by Sean Danker
“No,” Salmagard whispered, cutting him off. “There’s no time.” She hit the release, and the panel opened. The man didn’t even notice. Salmagard rose to a crouch and coughed. When that didn’t get his attention, she coughed louder.
The man looked up, blinking several times. His eyes immediately fell on the opening. Leaving his holo glowing on his wrist, he got up and walked over, leaning down to look.
Salmagard pulled him into the crawl space, covering his mouth and lodging her knee on his throat. She held him down with her body, keeping the pressure on his windpipe. He kicked and grabbed at her with his free hand, but that just wasted energy. He was unconscious in seconds. Salmagard got off him, checked his pulse, then wormed her way out onto the catwalk.
It was too dangerous to go to the edge; she could be seen by people below. She didn’t know where anyone was, so she had to rely on Price.
“You’ve got one more up there, in the control room. He has to be next.”
Salmagard took a peek. She could see the viewports, but not the man inside that room. The door was open. The room itself would muffle any noise—she just had to get there without being spotted.
She dropped flat to the deck and crawled, trying not to think about the seconds ticking by.
“You’re good like that,” Price said. “They can’t see you.”
The hangar was choked with cargo—that was why they couldn’t launch from here. There were big crates and a strange lumpy shape covered with some kind of plastic sheeting. Was that the Everwing?
Salmagard couldn’t spare any attention for the hangar, though—the metal under her liked to rattle, and she had to keep that to a minimum. She got as close as she could, then got up and slipped to the wall, pressing herself to the metal beside the door and listening.
“He’s got his headset on. He can’t hear you—just get him,” Price said impatiently.
That was all Salmagard needed. She flitted into the control room and dragged the man out of the chair, locking his arm behind his back to immobilize him and covering his mouth. She put her knee on his carotid, and in moments he was asleep.
“Go back out, keep low, go three meters and stop,” Price said. “Go.”
Salmagard went out the door in a crouch, then dropped flat. One meter, two, three. She stayed prone, waiting for Price.
“Wait for it,” he said. “Wait.”
She held her breath, listening to the sounds of the hangar. A footstep echoed. Quiet music. A laugh from the far end—that was where the break room was. It wasn’t nearly enough noise to cover for her if she made a mistake.
“Now, Private. He’s right under you.”
Salmagard leapt up and vaulted over the railing. The man didn’t even notice her falling toward him. He was crushed to the deck, her full weight on top of him. The impact took his breath away, and before he could even think about getting it back or making a sound, Salmagard put him in a choke hold. The landing had broken some of his ribs at the very least; when he woke up, he’d be in a lot of pain.
He went limp, and she let go of him to get behind the nearest cover, a carbon backdrop for washing mechanical components.
“The last one’s by the fighter,” Price said. “You can’t sneak up on him. Make your move and I’ll seal the room.”
Salmagard leaned out to take a look. There was a man by that covered shape, and he was looking up at the control room and frowning. He hadn’t seen her drop from the walkway, but he knew something was wrong—people who had been visible a moment ago were no longer in sight.
There was no time.
She snatched a heavy wrench from the belt of the man she’d jumped on and slid into the open. The man spotted her, and she flung it at him. It wasn’t a terribly practical thing to throw, but it was heavy and it would hurt, so it had the desired effect. The man dodged aside, giving her the time she needed.
He went for a gun, but Salmagard was already on top of him. He was pretty big, so it wasn’t a fight to win with finesse. She rammed her elbow beneath his rib cage, all of her speed and weight behind it. The blow staggered the man, and he hit the plastic wrapping.
“Not the fighter!” Price yelled.
Salmagard grabbed him and went for his groin with her knee, but he grabbed her back, and he was much stronger than she was. She dropped, kicking his legs out and taking him to the deck. They landed with a crash, and gravity hurt him, as the heavier one, a great deal more than it hurt her. Salmagard locked her leg around his neck, twisting her torso and letting her lower body do the work. The man’s face turned red, and he tried to reach for his fallen pistol—but Salmagard just turned her hips and increased the pressure.
In a moment he was out. He’d be sore when he woke up too. Salmagard was grateful for the EV; she wouldn’t have been able to do that in a dress.
She climbed off him and snatched up the pistol, getting to her feet and looking around—but the break room was sealed. She could see three men at the viewport staring at her. None of her other victims was up yet.
“Clear,” she said to Price.
A hatch opened, and she whirled, raising the pistol—but it was Diana running toward her.
“Let’s go,” the pale woman called out. “Price is going to get us launch clearance. Quick, before station security gets here.” She spotted the three trapped men in the break room and waved to them. “Come on, help me.”
“Right.” Salmagard began disconnecting the straps keeping the cover on the Everwing. Diana tore them off, revealing the fighter. Her mouth grew into a wide smile.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Salmagard stared at the craft. It was little more than a carbon bubble with some machinery on it. It didn’t look very sturdy. It certainly wasn’t beautiful.
“Is this it? There’s no mistake?” she asked uncertainly.
“It’s definitely fake,” Diana said, patting it lovingly. “But if it works, I don’t care. Price! Break in and pop the canopy,” she ordered, dragging the covers out of the way. She pointed. “There’s our pad. You couldn’t even launch a kite out of this bay,” she added, wrinkling her nose and looking around at the clutter. Her eyes fell on the man who’d been guarding the fighter. “That’s why you don’t steal imperial designs, jackass,” she said.
The bubble unsealed, and the fighter’s canopy rose open.
Diana didn’t hesitate. She climbed up and leapt in, and while many things she did appeared awkward and unnatural, perhaps due to her appearance, she looked as though this was something she’d been doing since birth.
“So I’m not going, then?” Salmagard said, going up on her toes to look into the cockpit.
“What? Of course you are. I can’t do this by myself.”
“But there’s only one seat.”
Diana paused what she was doing. “Right. I know. Come on.” She got up and put her hand out.
“Empress, save me.” Salmagard took Diana’s hand, and the pale woman lifted her into the cockpit.
“It’s fine. This’ll be a short flight.” Diana dropped back into the seat and went back to checking the systems. The interior lit up, and there was a hum of power.
A moment before, while subduing that man, Salmagard had felt very small. Now, sharing this space with Diana, she felt very large. Before she could decide how to best arrange herself, Diana pulled her into her lap and fastened the straps in a businesslike fashion. The bubble closed, sealing them in.
“You can’t be serious,” Salmagard said.
“Isn’t this cozy? Just pretend I’m someone you like,” Diana replied, but she wasn’t really paying attention to Salmagard; she was busy with the fighter. And Salmagard had never seen her happier.
“How desperate do they have to be,” Diana went on, “to let me fly this like this? My flying clearance is dead and buried. I’m not supposed to be allowed within ten meters of a control st
ick. I should be in big trouble just for flying that shuttle before. I wonder if I am, and they just aren’t telling me yet. This is pretty well made. I wonder who built it.”
She reached for a switch and flipped the cover up. There was a cracking sound, and the cover fell onto Salmagard’s lap. Salmagard looked down at it, feeling a new sort of queasiness begin to squirm in her belly.
“Oh,” Diana said. “Well, maybe they did a better job on the engines. Have we got O2? Okay.” She activated something, and twin glowing orbs appeared in the air. She reached under Salmagard’s arms to grip them and nudged something with her toe. “Mind your feet,” she murmured, and Salmagard hastily tried to comply. The last thing she wanted to do was touch this peculiar vessel’s controls. Diana’s thumbs moved, and the fighter rose slightly.
Salmagard saw the machinery, previously tight to the sides of the bubble, begin to expand and deploy. Diana’s chin was on Salmagard’s shoulder, and the red eyes flicked over toward her for a moment.
“Look, I know you like this guy, but I didn’t realize he was some kind of terrorist—and obviously you didn’t either. You have to get your head on straight. Who is he? They have this massive New Unity threat that literally all of Evagardian Intelligence and Imperial Security are getting bent out of shape over, and they’re still taking time to do something this crazy over one guy? One guy?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Salmagard said as the Everwing began to move, drifting slowly toward the maintenance pad.
“Yeah. I’ve been there. You think you know someone. Special ops.” The red-eyed woman sighed theatrically.
“No. No, why are they sending us? Why not just let him go? Using us to help GR . . .” She felt hot. She tugged at the neck of her EV, trying to get some oxygen. “Using us to help GR—it’s like they want him alive.” She pulled at the straps, but there was nothing for it; they were going to be suffocatingly tight. They were meant for only one person.
“Obviously they do. And even if they didn’t, they want Sei alive,” Diana said, bringing the Everwing to a halt over the pad. She checked her feeds and lowered it. The craft shuddered as clamps locked it down, readying it for transport.
“They’ve tried to kill him before, though,” Salmagard said softly. “And they haven’t cared about killing other people to get to him. What’s changed? Why do they want him alive now?”
21
THE community’s remarkable attention to period detail was in full effect on the town’s main street. There weren’t just houses; there were businesses as well. I looked at the signs, and the oddly hypnotic red-and-blue pole across the street. I could see the vehicles up close now. Ground cars and crawlers had come a long way.
There were people out and about, and Cyril introduced us to a few of them. The town’s residents seemed remarkably happy to see us, but also surprised. I was starting to believe what Cyril had said about cultivating a peaceful and relaxed mind-set. These were some of the most high-spirited people I’d ever encountered. And why shouldn’t they have been?
It was a nice evening, and they lived in a beautiful town, apparently without much in the way of worries. I wondered if they even knew the war had stopped. Maybe they hadn’t even known it had started. Cyril said there were no communications with the outside here; most of these people probably didn’t have a clue what was going on in the rest of the galaxy.
Maybe they were happier that way.
It was clear they took this simulation of twentieth-century life seriously, but they weren’t slaves to it. I wasn’t an expert, but no one looked uncomfortable, despite the outrageous clothing. Everyone was properly groomed and perfectly healthy. It was all for show. These were modern people living in an old-fashioned setting with all of its strengths and none of its weaknesses.
I looked in through the windows of the businesses. Some had people running them; others appeared to have androids. Apparently Cyril didn’t want his flock working too hard. Maybe he was afraid it might distract them from the more important issues. For my part, I’d never spent much time thinking about spiritualism. I’d always had other things on my mind. Other priorities.
I wondered what that said about me.
I watched the people on the street as we passed. For the most part, they seemed to be enjoying their evening, but there was something else. That sense of excitement I’d picked up on earlier. No one was like this all the time—these might be cheerful, fun-loving people, but there was something extra. A spark. Something special was going on.
“Here,” Cyril said, stopping in front of one of the shops. “Let me buy you a malt.”
Inside, there were only two other patrons: two women around my age. We seemed to have their undivided attention, but Sei and I were more interested in the novelty of the establishment itself. We sat down at the counter, and Cyril joined us, ordering malts.
I didn’t know what a malt was.
The android behind the bar looked like a pretty girl with an outrageous hairstyle, wearing a neat pink uniform. She deftly operated combiners made to look like old-fashioned machinery, pouring mixtures into large metal cups, which were then put in another machine that shook them savagely. Sei and I stared, taken aback by the brutality of it.
The android removed the cups, put in spoons and straws, and handed the concoctions over. We didn’t try to conceal our suspicion, but we’d watched the android make them, and Cyril was already working on his. We were afraid of the substance itself, not the danger of being poisoned or drugged. We both knew how abysmal nutrition had been in this era.
Going from the sickly-sweet taste, there were more carbohydrates in a single spoonful of this stuff than a human was supposed to eat in a week. It was tasty, though.
“I don’t want to be rude,” Cyril said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “But are you all right, sir? You don’t look so good. We don’t have a real clinic, or at least not one that would impress imperials. But we do have a medical android if you need attention.”
“I’ve got an imbalance,” I replied, naming the particular cocktail that was best suited to neutralizing the poison still in my body. Initially I’d decided not to disclose my condition in the interest of not showing weakness, but I didn’t know how much longer I had on my feet.
Cyril looked troubled. “I’ll see what I can do to get that for you. In the meantime, we’ve got stimulants and painkillers.”
“Better not to mix my intake,” I said. “I have a feeling my chemistry’s a bit fragile right now.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“I am. I still have to be careful. I’m not out of danger yet, and I don’t want to take unnecessary risks. Pain I can live with, but putting myself in a coma—this isn’t the best time for it.” That was the truth. I stirred my malt and watched the android clerk wipe down the counter.
“As you think best. I’m a little concerned that we purchased a man with an outstanding medical condition. I think some mistakes may have been made after all. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Let’s just call it a misunderstanding,” I said. “As long as we stay on task.”
“How does your economy work?” Sei asked, curious.
“It doesn’t. It’s all controlled,” Cyril replied immediately.
“I thought so. Who’s footing the bill?”
“A number of people, some of whom prefer not to be thanked for their generosity, I’m afraid. Building all of this involved some expense, but in truth it’s all surprisingly cheap to run.”
“With so few people, I guess it would be.” I looked out the window. A young couple passed, chatting animatedly.
Cyril did his best to hide it. He had to have practiced.
But I saw it. I saw it because I was looking for it.
He had had a neural uplink, and he’d just gotten some kind of update from it. His eyes flicked ever so slightly to the side. He camouflaged the disrupti
on by picking up his cup and using his straw to take a drink. That was him assimilating whatever he’d just learned.
There was nothing overtly sinister about having an uplink—but that kind of implanted technology wasn’t terribly rustic.
When Cyril put the cup down, there was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before. Something was stressing him now. How was he supposed to contemplate the nature of the universe like this?
I kept quiet.
“Well, gentlemen—we’ve got to start somewhere,” he said, pushing the cup away. “And it’s about time I have that talk, so I can figure out where we really stand with you two. I’m sure you’re telling the truth—you seem like honest guys. Since we don’t really have guests here, we don’t have a . . . bed-and-breakfast. But I’m going to find someone to put you up, and they’re going to treat you like royalty. Okay?”
Royalty. I knew what it was like to be treated like royalty. I didn’t miss it.
“I could say we appreciate your hospitality,” I said, “but it might sound disingenuous. Thanks for being reasonable.”
“It goes both ways.” Cyril got up, but motioned for us to stay. “You’re not prisoners. I’m not going to keep an eye on you or lock you up. There’s no tactful way to say it; there’s nowhere for you to go. If you go far enough east, there’s a really nice lake. But the only other habitation on this body is . . . Let’s just say it’s prohibitively far away.”
“We’re not going to run on you,” Sei said, stirring his malt. “We just want to get this straightened out and get home. We’re going to press charges against the people that mistreated us. Not the people who acted with decency.”
“Point taken. Wait here. Someone’ll be along to take you home for the night. Tomorrow I’ll know exactly what’s going on, and I’ll be able to give you the answers you want. Please understand that I can’t make you any promises until there’s due diligence on my end.”
“Do what you have to,” I said.
“If you change your mind about medical attention, just ask anyone. They’ll take you to our physician.”