“Ehh,” Kinsella said. “I’ll get a few close. There will be a lot of them. And they only have to get close.” Kinsella fished inside a fold of his dress and pulled out a small, flattish lump, which he tossed to Stein.
“What’s this?” Stein said, recognizing it a second later. “Explosives?”
“Keep it. I’ve got like four hundred of them.”
“You’re going to send suicide bombers at Helot? That’s insane.”
“It sounds all right to me,” Griese said. The conversation slid to a stop, everyone turning to stare at him.
“What’s his problem?” Kinsella finally asked.
“What?” Stein said. “He’s agreeing with your plan.”
“Yeah. But my plan is obviously messed up. Why’s he so keen on it?”
“His wife’s dead.”
“Oh.” Kinsella bit his lip, looking abashed. “Man, what do you say to that?”
Stein just stared at the cretin. “Anything but that,” she finally said. Griese looked down at the ground, removing himself from the conversation again.
“And they’re not suicide bombers. I’m going to tell them to throw the things,” Kinsella explained. “I’m not crazy.”
“You’re touting your plan to give four hundred explosive charges to people you’ve drugged as proof of your sanity?” Stein’s eyes widened. “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you? What the fuck does anyone on this ship know about sanity?”
Kinsella pursed his lips, waiting for her to calm down. “Would you like to know why…”
“Why you’ve come to tell me all this? Yes. Obviously. Fuck. Of course I want to know.”
“I could use your help.”
“Fuck no.”
“You haven’t heard me…”
“Fuck no.”
“…out.” Kinsella rubbed his face. “You understand what’s at stake here better than anyone. You said it yourself: if we don’t stop Helot, we all freeze to death.”
Stein glared at him. “And how many people freeze to death if we do stop him?” He blinked, seemed ready to protest, then stopped, looking at Stein appraisingly. “The same number?” she said. “Just a different selection?”
“Very observant, Ms. Stein.”
She slumped forward onto her elbows. “You don’t want to stop Helot. You want to replace him.”
Kinsella took a deep breath and turned away, looking out the window. She got the impression he didn’t even like admitting it to himself. “Helot’s right, you know,” he said. “We can’t stop the whole ship. Not enough fuel, apparently. Not everyone gets to go.” He looked at Stein and shrugged. “So, on the one hand, good for him! Taking the initiative like this, making the tough choices. But why does he get to pick? Why not me? So yeah, I’m going to do the same myself. Put my people in the core. Be stupid not to. And if you help…”
“I become ‘your people.’”
“That’s right.” He gestured at the window, waving his arm. “Whichever one of those is Tau Prius. You help me, and then you, Mopey, and Surly here get to go.”
“We’re grateful,” Stein said. Surprisingly, it sounded more sincere than she intended. “How about your army? Do they get to go?”
Kinsella’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t pretend you’re that stupid.” Perhaps sensing he was about to be struck — correctly — he frowned and changed the subject. “You’d have to do even less this time,” he said. “Just show my people the easiest way into the core. They’ll do all the work.”
“There is no way. The way we used was exposed to space, may still be in space, and if not, is crawling with security officers. Who, if they catch us, will throw us in space.”
“Well, find another way. You know the ship better than anyone. Get my people to the core with a minimum of bomb–throwing.”
“To do what exactly?” She knew exactly what was going to happen, but wanted to hear him say it, or see just how good he was at lying to himself.
Kinsella stared her down. “To kill Helot. And anyone standing near Helot. What did you think this was about?” His expression softened a bit. “We can do it with or without you. But I think we’ve got a better chance with you. And, seeing as you’re so fucking concerned about these morons, consider this: a small, targeted attack will be a lot less costly than a pitched battle. You don’t want those maniacs’ lives on your conscience, surely.”
“Like you do?”
Kinsella tilted his head to the side. “Don’t worry about me. My conscience is incredibly robust.”
She shivered and turned away. “And if I say no? Will one of your maniacs run up, hug me, and explode?”
Kinsella blinked. “I hadn’t even thought of threatening you. Hell, I thought you’d want to help out just to save your own shitty fucking lives. But shit, if that works, yeah.” He held up his hands. “Boomhugs all around if you say no.”
He let that hang in the air for a moment. “You say you’re going to kill Helot?” Griese said, latching on to his new favorite conversational topic.
“Absolutely, I will,” Kinsella said.
“When do you need us ready?” Griese said, speaking two consecutive sentences for the first time in days.
Kinsella looked at Griese appraisingly. “Tomorrow. Let’s say high noon, like a cowboy fight.” He glanced back and forth between Stein and Griese, not needing Griese’s help at all and not completely convinced he had the pull to commit Stein to anything.
And Stein definitely wasn’t going to commit to anything. But she also had no problem lying, if only to buy some time. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll help.”
“Great!” Kinsella said. He stepped back and reset his wig over his face. His bodyguards moved closer, bracketing him. “I’ve got a lot of things to get organized, so I’ll leave you to it.” Another oily smile, one last adjustment of the wig. “We’ll be in touch.” Then he turned and left.
“Who was that?” Bruce asked, head turned to watch him leave, body pitching dangerously forward. “Was that…was that Stein?”
“Right here, Bruce,” Stein said.
“Oh.” Bruce said, looking at her in surprise. “I knew it was you the whole time.”
“Kay.” She turned to her other friend. “Kinsella had a point there, Griese. What is your problem? You’re not committing suicide on us, buddy.”
“I know,” Griese replied, convincing no one. “I don’t want to die. I just want to kill a guy is all.”
She wrapped her arms around him, forehead pressed to his cheek. “I know, buddy. Me, too. But not if a bunch of drugged–up patsies also have to die in the process.”
Still hugging Griese, she turned to look out the window, watching the loathsome stars, tracing their paths as they rotated past the window, oblivious to her and her perfectly rational hatred of them. She frowned, just noticing something. The sun was missing. Whatever axis the ship was rotating around now, it wasn’t aligned with their sun. The escape of air out the aft must have knocked the ship off axis; it was probably flipping around end to end, just slow enough for there to be no detectable difference in the gravity. Only someone looking for the pole star would notice, when they saw it wasn’t there anymore.
“I just don’t see a way out,” she said.
A belch from Stein’s right. She turned to berate her friend for ruining her moment of despair, but before she could, Bruce said, “We could try the plan again. Sneak in to the reactor. Cripple it. Blackmail a guy.” He made a complicated gesture which was evidently supposed to communicate the idea of blackmailing. “Etcetera…” Stein looked at him suspiciously, wondering how much of his drunkenness was feigned. “Kinsella won’t need to send any maniacs to die then,” he pointed out.
Griese shifted away from Stein. “That plan doesn’t sound like it lets us kill a guy.” Stein watched him fidget with the can in his lap. It was good to see Griese so lively again, even if the only thing he had expressed any interest in was murder–suicide.
Bruce put a finger to his mouth, lips pursed.
“We could get Helot to stand on the reactor first, then blow it up.”
Stein enjoyed visualizing that for a moment. “Okay. But the impossible bit still remains impossible. They know about every way we’ve found to sneak back there. And they’re apparently shooting to kill now. We can’t get anywhere close to the reactor.”
Bruce burped again, then looked extremely satisfied with himself. “What’s the stupidest idea I ever had?” he asked. Stein stared back at him, not sure if it was a rhetorical question. “Come on. What’s the stupidest idea I ever had?” he repeated.
“Honestly, buddy, I’ve known you for a long time. You’ve had a few, but I haven’t been keeping track of all of them.”
Bruce shook his head. “You know. You just don’t know you know. It was the really stupid one. The stupidest of them all.”
Stein took a deep breath. “Bruce, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Fuck. You. You. Fucking. Drunken. Sphinx. Motherfucker.”
Bruce snorted. “Why don’t we go outside the ship?”
Stein just stared at him, shaking her head softly. Then something clicked. “Oh, lord,” she said, remembering. “That was a stupid idea.” She turned to stare out the window again.
“What are you guys talking about?” Griese asked.
Stein looked at Bruce. “Do you want to explain?” she asked. Bruce burped and waved his hand, offering her the floor. “Okay,” she said, collecting her thoughts. “Bruce’s idea is beyond stupid. It is the most powerfully insane thing that has ever been thought. The air curdles when it is spoken.”
“Get on with it,” Bruce said. He burped again.
“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “It involves going out the bow airlock, circumnavigating the outer hull of the ship, and re–entering the airlock in the aft.”
Griese nodded. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Everything is wrong with that. One, I’ve seen some spacesuits up there, but there’s no chance there will be any extra vehicular equipment. The naval guys kept all that stuff in the aft. So, we can get outside, but we can’t do anything out there except float around and die.”
“Stupider,” Bruce said. “Go stupider.”
Stein elbowed him. “Bruce is of course referring to the second draft of his idea. Which involved clinging to the outer surface of the ship like monkeys, and climbing around to the other side. I think he was originally suggesting using climbing gear, but he may now just be considering holding on really tight.” She studied Griese’s face, looking for some sign that he concurred with how stupid the plan was. “I told you it was stupid.”
“Yeah, it is!” Bruce yelled triumphantly.
Griese licked his lips. “Why won’t it work?”
Stein stared at him. “Because the ship is spinning. It would be the equivalent of climbing hand over hand for three kilometers. The deadliest set of monkey bars ever conceived. One slip, and you fall away.” With her fingers, she walked across the back of her hand, then pantomimed her fingers flying off into space.
Griese nodded, digesting that. “It sounds doable.”
“It’s not.” She stood up, turned to face them, grew infuriated by their eager expressions, and turned away. “I think we can come up with something better than amusing methods of committing suicide.” She turned around again and glared at Bruce.
“Well, while you’re doing that, I’m going to go find some climbing equipment,” Bruce said, standing up. He listed to the right again. Stein still wasn’t sure whether he was feigning soberness or drunkenness. “Climbing equipment for one. Or two…?”
“Two,” Griese said standing up, tucking the small can up on one hip like a ball. He patted the big man on the shoulder. They shook hands.
Stein stared back and forth between the two men, incredulous. “You guys are insane. I absolutely forbid you from doing this.”
Griese tilted his neck to look at her. He adjusted his grip on the small can, looked down at it, ran his fingers along the seam of the cap. “You’re not allowed to tell me what I can’t do.” Stein’s face fell. He walked away.
“And you,” Bruce said, pointing his finger somewhere to the left of her. He frowned, then adjusted his aim, eventually aligning his finger more or less with her chest. He finished his thought, “You are not my real mom. I don’t have to listen to you.” He left in the opposite direction, kicking over a pile of empty bottles as he left.
“Dammit, guys,” she said after they had left. She slumped back down on to the bench and turned to the window. For a while, she just sat there, trying to find where the sun had gone. Her terminal could probably figure it out, assuming it was still in their field of vision. But to the naked eye, it was gone.
She would let them sober up a bit first and come to their senses. That was the smart play. But Griese was already sober, wasn’t he? And as for Bruce’s senses…even sober he would still think this was a good idea. Spotting one of Bruce’s empty bottles, she kicked it, watching it sail across the lounge and bounce into the window. If the pair of them did actually go, there was no doubt in her mind that she would go along with them. Not after what happened to Ellen. They were all she had now, no more splitting up.
But she didn’t have to be happy about it.
“Man, I don’t want to die in space.” She looked back out the window. “Fuck you, space.”
§
Sergei took a few playful bounces down the hall, still amused by the joys of low–gravity movement, even after a couple days on duty in it. He stopped, turned around, and bounced back. In the hall ahead of him, blue light flickered over the walls. He stopped just short of the hatch the blue light was emitting from, held his hand up to shield his face, and bounced past the hatch. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Since the whole mess began, this was far and away the most relaxing chore Sergei had been assigned. Low–gravity babysitting. Even better, it meant he wouldn’t have to help with the cleanup on street level. After depressurizing the ship, the Othersiders had left a real mess behind, many of the Othersiders part of the mess themselves. Thankfully, Sergei had seen just scraps of that, really only whatever the feeds thought fit to air. Not that he was supposed to be reading the feeds, but this was a seriously easy task he had, and the first assignment in weeks that gave him time to kill.
The buzzing sound from the hatch faded out, and he turned to see the blue flickering had also stopped. He waited a few seconds, having nearly rushed back into the path of the torch once already. A couple of long bounds and he reached the hatch, a massive, ugly thing normally concealed behind the soft plastic panels which lined the walls. Cautiously, he peered into the cavity beyond the hatch. The two naval techs, clambering over the massive mechanical whatever. They seemed pleased with themselves; one of them gave Sergei a thumbs–up.
After examining their work, the pair of techs casually leapt off of the mechanism to the floor of the cavity. One of them picked up the massive cutting tool and moved to the edge of the hatch. Sergei stood back as they climbed out, not offering to help; he had tried once, but they wouldn’t let him anywhere near their fancy tool. It was apparently pretty valuable. “And growing increasingly rare,” one of the techs had said, whatever that meant.
He had at least managed to convince them he should know where they were going next, and once they were all outside the cavity, led them down the halls to their next destination, doing his best to act the escort and not the mascot.
It was still a bit of a mystery to Sergei what exactly they were doing. The techs wouldn’t tell him and had in fact gotten kind of weird about it when he had asked. It seemed pretty clear to him that they were repairing some sort of damage caused by Othersider saboteurs, so he couldn’t imagine why they were being so secretive. But navy guys were famously weird, and he didn’t want to do anything to offend, lest he lose his new, bouncy gig.
§
Stein stroked one of the nearly–ripe fruits hanging off Mr. Beefy, hefting its weight in her palm. The little meat plant ha
d being doing well lately; he was almost ready to be harvested. She wondered if she would be around to do that and whether she should drop him off on a neighbor’s doorstep just in case.
Her terminal beeped, and she looked down, expecting to see another horrible climbing pun from Bruce. She had told the two of them that if they were going to insist on being so crazy, she would be forced to at least try and keep them out of trouble. They had protested, but not seriously, and agreed to meet in the upper–decks of the bow that night.
She sighed when she read the From: line; a message from Bruce would have been preferable to this.
Hope you’re still okay. I didn’t see you pass through here in all that mess, so I guess you probably are. Here’s the stuff I found in regards to that matter. I tried not to read too much. It’s your business, not mine. — Berg.
She’d forgotten about Dr. Berg and his trek through the shadier bits of her DNA. Attached to the message was a single file, a large archive. She opened it, revealing a bunch of documents represented with unfamiliar icons. After a moment, she realized they indicated the files were damaged and that she was looking at the best interpolation of what they might be. They must have gotten banged up a bit on their long journey — she had never even thought to be careful handling her own DNA. She crossed the room to her couch, sat down, and began to read the first file, helpfully labeled Readme.
Hello.
Sorry for troubling you like this. If everything’s gone according to plan, you’re reading this after seeing the words DATA GENE glow in your eyes. I hope that’s not too troublesome. If I set it up right, it should only bother you when you look directly at a light tower. And it was the only way to point you in the right direction, to find this file you’re reading.
I’m afraid I had little choice. This was the only place I could hide this message where I knew someone would read it. I’m being hunted down because of this information and can carry it alone no longer. It pertains to a grave threat to the Argos. See the attached files.
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