Carbon Run (Tales From A Warming Planet Book 2)

by J. G. Follansbee

  The AI voice came through the console. “Security drone number two is no longer responding. I have also detected insertions of viruses into the data storage systems.”

  “What are the viruses looking for?” Nordland said.

  “Ship’s schematics and blueprints.”

  “Navcom, Security Condition Two.” The captain didn’t wait for Nordland’s suggestion. A pleasant, if urgent, alarm sounded over the ship’s public address system. The voice was male and commanding, repeating: “All passengers return to their cabins immediately.”

  Molly’s apprehension intensified as Nordland took her by the elbow to the stairs. “The elevators shut down in this situation. We’re in danger here, Molly. The AI security bots can handle things, and we should get to safety on the lower decks.”

  As the pair reached the door to the stairwell, the sea around Aurora boiled. Two submersibles emerged from the water and accelerated toward Aurora, skipping over the waves like flying fish.

  Nordland was alarmed. “Security Condition Three!”

  The officer repeated the order, and the helmsman took a station near the captain, leaving the helm for the nav AI. Aurora was dead in the water, the proverbial sitting duck. The crewman’s hands flew over the consoles, abandoning the slow back and forth of voice commands. The bridge, located near the stern, gave an unobstructed view over the entire length of Aurora, and Molly saw two pods emerge from the deck amidships. The pods bristled with antenna and missiles.

  “Aurora is armed?” Astonished, Molly pulled away from Nordland. “She’s a passenger liner.”

  Nordland’s eyes were hard. “The Arctic is a dangerous place. The war may be over, but battles are still fought in the Wild North. Only a fool would walk into a crime-ridden neighborhood unarmed.”

  Molly watched a missile launch from one of Aurora’s pods, but she didn’t have a chance to see its effect. Nordland pushed her through the door to the stairwell, and he followed. They scrambled down the stairs, Molly thanking the heavens for wearing flat-soled shoes. As the door latched behind the pair, an explosion shook Aurora’s command deck, and Molly glimpsed the reflected orange glare of flames on the walls. The lamps dimmed. Nordland and Molly found themselves blind. The emergency lighting came on, changing every color to blood red. Screams, muffled by the carbon fiber walls, drove the couple to the promenade deck, where they emerged near the casino.

  Passengers ran past them toward the stern carrying luggage, as if frantic to catch another ship. The ship’s com network was overwhelmed with messages as friends, lovers, and family tried to locate one another. A text came through from Ginny Magante: Smoke is filling up the passageways. I’m fine. Take care of yourself. A security bot fired two shots from its staser before the mechanical beast exploded into a thousand pieces. A kiosk announcing the evening’s floor show disintegrated as a projectile blew it into shrapnel. Molly and Nordland ducked behind a sofa and fell to the floor. The armored legs of a biped robot were followed by two pairs of black-booted human legs. The humans shouted and another explosion rocked the lobby. One of the humans fell to the floor, headless.

  Nordland tugged at Molly’s dress. He pointed to a darkened passage. They crawled over the all-weather carpet and got to their feet, racing athwart Aurora to a companionway that ran the entire length of the ship. They collided with other passengers, but Nordland pushed against the tide.

  “Where are we going?” Molly demanded.

  “The first-class observation lounge,” he yelled over the pandemonium. “It’s armored.”

  They hugged the wall as if it were the bank of a raging river, and the water was the panicked passengers. Molly had never encountered pirates at sea, but curiosity in her first years under sail led her to the back alleys and wharfside taverns in ports from the Barents Sea to the Southern Ocean. She met disidentified, scarified, deformed, limbless, sociopathic men and women who answered her queries as to their living with “independent entrepreneur” or “opportunistic business owner.” She met Gregori Ilyenevich Gorov on one of these jaunts.

  The other side of the walkway was all window, and Molly spotted one of the attacking submersible-cum-hydrofoils rushing in the same direction as their run. Tiny spouts of water made by bullets chased the craft. The craft turned ninety degrees, and a missile exploded. As Nordland and Molly reached the lounge, the targeted craft emerged unharmed from the falling spray.

  The lounge was ahead of the mainmast. A missile or shell struck the mast above the course yard, severing it. The upper half of the mast pitched overboard, a thin splinter of carbon fiber holding it to the stump. The masthead sank, dragging the hull into a 15-degree list. The foremast had also been severed, but the remnant was missing. The mizzen remained intact, but its yards were askew. Molly knew the ship was lost to the invaders. She faced Nordland. “Do you think someone got out a mayday?”

  Nordland scanned the damage. Fire poured out of the bridge, puffing as if it was a breathing monster. “The automated systems would, but it will take hours for anyone to get here.” Another explosion sent a shudder through Aurora... “Aurora’s defense systems weren’t designed for such an attack. They’re overwhelmed.”

  The starboard missile pod slew toward its quarter, attracted by movement. The sea bulged, as if pushed up by a water-breathing demon, and a bulbous black shape burst through the bulge’s center, pushing upward at high speed, imitating a breaching humpback whale engulfing a stomach-full of krill. As the sub settled, a billow of condensation puffed from its deck, flying toward Aurora’s missile pod, blowing it to scrap. Molly ducked as a melon-sized chunk of metal smashed into the lounge window, leaving a jagged crack. The wound distorted the dagger-like shape of the submarine, and Molly observed small craft emerging from its flanks. They sped toward Aurora’s broken hulk.

  Molly turned to Nordland. “What do we do now?”

  The white-haired shipowner sat on a stool at the bar, dazed. Molly knew the signs of despair and resignation when shipmates were lost at sea. “Kristian, were you expecting this?”

  Nordland shook his head.

  “I’m sure Mr. Nordland was expecting us, but hoping we would not find him.” The growling voice came from the door, and a shiver went up Molly’s spine when she saw the face of a tiger with its tawny, black, and white stripes, and the incongruous pink of the tip of its nose. Its canine teeth were long and sharp, and shiny with saliva, but the shape of the face was human, the eyes intelligent and probing, as if looking for weakness.

  “ Gregori Ilyenevich,” Molly whispered. A strange mix of terror and excitement surged through her body.

  “Mrs. Bain.” Gore bowed his head, and he pointed a pistol at Aurora’s owner. “Mr. Nordland, you know what I want. Let’s make it easy on both of us, and no one else will die.”

  Nordland said nothing, avoiding Gore’s gaze.

  Gore stepped toward the shipowner. A masked, armed guard followed Gore and took up a position that would allow no escape from the lounge. “I wanted to kill you last time we met.” Gore grinned. “I’m not an impulsive man. I knew we’d do business together. We have mutual business acquaintances. A network of competitors, you might say, of which we are a small part.”

  “You’re a monster,” Nordland said. “You’re a thief, a liar, and a murderer.”

  “I plead guilty as charged, though monster is a rather intolerant thing to say,” Gore hissed in Nordland’s face. “Enough games. I want what you have. Show me where it is.”

  “Kristian, tell me what this is about.” Molly said.

  Gore wasn’t going to wait for long. “Very well, Nordland. I shall have to find a way to be more persuasive.” He glanced at the guard. “Take both of them to the fantail.”

  The guard lifted his automatic rifle, a signal for the captives to precede him out the door. Nordland led the way. Molly glanced behind her in the faint hope of a rescue. She was at a loss, and did as she was told. Gore followed the guard, and a second armed man, his rifle ready to defend the party’s rear, to
ok up the last spot. They followed the long hall along the ship’s centerline that opened into broader spaces. Severed arms and legs, blood stains, and destroyed robots littered the points where the ship’s crew and security systems had battled the invaders. Molly retched at the cloying smell of congealing body fluids, but kept her composure as she worried about her friend Ginny. Nordland put a silk handkerchief to his mouth. Nothing was alive, apart from her party. A black robot patrolled a side corridor.

  The group passed through a splintered mahogany door into bright sunlight. Hundreds of men, women, and a few children huddled on the fantail deck, a narrow area over the stern meant for outdoor activities. A few white-uniformed Aurora crew members were scattered among the passengers. The sun shone onto the deck, warming the air to a tolerable temperature. Many passengers wore night clothes and shivered next to loved ones. Ginny waved at Molly, blowing a kiss of reassurance. She wore a cashmere coat and a diamond bracelet. Molly ached to embrace her, but she was in thrall to Gore and his goons.

  Passengers nearest to Molly gasped, and a few whimpered, as they spied Gore. Their faces displayed disgust, curiosity, terror, and resignation, as if the corsair would be the last sight of their lives. Gore relieved the frustration of the shorter passengers when he climbed a few steps on the staircase leading to the ship’s restaurant. The crowd quieted down, save for the muffled crying of a baby.

  “I am Kapitan Gore, master of Extinction, and this ship has something I want, though none of you have it, save one.” Gore’s growl carried well over the crowded deck. “Many of you know Kristian Nordland, the owner of this vessel, the first of her kind and hopefully many more. Mr. Nordland, step forward, if you please.”

  A guard poked his rifle into the small of Nordland’s back. He lurched a step, away from the crowd.

  Gore extended a paw-hand toward Nordland. “Mr. Nordland is a skilled businessman. He has many revenue streams to protect his company. He doesn’t put all his eggs in one basket. He has one line of business that many of you have heard of, but would never imagine such an upstanding citizen participating in, particularly after the Warming and the Spike. Can you guess what that line of business might be?”

  The crowd was silent and sullen.

  Gore continued, “That would be carbon, ladies and gentlemen. Specifically crude oil, and its transportation.”

  The crowd inhaled, Molly included. She glanced at several faces, some of whom she recognized from the parties leading up to the signing of the agreement with the Cyprian Association. Shock at the invasion had turned to disbelief. Murmurs rose into shouting. “Why are you telling us this?” said one. “We don’t have any oil,” said another. “Take what you want and leave.”

  “I intend to,” Gore responded. “We know the oil is aboard, but the ship’s data protection measures are quite good. I need Mr. Nordland’s cooperation to avoid further unpleasantness.” He was impatient with polite talk, and he became more direct. “Let me put this another way. I can find the oil on this ship by myself, and then I can sink it, with all aboard. You’ll drown in the freezing water like rats. Or Mr. Nordland can show me where the oil is, save me time, and save your lives. It’s up to you.”

  Shouting in the crowd died down to muffled conversations. Molly was drawn into a knot of people uncertain what to do next. A stout man, wearing a dressing gown, walked up to Nordland, who stood at the foot of the staircase, like a condemned man at the gibbet. “Is this true, Nordland? Is there oil on this ship?”

  Nordland lifted his head, but said nothing.

  The stout man considered Gore. “Whoever you are, whatever you are, give me five minutes with this... man, and I’ll get what you want.”

  “Be my guest.” The wolfish grin on Gore’s face raise goosebumps on Molly’s arms.

  The stout man searched the crowd, and two large companions emerged. They took Nordland by the arms into the corridor. The crowd stood stock still as Molly listened to grunts and a muffled scream from behind the doors. Two minutes later, Nordland emerged, supported on each arm by the large men, who escorted him to a network console. Nordland’s face was black and blue, and blood trickled from his mouth. The stout man approached Gore, who remained in his spot on the staircase. “Are you linked into the ship’s network?”

  “I am.”

  “Nordland.” The stout man barked his orders. “Show this creature what he wants to see.”

  Nordland lifted his right hand to the console. The small finger of the hand was bent at a painful angle. Molly wanted to feel pity for Nordland, but no such emotion came. She saw the screen update.

  “Excellent,” Gore said. “My com is receiving the information. We will soon be on our way.”

  A woman in the crowd yelled and pointed. Molly spotted the black torpedo shape of the submarine, which had edged close to the drifting Aurora. The two hydrofoils stood watch on the seaward side of the mother ship. With an efficiency Molly admired, the submarine’s crew deployed hose and pumping gear, and they scrambled to points on the ship. They tore through thin coverings to access ports. One of the ports was at a spot that the repair bots had clustered around days before. She chided herself for not recognizing the black stain as oil.

  As the submarine crew sucked the crude out of Aurora like a leech taking blood, Gore stepped off his temporary pulpit and padded to the ship’s rail. Passengers parted before him as if he were toxic. He scanned the skies. He was at his most vulnerable here; taking the noxious liquid left him almost defenseless. If we rushed him and his guards, we could retake Aurora. One look at the terrified passengers argued against an attempt. Nonetheless, Gore’s momentary weakness let Molly’s curiosity run rampant.

  “Kapitan Gore, why do you want the oil? No one has built a carbon-fueled submarine for decades. Yours must be nuclear-powered. Oil is no use to you.”

  Gore turned to Molly. “My, you are an enchanting creature, Mrs. Bain. Quite ambitious as well, transforming a profession reviled for centuries into a legitimate enterprise. From the moment we met, all those years ago, I knew you were special. I thought we might be partners, one day.”

  Molly gulped. She had kept her relationship with Gorov/ Gore, if not a secret, as clandestine as possible. She had pretended he was an acquaintance, like an old school contact. Any hint of a stronger association with him was a threat to her plans.

  “I don’t understand, Kapitan.”

  “We are alike in many ways. I am continuing a tradition going back centuries as well, though not quite so far as yours.” Gore touched a claw across Molly’s cheek. She felt its razor sharpness, but it did not cut her skin. “Like you, I bring warmth to human beings who need it.” Something caught Gore’s eye on the deck of the sub. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bain. I need to attend to a few details before we depart.”

  Molly’s eyes followed Gore as he walked along Aurora’s rail, speaking sotto voce into his com. Her physical closeness to Gore and his touch electrified her. It dredged up passions from risk-filled days when she had no ties and no responsibilities. They had encountered each other weeks before she met Bill, and he had some of Gore’s strength. Nights with Bill reminded her of nights with Gregori. That was before the Russian’s metamorphosis, but his animal attraction now was as powerful, perhaps more so, than the early days. Gregori’s charisma balanced his pathology. Bill had neither, but their bond was strong, if fleeting. Molly was about to break up with Bill when Anne turned up. Mistakes piled on mistakes, and Project Algid was a way out. Molly’s face grew pale when she spotted Bill Penn—in the here and now, standing on the deck of Extinction. Alongside him was a man she hoped never to see again.

  CHAPTER 29

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THE RAMP SECURED TO THE deck of Aurora Borealis swayed as Bill climbed aboard. The weeks of working aloft on the doomed Aganippe had inured Bill to the crisp air of the Kara Sea, and he wore a light jacket. Scribb followed him up the ramp, having scrounged a tattered parka. Micah, ever adaptable, remained aboard Extinction, accepting her new role. Bill’s s
kin crawled when he imagined that anyone would associate him with the rogue submarine, but then again, if he had stayed with his shipmates on Aganippe, he would’ve died with the others. What would have happened then to Anne? The hoses sucking the petroleum from Aurora’s hidden tank vibrated, slapping the liner’s carbon fiber hull. Bill seethed at this latest offense: a new “green” passenger wind ship carrying thousands of barrels of illegal, planet-killing oil.

  Bill let Scribb take the lead as the monk sought out Gore. A dense crowd of passengers on the fantail encouraged a sense of dread. Molly must be among them. Was Scribb right? Am I still in love with her? The terrorized passengers, leaning close to each other to keep warm, parted as Scribb pushed through. They recognized the tulip brand and turned their backs to him, figuratively and literally. The dissed man didn’t notice their contempt, or didn’t care. He spotted Gore and set a course, straight and true.

  “ Kapitan Gore,” Scribb said. “May I have a word?”

  “Mr. Scribb, what are you doing here?” The growl of Gore’s voice magnified Bill’s apprehension. “I ordered non-essential people to stay aboard.”

  “I needed to see you, sir,” Scribb said, obsequious in the extreme. “It’s about a passenger on this ship.”

  Gore hissed. “Military units are probably on their way. We could be attacked at any time. We have no time for visits. Why are you here?” The captain glared at Bill.

  “There is someone aboard you should know about,” Bill said, feeling as if he were betraying a friend. She might be my ticket home.

  “Her name is Molly Bain,” Scribb added.

  Gore looked annoyed. “I’ve already spoken to her, Brother Martin. She runs the Cyprian Association.”

  “She is Bill Penn’s wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” Bill said.

  Gore laughed, a breathy chuckle. He thought he knew what was up. “Family scores are none of my concern. Get back aboard Extinction.”