. I grinned. “Got it.”

  “Cool! What was it?” Devlin asked.

  “Hideo got hold of the codes for training mode, probably via Russo, but that’s not enough, because the codes are changed regularly. He must have worked out the algorithm for how they’re cycled. I increased the change frequency for your suits and I’ll do the same for mine.”

  “Good,” Ken said. “I’m not comfortable with you going into a space battle without armor.”

  “Speaking of armor,” Devlin said, “can you tell us about this?” He waved his hand at my new accessories.

  I opened my mouth to explain, hesitated, then pressed on. “One useful idea from Hideo. The mesh shields my ink from EMP attack and data theft. Might also hide me from Ghosts. I’m not sure about that, but I guess I’ll find out soon.”

  “Looks snazzy,” Ken teased.

  I shrugged, but I was secretly pleased. They were kind of snazzy. The arm protectors, which covered from wrist to bicep, were constructed from fine mesh lined with black spidersilk. The latter had taken a good chunk out of my credit, but to my surprise and joy, my consultant’s wages were up to the task. I decided to show off a little.

  “The hood does this—which is kind of helpful now that my hair tangles so easily without the tech overlay.”

  Taking hold of the cowl around my neck, I stretched the back edge over my head and down to my forehead and the front edge up and over my chin and mouth. All nano-ink was covered except my eyes. I felt like a superhero. I didn’t want to look at a camera image to confirm. The feeling was enough, and the boys cheered for me like it was true.

  There was another bit of shielding, the patch tied over my bandaged, slowly healing wound, but I didn’t feel like showing that off.

  Mastering both the power armor and shielding issues made me more cheerful than I’d felt in weeks . . . months! It was the best stress-reliever I could hope for since there was no bar on the courier beyond the major’s private cabinet for diplomatic occasions. I wondered if she had anything special to break out when we’d successfully completed our mission.

  In an uncanny echo of my thoughts, Devlin got a call from Buchanan. He left the hold briskly while Ken and I followed at a slower pace. Ken paused by the open door and looked back at me. He’d retracted his helmet, so I could clearly see that his expression was very worried.

  I stopped next to him. “What’s wrong, Ken?”

  “I . . . uh . . . can’t help but notice that you gave me the primary key and Devlin the backup.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said. I had no idea where he was going with this.

  “Then whatever happens here, whether we win or lose, I think I should stick with you.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Ken, I didn’t give you the key to obligate you. We can always find a way around that. I don’t know where I might end up, but it might not be in the CPF—and I know how important the CPF is to you and your family.”

  “Yes. But now I’m wondering whether the CPF is where I should be. It isn’t what I expected it to be, and it won’t become what I hoped it could be. Not yet, not for a long while.”

  I was struck by his seriousness. “Are you telling me you’re going to ditch the CPF and everything you’ve been working for? The equal pay, the full citizenship—you’re going to walk away from that fight?” I knew my words were provocative, but I needed to be sure he’d thought it through.

  “It’s not a fight when you don’t even have the power to negotiate,” he said. “Hideo Pereira is a misguided son of a bitch, but he’s got one thing right. The Accordance won’t take us seriously unless we’re an established, independent space power.”

  I raised my hands. “Whoa, whoa, hold up there. Are
you saying you expect me to continue what Hideo screwed up? Launch the Ships of the Manhattan Resistance into space?”

  He only smiled. “I think you’re capable of many amazing things, but one step at a time, Amira. Don’t worry about that yet.”

  The smile abruptly dropped away and his face changed to an expression of self-loathing. “You should hate me, like Devlin did at the start. I started off with one set of loyalties, and here I am, thinking about shifting again. How can I ask you to depend on me when I can barely trust myself ?”

  Shaking my head, I replied with confidence, “Your motives never changed. You’ve always wanted justice for the oppressed, a voice for the silenced. Your methods, your allies, those all changed but that’s never changed. I respect you for that, Ken Awojobi.”

  For one scary moment I thought he was getting choked up, but he got control over himself, cleared his throat, and gathered me up in a careful hug. My mesh-clad arms screeched slightly against his armor and we both laughed.

  We were in our quarters when Devlin walked in after his meeting with Buchanan. His face was enough warning that trouble was back on our menu.

  “Well,” he said, “shit just hit the fan back on Earth. The Accordance is now officially aware of our mission, by which I mean the Arvani finally got their act together.”

  “Why didn’t Buchanan call us all in?” Ken demanded. “If this is going to impact the mission—”

  Devlin looked away uneasily. “She had her reasons.” He sat down on his bunk, braced his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands. “Our alliance with the struthiforms is a complication they didn’t expect, so they’re trying something a little different. They’re offering full Accordance citizenship to the CPF officers involved. Gerrard, Anais, Buchanan . . . me. That’s it.”

  He was looking at Ken almost apologetically. It was a painful irony that the two had come from opposite sides, traveled from enemies to friends to brothers, and yet along that journey, Devlin had managed to overshadow Ken in everything that Ken wanted—rank, fame, and now full recognition from the Accordance.

  I spoke to break the tension. “They’re trying to save face and make it look like they were in charge all along. What does Buchanan think of the offer? Is she going to accept it for herself ?”

  Devlin shook her head. “She wouldn’t say. She told me there were benefits and drawbacks and she believed I was smart enough to figure them out for myself.”

  “Take it,” Ken said.

  “Wha—” Devlin’s mouth opened and closed before he could find enough breath to say weakly, “You can’t be serious.”

  “Full citizenship for a human? Deadly serious. Be a citizen. Be an Accordance captain, not a client CPF client captain. Set a precedent. They do it once for you, they’ll do it again for others.”

  “But at what cost? Everything my father worked for, subverted, and twisted to prop up the Accordance? I can’t do it. It’s bad enough that I wear this uniform. I can’t do that to him. The last thing he told me . . . he said ‘stay human.’ If I do this willingly, he’ll never understand. He’ll think I’ve given up.”

  Ken’s mouth twisted into a pained smile. “I know how you feel. If my family knew what I was thinking now, they’d say I was betraying everything we stood for.”

  “How long do you have to decide?” I asked Devlin.

  He shrugged. “Buchanan didn’t say. I don’t think Anais and Gerrard are in a position to refuse up at Empire State, but maybe I could stall until this mission is over. Who knows, if I screw up badly enough, they might retract the offer.”

  I gave him a glare for even suggesting such a thing. “Try to see the bigger picture, Devlin. We really, really want this mission to go well.”

  “Yeah . . . sorry. Got a little carried away.”

  The room went silent I looked at them. Devlin brooded with head down. Ken stared blankly at the wall. We’d been happy just forty minutes earlier. I really wanted a drink.

  20

  * * *

  Ten minutes into stage two and we were already running for our lives.

  “Devlin, there’s a service corridor . . . nearest entrance about fifty meters aft of your location. See if you and your squad can squeeze into it.”

  “Seen,” he answered, terse and out of breath. “Yes, we’re in.”

  “Good. Ken, is the bridge secure?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “Tell the enviro-technical officer to stand by to seal doors 5-12 and 6-12 and cut oxygen supply between them. On my command.”

  I kept running. Fortunately, ballistic weapons were not used on troopships. That was planetside weaponry, with lots of gravity and room for things to behave as expected. Unfortunately, someone had a small but powerful laser. I ran as hard as I could, grateful as hell for my solid, dependable power armor.

  I reached 6-12 and dived through. “Now,” I yelled. I enjoyed the percussion that followed. First, like a complex triple tap, 5-12 slammed shut, 6-12 followed, and I tumbled to the ground and slid hard against the wall. Then the sound of bodies slamming into the closed door, unable to stop or slow down in time. Finally, a gentle background hiss for the dominant theme of those same bodies falling to the floor unconscious.

  My enjoyment faded. There was one drum out of step, a persistent banging on 6-12 long after the initial series of floor thumps and well after the hissing of the gas died away.

  “Ken, Devlin? Problem. We have a Ghost.”

  I had tried to be careful about showing off my knowledge of access codes, especially for a mission that involved us taking over the ships of our own military, albeit for good cause. But this time I didn’t hesitate to seize control of a camera and broadcast the images to the bridge as proof that our actions were completely necessary.

  A man, or what appeared to be a man, stood on the other side of door 6-12, banging on the metal with both fists . . . and denting it, too. Behind him, about five humans sprawled in blissful oblivion. It was pretty clear that one of those things was not like the others. The truly painful thing was that he was wearing CPF grays.

  “Ken, get them to find out who he is impersonating and how and when the switch was made. There’s no way he went through base training on Earth or the Moon without attracting attention.”

  “On it,” Ken said.

  I got up, metaphorically brushed myself off, and leaned my right hand on door 6-12. “Ken, ask the ETO to open 6-12 on my command.”

  “Wait, what?” Devlin cut in. “I’m on my way, Amira. Give me two minutes.”

  “No time. I’ve killed four Ghosts without benefit of power armor. With power armor? Shouldn’t be too hard. And . . . now!”

  The door slid open far more slowly than it had closed, giving the Ghost time to seize the edge and rip the entire panel away. Bugkiller rode across my chest, pulsing out a steady wave of selective pain and destruction, and the Ghost wasn’t expecting it at such close quarters. He staggered back. I braced my hands on either side of the doorway and planted both feet hard in his sternum. He flew down the corridor and hit door 5-12 solidly.

  “Try to take one alive,” Buchanan had told me before we boarded. I was wondering as I moved forward what could possibly incapacitate a Ghost. Lack of oxygen did nothing, and all my previous engagements with them suggested you had to pretty much kill them to stop them, and even then they’d be punching out their death throes.

  I did the only thing I could think of—put Bugkiller on high, focused blast and pointed it directly at the Ghost’s head.

  I cut my helmet’s audio to the outside to block the screaming, but I was forced to watch the writhing and the convulsions. My skin prickled in sympathy, remembering the burning agony of electromagnetic pulse against unshielded nano-ink.

  “Amira? Did you get it?” Devlin voice came through on my private channel.

  “Uh . . . yeah. Send a couple of medics to my location.” I came closer to the Ghost’s curled-up body, taking care not to step in the blood, and snapped a set of old-fash
ioned metal cuffs on its ankles and wrists. I found the laser clipped to his belt—an engineering tool modified for use in combat—and attached it to Bugkiller’s sling instead.

  I backed away, carefully keeping my eye on the Ghost in case it found a second wind, and startled the bejeezus out of myself by bumping into Devlin.

  “I’m here,” he said unnecessarily. “How did it go?”

  “It’s still alive, but I don’t know for how long. I’m experimenting with what Bugkiller can do, but I haven’t had time to test it scientifically.”

  There was an awkward silence during which I realized Devlin was giving me a very strange, almost fearful look. “Oh, come on, Devlin. Scientific doesn’t mean using human or even Ghost test subjects. There are tons of biosimulations that will give me the information I need.”

  We stepped aside and let the medics carry the Ghost away, doubly restrained to a stretcher. One medic stayed behind with oxygen to help the rest of the slowly reviving crew. We both retracted our helmets and Devlin dispatched his squad to sickbay to help the medics finish off stage two.

  On the way back to the bridge, Devlin said, “I still don’t get it. I remember when some of your tats got burned out by electromagnetic pulse on the Moon.”

  “Yeah. Those were done with standard civilian nano-ink. I had them retouched afterwards with hardened nano-ink.”

  “All right, I think I remember, but tell me again what that means.”

  “Hardened nano-ink is usually either military nano-ink, which contains Arvani ink, or bootleg nano-ink, which contains squid ink. Unfortunately, the bootleg version swaps the synthesized Ghost neuromelanin in military nano-ink for the real stuff. Using human neuromelanin alone, like in standard civilian nano-ink, wouldn’t work for reasons that are too long to explain right now.”

  “So, if Ghost neuromelanin is used to make hardened nano-ink, then a Ghost is like . . . a massive walking nano-ink tattoo?”

  “Sort of, yeah. But lacking squid or Arvani ink, so still vulnerable to EMP and other kinds of attack.”