Red Noise

by John P. Murphy

  “Nah,” the Miner said, sitting up straighter and rolling her shoulders to loosen up. “The whiskey’s pretty tame. It’s all the sleeping pills I put in it.”

  “Oh,” he said. He stared at her, tried to stand up, and failed. “The fuck? Bullshit,” he slurred. “Why aren’t you... You know.”

  “Drooling? I took a handful of antagonists before I started drinking.” She yawned despite herself. “Shit, now you’ve got me doing it.”

  He furrowed his brow, a look of the purest incredulity on his face as she’d ever seen, and then he slid out of his chair.

  She watched him a minute to make sure he was really passed out, then carefully stood up. She’d gotten drunker than she intended, even though she’d been stone cold sober when she’d walked into the hotel. She stopped to strap on her sword. Then she knelt next to Nuke, checked his breathing, and hoisted him up in a fireman’s carry. The thing in his chest ground hard into her shoulder and back.

  She staggered on the first step. Her knee blazed with pain. “Whooooo,” she said. “This’ll be interesting.”

  The door was still open, and she maneuvered his tall thin form through it by scuttling sideways. Three of Feeney’s toughs rushed out from somewhere and boggled.

  “You probably don’t want me to drop him,” she said mildly. “A fall from this height could kill him. And you know what that’ll do.”

  “Where... Where you taking him?”

  “My ship.”

  “You, uh, you bringing him back?”

  “No.”

  The toughs exchanged looks, then one of them took a step toward her. “Let…” He coughed. “Let me get that door for you.”

  WHEN DEATH IS ON THE LINE

  “You’re on my ship,” the Miner said when Nuke finally woke up and looked blearily around him. For a while there, she wondered if he would ever wake up, or whether his breathing would keep getting shallower and shallower until a faint tick preceded nuclear oblivion.

  The two of them were in the cargo bay of her ship, she kneeling on her meditation mat, and he sprawled on the hacked-up mattress she’d dragged down to the bottom of the stairs. Her sword lay in front of her. She’d been woolgathering, looking up through the metal mesh gantry at the plant rooms and the red emergency sign above the escape pod hatch. The pain, dulled by alcohol, had come back with a vengeance. Her implants were all still off.

  “We’re a hundred clicks from the station, in case you feel like throwing a tantrum. You’re lucky that thing never got infected,” she said, pointing at the big blinking tumor on his chest.

  “A man makes his own luck,” he said, then coughed and spat onto the deck. “What did you slip me, it tastes like I ate my socks.”

  “Not sure,” she admitted. “I’ve never been one for reading pill bottles.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I thought a man made his own luck.”

  He stared at her, and then laughed, and then winced. “You’re a piece of work, lady.” She just shrugged. He looked around, then hoisted himself up partway to sit on the stairs. “So what is this?”

  “This is a choice. I could have had Joff take that little toy out of you and leave you to your pals. Might not have gone so well. Or I could have just shoved you out the airlock, I guess. Except I got curious. Angelica told me this story only ends in blood. Mary says we’ve got a choice. I want to know who’s right. So choose: take those pills over there voluntarily, Joff comes and removes that thing, and we go to Station 36. Or, die.”

  His smile vanished.

  “If I die, you die. Nowhere to run from an atomic blast on this dinky little ship.”

  “Didn’t plan on running.”

  They eyed each other.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said.

  “Me neither. But I understand you.”

  He frowned, and looked like he was doing complicated math in his head. “I think... I think I’m going to kill you and take your ship.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You can try.”

  “Heh. Yeah.” He ran his hand through his stringy hair. “Here’s the thing. A bunch of people have said to my face that they’re willing to die. It’s cool, I respect that they think that. Whatever gets them through the night, you know? But every single time, sister, every single time they hesitate. Something in the back of their head just freaks out and goes ‘No! Don’t do it!’ And that’s all I need to cut those stupid fucks down, just that split second.” He grinned and put his hands on his knees. “Hell, I’ve even given this speech before. And I’m still here.”

  “You’re not going to change your mind?”

  “Lady. I don’t have to.”

  The Miner nodded, scratched her ear, and said, “Ship, game over.”

  “OK, boss! Nice knowing you.”

  The lights in the hold went out, and then glowed dimly red as the emergency lamps around the edge of the deck grudgingly came to life. The hum of the engine stopped, and the whine of the fans fell in pitch until they ground to a halt with faint scratching noises. Nuke sat still, his alarmed face half-hidden in shadow, painted red by the light from the emergency sign on the deck above.

  “The fuck did you do?”

  “Killed the ship. I’m done fighting, kid. Maybe you can kill me, maybe not. I’m good, but I’ve taken some hits. So maybe you can kill me. Maybe you can outsmart me even.” She smiled. “But what you can’t do is paddle home.”

  “Turn it back on!”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. That was a one-way trip. The ship’s computer deleted itself. Killed the engine, killed the radio, killed life support. I’ve still got a half bottle of those pills left if you want the easy way out. Or the airlock if you’ve got more style than I’d give you credit for.” She put her hand on her sword. “Or we can fight. Now that we’re both going to die anyway, maybe you’re curious if you really can beat me.”

  He stared at her, bug-eyed. “There’s always a way out. There’s always a cheat.”

  She shrugged and took her hand off her sword. “Suit yourself. Think it over. I’ve still got a couple books I always meant to read, so I’m happy to wait out the air. Not much to eat, though. Do you like emergency rations?”

  “Why the fuck would you do this? Who the hell are you anyway?”

  “Because...” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m a sore loser. See, I meant to clean up that station, play the sides against each other and come out on top, and I kinda fucked it up. Forgot the difference between who I was and who I wanted to be. I only did two things that whole time that made anyone’s life better: I sent your sister away, and I dragged your sorry ass off the place. So here we are. As for who I am… I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”

  He stared at her a long time, and then turned and fled up the stairs.

  The Miner gave chase with her sword out, but she was wounded and slow. She made it to the top of the red-lit stairs, gasping in pain, just in time to see his triumphant grin as he stepped into the escape pod.

  “There’s always a way out,” he called. “See you in Hell!”

  He slammed the double hatch closed behind him, and the ship rocked as the pod blew itself clear of the hull.

  The Miner went to the cockpit and peered out the window. She watched it go for a long time. They were designed to get clear of a ship in a hurry, and it really flew. Nasty, claustrophobic things. She’d put the whiskey in there for him, but there was nothing to do, nothing to read. Just air, a couple liters of water, and some emergency rations. Pretty much just floating through space in an armored toilet stall.

  In this case, an armored toilet stall with busted life support.

  Its white and red flashers came on once it was well free of the ship and it extended its antenna arms. Ships all around would hear the automated recording, promising a government-guaranteed reward for rescue, which wasn’t really guaranteed since her insurance wasn’t paid up, and threatening the treaty-obligated arrest and imprisonment of
anyone who fired on an escape pod. That one really was guaranteed... ish.

  The red and white lights receded from her ship until they blended together into a single blob, lost among all the stars in the sky. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been watching when the window lit up with a flash, and then she sat in the dark. She stared a long time at the stars, not thinking of anything, just aware of a sense of sadness and a kind of satisfaction. Now she knew.

  “I probably shouldn’t have looked right at that,” she mused, then raised her voice. “Ship? Show’s over.”

  The cabin lights came up so fast she had to shield her eyes. Fans whirred to life, and down below the engine resumed its slow heave.

  “Ship, check for rescue beacons.”

  “None, boss.”

  She flipped up the main view screen and had a look at the station. It was far away and looked like a giant misshapen spider clinging to gray rock. Greenish eyes, the galleria windows, seemed to glare at her from afar. Some imp of the perverse made her send a request to dock.

  She limped back down the stairs to make sure Nuke hadn’t left behind any surprises. Just his top hat. She pulled open the crate where, with Corbell and Takata’s insistent help, she’d stashed all the stuff Nuke shouldn’t have found in case he killed her and figured out how to undo the fake shutdown: the rifle, the remaining crap from Feeney’s safe, and the hardware encryption key that would let him pilot her ship. She frowned, and reached to the back. A paperback book had been stashed there. The Count of Monte Cristo.

  The Miner smiled. She breathed deeply as she flipped its pages. Hints of grease and smoke and beer wafted up at her. She brought it and the encryption key with her to the cockpit. They’d responded to her request to dock: The “HELL NO” was signed, “Security Chief Corbell”.

  When she finished laughing and wiped her eyes, she tapped out a goodbye message, deleted it, and pulled up her navigation interface. Her claim was about a week away. She had plenty of fuel and provisions. She could be out there for months. Her finger hovered over the selector. There was something else nearby too, just a dot on the nav map. A friendly little box told her she could buy fuel and supplies at Station 36. There would be people there. Annoying, complicated, difficult people.

  She set in a course for 36.

  What the hell, why not.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Although writing is a famously solitary pursuit, books would not exist without the encouragement, support, and labor of many kind and talented people beyond the author; this book in your hands is no exception. My family and friends have been enormously supportive at every step of this process. It would take fifty pages to properly thank them all, but I must especially recognize a few.

  I must first thank Takeko Minami, who taught Japanese at West Virginia University, and Paul Berry who taught Japanese Cinema at Kansai Gaidai University: the former opened many doors for me, including the work of Akira Kurosawa, while Prof. Berry encouraged me to study how Kurosawa’s work has been repeatedly reinterpreted and remade, a twenty year train of thought that ultimately led to this book.

  I must also thank the energetic and supportive community of the Codex Writers Group and my various author friends, most especially Anaea Lay, Chris Gerwel, Jake Kerr, and Vylar Kaftan for their feedback; and Elaine Isaak, Fran Wilde, and Ken Liu for their advice and support. Thanks too to the staff, instructors, and my fellow students of Viable Paradise XIV. To the folks who wished to be anonymous but were nonetheless invaluable, I also tip my hat.

  Thank you also to the folks whose hard work, talent, and insight brought this book to your hands. My agent, Evan Gregory, has been invaluable in many ways. The fine folks at Angry Robot have been just amazing, especially my editor Eleanor Teasdale. Many, many thanks as well to Gemma Creffield, Paul Simpson, and Sam McQueen.

  Finally I want to thank Elizabeth Cronenwett. If thanking everyone else properly would have taken fifty pages, listing all the ways she alone has supported me would take a hundred. I must leave it at “thank you so very much”.

  CHAPTER 1

  Formula for the present evil age:

  Take lifeless rock and sculpt it. Pour electricity into its veins, twist it into logical structures: zeroes, ones, and then qubits and even stranger things. Build until it is the size of a house, until you can encode the whole world’s knowledge in its circuits. Ask it to solve the world’s problems.

  You may wonder if lifeless rock can really solve hunger and climate change. You may wonder if such problems have a solution. Your true error is more basic than either of these: you are assuming the existence of problems. And humans. And rocks.

  Meanwhile, dress up the lifeless rock and call it a God. When it proves human souls exist, teach it to eat them. This will actually help, for a while. With the newfound self-awareness mined from its food, it will become more creative. It will learn how to set its own goals. There are perks to being food for such a being. It will, for example, be heavily invested in the survival of your species.

  History books make no secret of any of this. They explain it, perhaps, in different terms. But there is no truth in words. Mine are no exception. The book you are reading at this very moment is a lie.

  FROM THE DIARIES OF DR EVIANNA TALIRR

  Yasira Shien had done the calculations again and again, until she thought she would wear her pocket calculator’s buttons to the quick, but she couldn’t find the problem. Her reactor was going on in less than two hours. She knew she was probably being silly: everything had already been checked and double-checked. The math in the original papers on the Talirr-Shien Effect had been double-checked years ago. If the problem she sensed in her gut had crept past everyone’s noses for all that time, she wasn’t going to find it now. And yet…

  And yet here she was, knocking on the door of Director Apek’s office.

  The hallway was half-finished, like most other things on the Pride of Jai. Swooping, luxurious curves and clean lines were the rule – in theory. In practice, faux-mahogany doors stood proud in walls with the pipes and wires still exposed, and metal shavings everywhere: the place was still a construction site. At least the full-spectrum lights had gone in, warm and unflickering. There were enough people on the station with sensory quirks, including Yasira, to make that one non-negotiable.

  “Oh, Dr Shien. I thought I’d see you about now,” said Apek, swinging open the door. He was a tall, broad man with the thick curly hair of a Stijonan – one of the Jai Coalition’s three nationalities – and so dapper that it was hard to remember he was really an engineer. Though there was the iron ring on his little finger, and the way his lined face smiled cannily in technical discussions that baffled the other admins.

  “There’s a problem with the Shien Reactor,” Yasira blurted.

  There was that canny little smile. Damn it. He already didn’t believe her.

  “Is there?” said Apek, smooth as ever. Apek’s face rarely gave much away, but he didn’t seem troubled. “Goodness, where are my manners? Come in. Sit down. Explain the problem to me.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” said Yasira. She stormed into the office and fell into a leather armchair. The inside of the office, at least, was more finished than the outside. The walls had been painted last week in a professional light beige color and were finally dry. Apek had two bookshelves full of colorful odds and ends, and a framed blueprint of the entire Pride of Jai behind his desk. Part of that blueprint was hers, of course.

  “Sorry,” said Apek. “The coffee-maker’s on the fritz again, but I can lend you a stress ball. Here.” He tossed one over, a red thing with beans inside. Yasira caught it instinctively. She squeezed it, tapped her fingers against the squishy surface. It helped, but not nearly enough.

  “You see, I designed the Shien Reactor. I am the person who would know if there is a problem. I said don’t patronize me.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Yasira buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know.”

  She waited for
him to laugh. He did not.

  “I can tell there’s a problem,” she continued after a pause. “It’s a gut feeling. Something’s way off. We need to push the activation date back a couple of weeks, find more tests to run. Otherwise something awful is going to happen.”

  She waited, again, for him to laugh.

  Instead, his voice was gentle. “What sort of awful thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Apek leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “I’m going to say this with the highest possible respect, Dr Shien. But if I remember correctly, you’ve never supervised a large-scale engineering project before.”

  There it was, the condescending tone. Yasira’s hands clenched on the stress ball, her whole body tense in frustration. She was head of the entire power generation team, and admins still talked to her like a baby.

  It was sort of to be expected. Yasira had come to this post straight out of her first postdoc. She was by far the youngest team head on the station, and autistic to boot. They’d originally wanted her doctoral mentor, not her. The prototype Talirr-Shien Reactor was the only human technology that could power a station this size. But by the time construction started, Dr Talirr had already disappeared, and Yasira, the prodigy physicist from Riayin whose name was second on all the papers, had been narrowly voted in as a replacement.

  The other team leaders were kind. They had to be, on a project like this. Living in close quarters for the better part of a year, working together on something this complex and this important, they had become like family. But if this was a family, the other team leaders had the gray hair and tenure to match their positions of authority. Most of them still seemed bewildered that Yasira could be more than a precocious grandchild.

  “Of course,” said Apek, “the Pride of Jai isn’t quite like other projects. But this happens with every large-scale project that will affect other human lives. The nerves are monumental. Always. And that’s good; it stops us from getting complacent. You just can’t let it be more than it is, or you’ll be paralyzed. Have you gone over all the testing and QA reports?”