Ellis nodded, his expression softening. He looked at the giant warrior thoughtfully and put his hands in the pockets of his long coat.
“I’ve been thinking about it since Traon. Why would anyone volunteer for a Max, for any reason? It’s basically complete sensory deprivation for months at a time, eating and shitting through tubes, drugged—”
“Maybe they don’t get a choice,” said Lara.
“What do you mean?”
Lara looked into his earnest face and sighed; had she been so young only four years ago? “Like you said, Ellis. Why would anyone sign up for that?”
Ellis smiled like he thought she was kidding. “You mean the Company forced them…?” His smile faded.
“They wouldn’t do anything like that. They couldn’t, not with the laws the way they are.”
“You haven’t worked here that long,” said Lara, only half kidding. She wouldn’t necessarily put it past the corporate sector, although it did seem unlikely.
The shipwide clicked on, and Pop’s voice entered the still room. “We’re picking up a large body on scan, looks like our target. Lara, report to command deck. Everyone else, get to crew stations; look alive, people, we’re gonna be there in ten.”
“On my way,” called Lara, then smiled at Ellis.
“Go ahead and run the diagnostics and stand by for word. And call me if anything else comes up, okay?”
Ellis nodded and headed for his tiny office, just off of Max’s room. Lara turned and stepped back into the corridor, wishing they had been able to talk longer; he seemed to have such a hard time opening up. It had been good to see him express himself, even in anger.
She trotted toward ops, trying to clear her mind of concerns over Ellis’s social skills. She had a lot to do; if the station was infested, it was going to be a big one.
10
Max was ready, all of his reads and chemicals in the blue. Until the Berserker went into battle, Ellis was finished running programs; maintenance was truly a push-button job, no skill required unless something went wrong.
Ellis slid behind his console and sat for a moment, thinking about his conversation with Katherine Lara—in particular, what she’d said about the Company. Everyone knew there was corruption in the corporate sector; it was a given. But Weyland/Yutani was one of the biggest conglomerates there was, much too well established to be involved in anything as insane as slavery. Convicted felons as unwilling interface victims? Ridiculous.
On the other hand, a conspiratorial voice whispered to him, if they were involved in something like that, who would know?
Ellis considered it. The Company did have half the government in its pocket, and the news media had long been bought and contracted; realistically speaking, Weyland/Yutani’s programming board could easily cover a few missing felons…
Ellis snorted and looked over at the giant Max, asleep and quiet behind the dirty window. Great theory, except for the man inside the machine; the second he got out, he would call the UFDA and file one hell of a lawsuit.
Think bigger—why let him out at all?
Ellis blinked, then shook himself of the disturbing thought. The Company wasn’t perfect, but that kind of illegal and immoral operation simply couldn’t exist; someone would talk. And Lara couldn’t have seriously considered it either, or she wouldn’t have taken this job.
He flipped on the shipwide and tapped into the ship’s video system, calling up an image of the station they approached on his monitor.
“…calling DS Terminal nine-four-niner, repeat, are you receiving me? Over.” Lara sounded frustrated.
“Have they picked up the hailers?” Pop. The others waited in briefing, SOP.
“Negative,” said Lara. “They gotta be off-line.”
Ellis tuned her out as she started hailing again and studied the DS Service Terminal, hanging like a giant cross against blackness and distant stars. The vertical extension was cylindrical, he knew, layered with floors of equipment and living quarters, and the “crossbar” was actually four docking bays, set at right angles. A deep-space docker usually housed at least a few hundred people full-time, accommodations for twice that in ships’ crews—even this far out, the station looked massive.
“No sign of life,” said Pop.
Lara sighed. “Let’s run a visual,” she said.
Formalities over, the Nemesis picked up speed and cruised in for a closer look. Ellis heard a low whistle over shipwide; apparently the ground team was watching from the briefing room.
“This is one big mother, Pop. If bugs wiped ’em out, we are talking major infestation.” That was Jess.
When Pulaski spoke, Ellis could hear the grin in his voice. “Major bug guts, right?”
If Teape were there, he said nothing. The point man hadn’t looked too healthy at mess earlier, paler than ever and not talking much.
Ellis looked over at the equally silent Max and suddenly wondered why there were two technicians on board Nemesis but no doctor.
* * *
The Candyman was psyched; this was gonna be the biggest blowout he’d ever been involved in, if this place was bugged. The station loomed closer on the video screen, the stars gradually blocked out by the massive panels of riveted metals and plasticrete; it was so big that he couldn’t think of anything good to compare it to. The best he could come up with was that if the Nemesis was a flea, the station was the size of a big dog; shepherd maybe.
He and Jess sat on the edge of the flatscreen table in front of the monitor, Teape behind them in one of the bolted chairs as they waited for confirmation. So far, it looked like somethin’ was fucked up, no two ways about it. Nobody was answering the hailers, no systems reach, no nothing.
“I can see acid-burn damage on the lower hull,” said Lara over the shipwide, “five o’clock.”
Pulaski searched the screen and spotted the dark smear of corrupted metal. Whoo yeah, 949 had a problem, all right!
“Check that shit out, big-time,” he said, and Jess rolled his eyes. Pulaski grinned and pulled a chocolate bar out of his pouch; it was a new kind, with hazelnut crème. Pop had laid in a wide variety, which was aces with Candyman.
He tore into the candy and wondered how it was that Jess and Teape didn’t get so excited about the heat. Well, Jess, anyway, Teape had a shit job. It wasn’t just killing things; it was about power, strength. It was about watching shit explode, and knowing it was making things safer for civilians. Man, nothing felt better…
…’cept Sheila, maybe, when she does that thing with her hips….
Pulaski smiled and ate another chunk, thinking about his wife’s hips.
Pop’s gruff voice interrupted. “Close in on two-seven, Lara—see that?”
Jess reached forward and tapped the controls in the close briefing room, not even having to stand to feed in the angle. Their screen now showed a brightly lit biodome, a recreational—Pulaski had heard about them, first class all the way. A whole forest or tropical environment, complete with water and animals and a full-wall observation deck; only the ritziest of stations had anything like them.
As the camera zoomed in, they could see trees and shrubbery against the thick plexi. The artificial sunlamps still burned brightly, the first actual light they’d seen on the silent station.
“Those things run on a separate system from the rest of the station,” said Lara softly. “Maybe the people are—
She cut herself off as they all saw it. A black flash of movement against the false sunlight, a sliding-thin body that skittered through the tropical flora. The shadow of a long and sloping skull lunged across the screen, a silent clatter of limbs and spiny tail behind it. It was gone in another flash, as if it had never been.
“We got a live one, people! We’re coming down to talk,” said Pop.
Pulaski pushed himself off the table and grinned at no one in particular, feeling good. Another chance to do his civic duty and get one step closer to his woman, his only goals in life these days; getting arrested and going th
rough trial had been worth something after all. He had focus, he had power, he had a sexy wife to dream about and access to military weaponry; if there was more to life, he didn’t give a shit.
* * *
“Terminal 949 has a staff of four hundred and can cater for the same number of stopover or transfer passengers. It carries full warehousing, medical, and recreational facilities. In addition, it is capable of servicing and repairing up to four galaxy-class vessels at once; including ships’ crews, that could be close on a thousand people.”
Lara watched the team digest the information, staring down at the simple layout on the flatscreen. Pop continued, the harsh reflected light from the table making him look almost angry.
“Last outside contact with the station was going on two weeks, routine monthly report. We were diverted because a freighter that docked there nine days ago sent a message to its next destination, stating that one of the maintenance doors had been barricaded and they were going to investigate further. No word since, and now we know why.”
Jess raised his eyebrows at Pop. “We also know there’s no way we’re equipped for this; get on to Grigson, tell him you’re gonna need support.”
“Let’s not jump the gun, Jess. We need to take a look-see first—Lara?”
She adjusted the picture on the flatscreen, wishing it was more detailed. “This is the outline plan for a typical deep-space terminal, out of Company banks. The command center is located here, on the hub—” She pointed, then tapped another cross section.
“This is the closest docking bay, two levels up. We use the AT drop-ship, come through here”—she traced a path with the controls—“in and out, no frills. If we can hook up a relay through their system, we’d have access to their entire communications network.”
“You can handle that, ground leader?” Pop looked over at Jess sternly.
Lara felt a wave of confusion and disbelief; what was Pop doing?
Jess shot a quick glance at Lara and then shrugged. “Reckon’…”
She found her voice and struggled to keep it calm. “I’ll do it.”
Pop finally looked at her and she stared at his icy-blue gaze, wondering why she had expected anything else. His lined face was blank, but she could see anger and confusion in his eyes.
“I’m communications officer,” she said smoothly. “It’s my job, I’ll do it.”
Pop maintained his blank expression but dropped his gaze back to the flatscreen. “Very well,” he said, and she heard nothing in his voice.
He raised his head and looked at the team, Jess and Pulaski standing across from them in the tight space, Teape watching glumly from a bolted chair at one corner.
“All right, ground team, get to it! Kit up and prepare to load in twenty.”
“Yo,” said Jess, and turned to the door. Teape stood up, smiling blankly, and Pulaski actually grinned at Pop as he followed them out.
Lara sighed inwardly. Pop had recovered quickly, but the breach of standard procedure might as well have been a flashing sign to the team; if they didn’t know before that she and Pop had something going on, they surely knew now. She wondered absently if Ellis had picked it up over the ’com, and then let her anger take over, facing Pop in the quiet room.
“Pop, why did you do that?”
He hit the intercom switch on the flatscreen and then shook his head, staring down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Kat. Really, I just… lost my head.”
He looked up at her, light blue eyes swimming with apology. “It won’t happen again. I—you know I’m very fond of you, and it could be dangerous in there—”
His smile was pure, hesitant humility. “—and I just wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”
Lara frowned, wondering what he was thinking. She had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth and suddenly didn’t know if she should pursue it; if he was bullshitting her, he was not a man she could trust. Which meant that she should be very careful about what she said next.
“I’m sorry too, Eric,” she said, softly but firmly. “And I appreciate your… concern, but it shouldn’t interfere with our jobs. I would ultimately feel resentful toward you, and I’d much rather be friends.”
She thought she saw a flash of something in his piercing blue eyes, something like pain, but it was gone before she could register it completely. Then he was smiling, the very definition of apology.
“Me, too, Kat,” he said. He sighed and then stood up straight, abruptly back to his gruff and businesslike self.
“Consider it understood, Lieutenant,” he said, still smiling, and then stepped past her. He walked out of the cool briefing room, leaving the lock open behind him.
Lara chewed at her lip for a moment, wondering if she had overreacted or been paranoid. She decided that it didn’t matter, her gut told her that their thoughtless affair may have started something… dangerous in Eric Izzard. When they got back to base, she would turn herself in to the CO for breaking fraternization policy and get an immediate transfer. It would go on her record, but it would be a small price to pay if her intuition was correct. Until then, she’d just have to stay alert.
Now, though, she had to kit her tools and suit up for combat in fifteen minutes; her stomach suddenly tightened and she hurried out of the briefing room, thinking about how long it had been since boot camp.
11
The Candyman kept trying to engage him in banter about Pop and Lara while they loaded the drop-ship, but Jess ignored the efforts. He wasn’t in the mood for Pulaski’s juvenile humor, at least not at the moment. There was a glitch in the systems program that wouldn’t let him get a solid read on the shuttle’s plenum temp, and it was starting to piss him off; they were almost ready, lives were at stake, and this machine had gone and decided to play “insufficient data” on his ass.
Jess punched in the program mark again and cursed. The piece of shit was pathetic, it was shit; in fact, he wanted to smash the monitor’s stupid fuckin’ blinking head in, and as soon as he realized that, he realized how much stress he had been under lately.
It had taken him a long time to learn how to handle his temper; all his life, he’d been angry about something, and that aimless rage had led him to nothing but trouble. It had taken prison and a shitload of psychology tapes to develop some control, and he wasn’t about to let it fuck things up for him now; angry men didn’t think, and the team couldn’t afford that.
Jess took a deep breath and blew it out slow, tightly gripping the edges of the stand-up console until he relaxed. He looked at the screen again with a clear head and saw the problem, human error, he’d mixed up a line, transposing a three and an eight. He fixed it and the check was finished, all systems go.
“Teape, you’re wobbling. Adjust your helmet,” said. Pop, his voice echoing dully through the wide, empty drop bay. Except for the armored aerotransport they were prepping and a single loader strapped to one wall, the large-capacity bay was barren and cold. Maybe it was the cavernous space, but Pop sounded a lot less buddy-buddy than he had in front of Sturges.
…can you say halle-looya, amen.
Teape cinched his chin strap and went back to putting on his gloves, looking a little better than he had earlier; Jess was relieved. Teape had gotten some color back in his face since they’d been briefed. He still looked haggard, just not as… distant.
Chocolate-scented breath blew across his face. “Sounds like our commander and lieutenant had a li’l knockdown, don’cha think? And Lara stomped him, right?”
Jess smiled and looked up from the console, still amazed at just how huge the Candyman was. Persistent, too; Pulaski wasn’t smart enough to take a hint.
“I gotta say yes to that,” he answered, but quietly; the shipwide was open. The fact that their supervisors had been screwing didn’t shock him all that much—perky young tech and older pilot, no news there. It was Pop trying to slip off Lara’s duties that had surprised him; Jess had never figured Pop for the romantic type. Though if he’d read the s
ignals right, Lara had most certainly kicked Pop’s ass for it the second the team had walked out. Even Pulaski had it scoped; now that was funny.
Pulaski grinned and nodded to Teape, who walked over.
“Any thoughts on the topic of love gone bad, Teepee?”
Teape smiled weakly and leaned against the ship. “Not really. Let’s just hope they didn’t have some kind of a suicide pact worked out.”
Jess laughed softly, and Pulaski was still chuckling when Lara came on deck, fitting her helmet over a short ponytail. She joined them, handing her tool pack over to Teape for loading.
In spite of a warning glance from Jess, the Candyman smirked down at Lara and dropped his voice to a whisper.
“Didja give that dog the boot?”
Lara’s light skin flushed slightly but she played along, having to lean back to meet Pulaski’s gaze. “What dog is that?”
Pulaski chortled. “That dog that tried to keep you from kickin’ some ass with the big boys,” he whispered loudly.
Lara didn’t blink. “Oh. And where would they be?”
Pulaski cracked up, and Jess couldn’t help a grin; nicely done. He liked her, a lot more than he liked Pop just lately.
“Switch to remotes, people,” echoed Pop. “I’m not reading ya’ll too good up here. Let’s get on board, I want countdown in two.”
Lara and Pulaski followed Teape into the small belly of the transport, basically an APC with wings and less “comfort” for passengers; it only seated six. More room for Max, but Jess was fairly certain they wouldn’t be using him at all this time around; there was a good chance that this would be a nuke-from-distance, and they all knew it. For now, though, they were going in blind to a two-week infestation.
Jess flipped the console panel closed and climbed on board, sealing the door behind him. He just hoped that they weren’t walking into the heart of the hive.
* * *
Ellis sat alone in the lab, watching the Nemesis air lock seal and filter from one of the bay’s cameras. The Company’s security modifications for volunteer ships included coded locks on every door and video hookups in every conceivable place. Although the info was piped directly to ops, any secured terminal on board could access the surveillance.
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