Severance

by Chris Bucholz

  Another click and a rattle from the food chute. Stein sat up in bed, brow furrowed. It was far too early for another meal. She watched as a small maintenance robot crashed out of the chute, landing with a thump on the floor. Righting itself, it scurried around the floor, banging into the cell door. “Beep,” the robot said, then crashed into the door again.

  Stein darted out of bed and scooped the robot up, finding the unit’s power switch and deactivating it. Flipping it over again, Stein could see that it had a terminal strapped to its back, the phrase “Shit Cake” written on it in large letters. An inside joke she wasn’t in on, but at least it was clear where it had come from. “You big, beautiful bastard,” she whispered to the comatose robot. She hurried back to her bunk, shoulders spread wide to hide the robot, then dove into the lower bunk, where she would mostly be out of sight of the security sensor.

  Now, what to do with this? With the terminal she could start communicating with the outside world again. A message to Bruce thanking him for his care package might be in order. On the other hand, she had no idea how closely she was being watched. Terminals could be tracked — security would probably notice the second she turned it on. And a message to Bruce — or Abdolo Poland or whatever the fuck he was calling himself now — might similarly get him in trouble. He was still a fugitive, too.

  The fact that the robot came with the terminal rather than just dropping it off was important. Bruce wanted her to use it. He wanted her to rescue herself. The lazy fuck. She turned the robot over in her hands, inspecting its manipulators and built–in tools, and started mentally applying them to various surfaces in her cell.

  §

  Hogg stomped down the center of the street, ignoring the wave of insults and curses that followed in his wake. His particular uniform hadn’t been very popular since Kinsella’s big speech. Although most people seemed to think their mayor was rehearsing some kind of hilarious new comedy routine at the time, at least a few people had believed his story. And now that openly hating security was a thing to do, it was a thing they did.

  Hogg couldn’t say for sure that he believed everything the oily man had said, but damned if it didn’t make just a bit of oily sense. The similarities between the mayor’s story and Stein’s were too close not to notice. Though that would make sense, if they were working together. But…there wasn’t much actual evidence they were working together. Just a press release from Thorias about a fake interrogation that hadn’t occurred. Why would Thorias lie about that? The permutations spun around in Hogg’s head. It was all very complicated.

  And then he had received a message instructing him to go arrest Kinsella and felt instant relief. This, at least, was simple. Something he could do. Something he had to do.

  Even if he kind of didn’t want to.

  The mayor had probably traveled in disguise to the square on the first level where most of the sensors were broken. But he had left the event in a bit of a hurry, too much of a hurry to change disguise, and also hadn’t shed the four large, highly visible men traveling with him. The sensors had tracked the group until they entered the abandoned arena on the first level, the arena Hogg was standing in front of now.

  At one time, this had been the ship’s skating rink, although it had long since been repurposed to provide a big empty room where people could slide around on wheeled desk chairs and crash into each other. Whether the mayor and his pals were doing that or not, Hogg wouldn’t guess. The odds were low, certainly. But not zero.

  As a base of operations, though, it was a legitimately smart choice. Multiple entrances and exits, located on wide streets that were hard to sneak up on. It would take a lot of officers to lock down completely. And Hogg only had himself.

  He approached the two highly visible men at the front door. They weren’t taking any particular pride in their work, seemingly distracted by a group of prostitutes down the street, and didn’t notice Hogg until he was within a few meters of them, at which point they did notice him, hard. “Relax,” Hogg said, coming to a stop a nice, non–threatening distance away. He held his hands up in a calming gesture. “I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

  Looks of relief, mistrust, and confusion played across each guard’s face, colliding into each other in often hilarious combinations. “You’re not?” one of them finally asked, the smart one, presumably. His hand nevertheless slid around to rest on the weapon he clearly had concealed behind his back.

  “Nope,” Hogg said. “I just wanted to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Not here.” Hogg jerked his head inside. “You know. Given the circumstances.” Not waiting for a response, he stepped past the guards and into the arena.

  It was empty, or at least mostly so. The room was dominated by the massive curved floor of the old rink, lined with low walls. A drift of wheeled chairs had washed up against one of the walls on the side of the arena. To the other side, he saw a group of bulky men just outside of the main rink, standing around the mayor. Hogg began walking across the arena towards his prey, one of the door guards in tow, feebly protesting.

  “Mayor Kinsella?” Hogg said as he drew within conversing distance. “I’m here to place you under arrest.”

  “Hey!” The guard behind him shouted. “You lied to me!” He stepped in front of Hogg and put his hand on his chest before turning to the mayor. “He lied to me!”

  Kinsella looked profoundly unimpressed. This was the first time Hogg had actually seen the man without all of his teeth showing in a massive smile. The rest of Kinsella’s friends spread out around Hogg, puffing up their chests, playing with their weapons. Hogg watched them click the safeties of their pistols on and off, trying to make menacing noises.

  “You’re here to arrest me?” Kinsella finally asked. Not frightened, but wary.

  Hogg nodded.

  “By yourself?”

  Hogg looked around. “It seems that way.”

  “Is that true?” Kinsella asked, turning his head to look at his assembly of highly visible men. A lot of vacant expressions looked back at him. Eventually, one of them began messing with his terminal and reported back that Hogg indeed appeared to be alone.

  Kinsella squinted at Hogg, shaking his head slightly. “Whhhhhhhy….no…that’s not…nooooo,” he said quietly. “There’s something not right here.” He turned away from Hogg, took a step, then immediately turned back to face him, still obviously unsettled. “Could someone shoot him, please?” he asked politely.

  So someone shot him.

  §

  Tiny signs of movement on the barricade two blocks away, anxious security dorks shifting around. Bruce crossed his legs, his back against the bench armrest, and watched them carefully. He was in the southern end of the garden well, watching one of the barricades. He couldn’t make any of them out individually but knew they would be watching him. For the third time since he arrived, he gave them a cheery wave.

  Here he was, the ship’s most wanted criminal, sitting in plain sight of a dozen or more security officers, none of whom dared come get him. It was shocking really, his tax dollars at work, not catching him. Bruce opened his terminal and examined the locations of all the other known security personnel, double–checking that none of the roving patrols were sneaking up on him. Not a new tool, just one that had recently grown in popularity, his terminal was currently set to identify security officers and report their locations to a shared database. The database’s accuracy improved with the number of people using it, and it had been very accurate lately.

  He shut off the terminal and looked back up at the barricades guarding the aft. Obviously, they were there to do a lot more than just guard Stein, but they were inadvertently doing a pretty good job of that, as well. A shame, because it was looking more and more like she needed some help.

  He had watched the robot come crashing down into the cell and shut itself off almost immediately. He didn’t get a look at who shut it off, but it had to have been Stein. It was the only occupied cell, and she was the onl
y one on the ship who would see a maintenance robot appear out of nowhere and know instinctively what to do with it.

  And then she hadn’t even said thank you.

  The robot must have been taken from her. Those cells were monitored, something he knew from the jail time that was an occasional side effect of the rich life he had led. He felt stupid, should have found something more subtle than programming the robot to chuck itself down the feeding chute. The cell’s sensor had probably flagged it on the second bounce.

  Bruce leaned back on the bench, looking up the nearly vertical wall of the garden well that stretched above him. Looking up the length of the wall from this vantage point gave most people vertigo, and it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see puddles of vomit around these benches. But he had a strong stomach for heights, or depths, or whatever this view was, and even found it relaxing.

  With Operation Robot Surprise a seeming failure, he had been considering brasher ways of retrieving his friend. He had found a bulkhead door on the other end of the ship and spent most of an afternoon fiddling with its various controls, eventually figuring out how to open, close, and then jam it open. The latter proved almost comically easy, the communication chip clearly visible and vulnerable to stabbing. Which solved at least part of his dilemma — he could now at least get closer to Stein. Where several hundred security officers would be waiting, possibly mad about all of their colleagues that he had shot.

  Shadows passed over him. He tilted his head to see a group of teenagers walking past, coming to a halt a short distance away. They stared straight up, peering up the same length of garden well wall Bruce was.

  “I don’t feel anything,” one of them said.

  “You will.”

  “Yeah, just give it time.”

  “Try spinning,” another suggested.

  Bruce watched the teenagers staring straight up, spinning around slowly. Before too long one of them abruptly stopped, squatted down, and tried to brace himself with his hand, not quite succeeding, toppling to the ground on his side.

  “Ahh, you flinched!”

  “I’m going to be sick,” the one on the ground said.

  “That’s the point.”

  “Oh, shit,” another said, lowering her head, her eyes swimming. Her neck curled back then propelled her head forward, a voluminous stream of vomit spewing from her mouth, spraying her friends. This set off a chain reaction, three others barfing in quick succession, spraying the ground in bile, causing the sole survivor to slip and fall, laughing.

  Bruce hadn’t seen a vomit club in a while. It was a hobby which hadn’t been in fashion for at least a couple of years. A reminder that even though the ship was in desperate peril, most people didn’t know or care enough to be anything other than bored. With no government jobs to go to, and no school to sleep through, the amount of time being wasted on the ship was reaching a generational peak. Even the mayor had been able to get nearly a thousand people to show for his ‘Old Tyme Politic Rap Session’ at a moment’s notice, simply by the promise that something interesting might happen.

  Bruce watched one of the teens attempt to stand up, putting his foot in a slick of vomit and slipping, legs jackknifing in the air as he came down in a thud. Just a bunch of stupid kids, looking for stupid to do. Sitting at the feet of the Argos’ biggest stupid–dealer. A plan was forming in Bruce’s head. It wasn’t, happily, a smart one.

  §

  “He’s waking up, boss.”

  “Then shoot him again.”

  So, someone shot him.

  §

  “Coming around again.”

  Hogg raised his hands in protection. At least, he tried to. He knew that he probably wasn’t moving much, having seen more than a few people recover from stun shots before. He was probably curled up in the fetal position, pawing at his own face.

  “Shoot him again?”

  No answer. So no one shot him.

  Slowly, the remainder of Hogg’s senses reported in. He was still in the arena, apparently right where he had been shot. Feet, all around him, belonging to Kinsella’s posse. Hogg looked up, spotting the mayor himself walking over.

  “Why’d you come alone?” Kinsella asked.

  Hogg ignored him, knowing from experience that it would take another minute or two before he would be able to say anything intelligible. He instead maneuvered himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs and squeezing. He held up one finger to Kinsella, indicating he hadn’t forgotten him, and began the unpleasant process of clearing his throat.

  “Hrrrk. Haaap. IIIIch. K. Okay. Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” Kinsella said. “Why did you come alone?” he asked again.

  It was a good question, and Hogg wasn’t sure he had an answer. Finally, he said, “Orders. Gotta do ’em.” A pause. “Don’t have to do ’em well.”

  Kinsella’s nostrils flared. “I will shoot you again. I will do it and like it. You guys say I’m a terrorist? Well, maybe I’ll terrorize your unconscious ass. Now, stop speaking in riddles. Why are you here alone?”

  Hogg looked down at his feet. “Because I’m not even supposed to be working right now.”

  “What the fuck did I just say about riddles?”

  Hogg smiled and looked up at the mayor. He swallowed and collected his thoughts, wondering if he could explain it even to himself. “I was supposed to be off–rotation right now. It’d been scheduled for months. It’d been deliberately scheduled for months. About a year ago someone made a real fuss about messing with my rotation schedule, which ended up with me being off–rotation this quarter.”

  “What the fuck does this have to do with anything?”

  “Depends.” Hogg studied the mayor’s expression. “Are you lying about this whole thing? About the captain?” Kinsella closed his eyes, rubbing his face. With a flick of his hand, he gestured at one of his goons, who obediently raised his pistol. “Whoa!” Hogg said. “It was just a question. I believe you.” He stopped speaking, suddenly tired. “I believe you,” he repeated, trying the words on for size.

  Kinsella’s gaze narrowed. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  Hogg snorted. “Don’t you get it yet? I was supposed to be on a freaking staycation right now. On this side of the ship. Not that side,” he jerked his head to the south. “I was getting left behind, too.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bulltruth. It was only a last minute screw–up that brought me back on duty. And when I was brought back, I was given an abrupt and unexpected promotion, put in charge of the fucking Community Outreach Centre. That’s in the bow of the ship, in case you didn’t know.”

  At the time, he had been dismayed by the assignment but not entirely surprised. He had known for a while that he didn’t play the right games, perhaps shared his opinions a little too readily. So, it made sense for him to be assigned to command the squad of lost souls. They were simply trying to keep him out of the way.

  He just never could have guessed how out of the way they intended to keep him.

  “Why would they leave you behind?” Kinsella asked.

  Hogg looked up at the mayor and cracked a half smile. “I’m curious to know myself. Don’t know if I’d like the answer.” He lowered his head and studied his own feet.

  Kinsella considered that for a moment, then smiled himself. “Okay. So, you’re being left behind. But if you believe that, and you believe me, then, why, oh why, the fuck would you come to arrest me?”

  Hogg threw his arms around his legs and squeezed. “I honestly don’t know. It’s a job. Gotta do your job, right? Though I guess that doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”

  Kinsella looked at him appraisingly. “You security guys are a different breed.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Huh,” Kinsella said. He chewed his lip, staring at Hogg in a way that made him feel extremely uncomfortable. “Goddamn,” Kinsella said and began pacing. “Now, that is an interesting possibility. Not that I’m sure I’d trust you enough to try
.” He stopped. “But what the fuck. Everything’s worth a shot.” He turned to Hogg. “Do you have handcuffs? Binders? Whatever?”

  Hogg nodded.

  “Good. Put them on yourself.”

  Hogg fumbled in his belt for the binders. Cuffing yourself was a pretty clear sign that something hadn’t gone according to plan. But then he remembered that he hadn’t actually had a plan coming here. Just a lurchy sort of instinct that he should go at Kinsella and see what happened. And now he knew what happened — you got shot a few times and had to cuff yourself.

  He held up his bound wrists, showing them to Kinsella, who gave one of his all teeth smiles. “Amazing.” He began nodding tightly, clearly plotting something. “We’ve got that cart still, right?” he asked one of his men. “Okay, cool. Go get that. We’ll need to put him on it.” He crouched down to talk to Hogg, “I’m going to have to shoot you again.”

  Hogg’s shoulders slumped. “Are you sure?”

  Kinsella nodded.

  So, they shot him again.

  §

  The trolley slid to a stop at 10th Avenue, which was as far south as it still went; someone evidently had the sense to change the trolleys’ programming so that they wouldn’t start slamming into closed bulkhead doors, although Bruce supposed it was perhaps more likely that the trolleys had simply changed their own programming in the absence of any signs of operator sense. He stepped out of the rear doors, Ellen and Griese in tow, and headed confidently towards the escalator beside the intersection.