“When you said we were going to meet an old friend of yours I thought, considering your record, it might be sensible to carry some insurance.”
“But where did you get it?” Haynes was very clear about his position on firearms. Whatever the situation was, the appearance of a gun could only escalate it and he was sure to be on the side that it escalated against.
“Weapons locker on the ship,” she told him with a shrug that waved the end of the gun a little wildly.
“The ship has a weapons locker?”
“I thought you said you had surveyed the ship completely,” Lyssa said, unnecessarily archly in his opinion.
“Except the weapons locker, apparently. Keely, switch off the gun and put it down.”
“I got you out,” she said with a pout, stepping away around the other side of a table.
“And very grateful we are to you for that,” he told her with some feeling, “but when these things go off they tend to make big holes in people. I don’t think that you want that on your conscience.”
Lyssa nodded her agreement.
“I also believe that he is right,” the leader of their captors stepped in through the doorway. He was no longer carrying the bladed weapon of earlier, but a much larger and more powerful looking version of the gun that Keely carried, “and that it would be wise of you to put down the weapon.”
For a moment, Haynes thought that she was going to try and do something stupid. The outcome of that would have been inevitable and not in a good way for her. Then she deflated a little and sighed. “Oh all right.” She dropped it onto the table.
Haynes had just enough time to shout, “No!” before there was a bright flash and the man was thrown bodily against the wall and slumped to the floor, leaving a trail of green slime behind him.
“Oh galaxy, I’m sorry,” Keely cried.
“Haynes, his chest just melted,” Lyssa declared a little too loudly.
“Yes, thanks for that Lyssa,” Haynes moved quickly over to Keely, encircling her with his arms and surreptitiously palming the weapon, making sure that the safety was on and double locked.
“I mean his chest melted,” she repeated.
“Yes, I think that we understand that.”
“No,” Lyssa said emphatically, “I said that his chest melted.”
“Melted?” Haynes finally caught on to her tone.
“Yes melted,” she confirmed, squatting down beside the fallen man, “as in what plastic does, but flesh is not renowned for.”
“So I was right about him. Keely, you haven’t killed anyone.”
“But I shot him.”
“You could argue that technically the table shot him, but he’s not dead just...”
“Forcibly deactivated?” Lyssa suggested.
“As good a phrase as any,” Haynes decided. “Look.”
Lyssa lifted up the man’s head so that it was no longer slumped in front of his chest. The eyes were glassy, but in the way that glass is glassy. The skin was waxy and pale. The chest was one big burn mark with a large hole in the centre. The edges of the hole would have been jagged except that they had melted to smooth waves. Beyond was a mess of badly burned circuitry, pumps, and hydrodynamic armatures.
“One of the professor’s recreational automatons.”
“I don’t understand,” Lyssa said, dropping the head back onto the chest and wiping her hands on her trousers.
“It’s simple enough programming,” Haynes supposed. “Just wait and watch for someone who looks like me. Capture me and anyone with me and then request further instructions.”
“But they look so real.”
“The Professor’s special talent. If he wants to make a sexbot that looks real then you won’t be able to tell the difference. Most people don’t want quite that level of reality and their spouses most certainly don’t. Plus, they’re cheaper than regular goons and don’t nip off to eat, sleep or visit the Houses of Friendly Welcome all the time.”
“Does this mean that you’re not going to comfort me anymore?” Keely asked.
“It means that we ought to get out of here before numbers two and three come to see what happened to this one,” he suggested. “Come on.”
They quickly made their way to the nearest gap where the wall didn’t quite match up with the contours of the asteroid cavern and wriggled through back into the main thoroughfare. They then hurried back to the main areas where they were surrounded by people and felt a bit less conspicuous and safer.
“You know that you can let go of me at any time Keely,” Haynes pointed out.
She reluctantly relaxed her grip around him. He was able to breathe freely again, something that was not necessarily an advantage in the fetid recycled atmosphere.
“So what now?” Lyssa asked as they approached the spaceport area. “Jump in the ship and head off to see more old friends?”
“I thought that I’d buy a couple of dresses for the pair of you and we’d go to a party.”
“A party? Yay!” Keely cheered.
“That sounds more like it,” Lyssa agreed, suspiciously.
IT’S MY PARTY AND I’LL DIVE IF I WANT TO
“When you said that you were going to buy us dresses, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Lyssa complained.
“What did you expect?” Haynes queried, examining her critically.
“Something with a bit more...material actually,” she told him. “As in having some at all. Considering the price, you would think that it might cover something.”
Haynes had to admit that the dress she was wearing (if that was a term that could be applied) was somewhat revealing. It was, he admitted, possible that it might be considered very revealing. In some places it would have been termed scandalous and he knew a couple of social circles where it would have been the cause for arrest.
Which was exactly what he was aiming for.
“I look great!” Keely emerged from the dressing room in a swirl of curtains and not much else. She, like Lyssa, was sporting more skin than material, but seemed much less concerned about it. Haynes also had to admit that he could only agree with her - she did look great. The usual shapeless robes that she had brought from Hochnar and the too-large coveralls that she had been loaned by Lyssa had effectively covered curves that were now revealed in all their glory.
“Somehow I don’t believe that this party is the kind where everyone sits around drinking punch and discussing the latest arts sensation,” Lyssa distracted Haynes from the slightly disturbing vision of the younger girl.
“Actually that’s exactly the kind of party that it is,” he told her, “and you two are going to be that latest arts sensation.”
Another man passed through the marbled façade, across the marble floor and sat down in front of the desk of the surprised client advisor, who was surprised because he was actually advising a client at the time. Both he and the client, a portly man who was having problems re-establishing his finances after the loss of all his identification, stared at the newcomer who had so rudely interrupted them.
“Excuse me sir, but I am with someone. If you would like to sit over there I will be with you shortly,” the advisor said smoothly, having been trained to deal with even such a blatant breach of galactic banking etiquette.
The newcomer, however, ignored the words and slid a small piece of film across the marbled surface of the table and sat back, not once taking his eyes off the advisor. The bank employee looked down at the text on the film, blanched, mumbled his apologies (though it was not clear whether he was apologising to the fat man or to the newcomer) and took the film off to a corner office.
The portly man leaned over the rude new arrival. “Excuse me, but I rather resent this...” His voice trailed off as the other man turned to look directly at him. There was no need for him to be telepathic to know that it would be wiser to stop talking at this point. Unfortunately, he was less wise than he looked. “I mean, I have business to sort out here as well and I was first...”
He jerked back slightly as the other man leaned abruptly forwards in an action not unlike that of a striking cobra. Fortunately, the seat he was in was solid enough not to spill him over backwards and out across the floor.
“I could cut a lot off you before I reached anything important,” the man opposite him said with the coldness of a stated fact. He then sat back in his own seat and waited.
The portly man said nothing for a moment and then slipped quietly out of the chair and hurried away to the facilities to deal with an embarrassing wet patch on his clothing.
The client advisor returned with a thin hawk-faced man who studied him intently. This banker frowned when he realised that the newcomer had off-world origins, but wore no psych-reducing tie. Even so, there were no mental emanations from him at all. To the banker’s telepathic sense it was like he was looking at a human-shaped piece of black. Still, business was where you could find it. He chose not to proffer his hand for a handshake as the gesture was likely not to be reciprocated and that would leave him looking foolish. Instead, he merely indicated to the office.
“It is not often that we see one of these,” he said pleasantly after the door had closed behind them, indicating the slip of film that he carried, “but two in such a short time is unheard of.” He noticed the other man scanning the corners of the room, “You needn’t worry about being observed. There are no commeyes here. Everything here is protected by a context alarm.”
“Which you cannot operate if you cannot speak,” the newcomer whispered in his ear, laying the oh-so sharp blade of his knife across his throat, just below the level of his larynx. One swift slice was all that it would take.
“Sit,” the knife-holder ordered.
The banker very slowly and very carefully sat himself down in front of a glowing computer screen.
“Now type.”
The banker hesitated and then placed his fingers on the keyboard.
TYPE WHAT?
“The other holder of an account like this was here a few days ago?”
The banker almost nodded and then thought better of it.
YES.
“And you can access this account again?”
NO.
“Are you very sure about that?” There was a definite emphasis on the word ‘very,’ an emphasis that came from the blade against his throat.
THESE SYSTEMS ARE ENCRYPTED TO THE MOONS AND BACK WITH NO MEANS OF ACCESS OTHER THAN COMBINING KYLAHDUIGHDYH
The sudden increased pressure of the blade against the banker’s throat adversely affected his typing skills.
“I don’t need an essay,” the whisper carried a serious threat in its tone. “This bank would not leave a valuable account with no means of accessing it autonomously. Am I correct?”
YES.
“Yes to which part?”
YES, YOU ARE CORRECT. THE BANK WOULD NOT DO THAT.
“So how?”
PERSONAL ACCESS CODES OF THREE BANK VICE PRESIDENTS.
The man with the knife thought about that for a second. Three access codes from vice-presidents of a galactic bank was not an impossible task by any means, but he did not have the time. “What did the other man who was here do with the money?”
NO TRANSACTIONS.
“So this man came all the way to this planet, made his way into this bank and accessed the account merely to admire the balance, is that what you’re telling me?”
NO TRANSACTIONS.
The banker clearly thought that a simple ‘yes’ was not sufficient under the circumstances.
The blade tightened against his throat and then was suddenly gone. “All right,” the other man said brightly, “thank you very much for your time.”
The banker took one surprised, relieved deep intake of breath and promptly collapsed onto the floor. By the time that he emerged from his drugged sleep several hours later the computer records were blank and a ship with a false registry had left the spaceport.
After several hours of painstaking care, Haynes was on the point of completion when Keely rushed into the room and banged into the table. The house of cards collapsed onto the surface like a house of cards, which was appropriate enough.
“Quick. Come quick. We’ve got an emergency,” she gasped, holding onto the edge of the table and taking deep gulps of air.
Haynes looked at the shower of cards in dismay. He had managed to get the house up to eighteen storeys, which was very close to a lifetime’s best. “This isn’t another curling tong incident is it?” he asked bleakly.
“What? No, this is serious, with, like, possibility of death and stuff,” she declared angrily. The whole curling tong thing hadn’t been solely her fault and she resented him blaming her for it.
“Computer,” he enquired politely, “do we have an emergency situation?”
“Define emergency,” the computer asked.
“Define having silicon-stripping bacteria poured into your processing units,” he countered.
“Then if you consider our imminent destruction an emergency I would have to say yes,” the computer admitted.
Haynes looked sadly at the devastation that had been his house of cards. “Keely, you could have used the intercom,” he pointed out. “It might have been quicker and less destructive to property.” He picked himself up out of the seat, “Computer, do you have an alert protocol?”
“Of course.”
“Then you should implement it in future.”
The lighting shifted to a more orange tone. “Ochre alert! Ochre alert!”
“What is this emergency?” Haynes demanded, heading towards the control deck with Keely in his wake.
“We’re currently being tracked,” the computer told him.
“We’re approaching a planetary system, they’re supposed to track us,” Haynes pointed out.
“I can tell the difference between navigation aids and weapons guidance systems thank you very much,” the computer replied primly.
“Systems? With an ‘s’? As in plural?”
“I currently show thirty seven contacts, all from small astronomical bodies within the plane of the ecliptic.”
“Thirty seven?” Keely repeated in disbelief .
“Forty two now,” the computer amended, “and not being too subtle about it.”
Lyssa came around the corner at a full run and nearly bowled them both over. “What’s going on?” she demanded breathlessly, “And what the hell’s an ‘ochre’ alert?”
“Well pardon me for being more colour-literate than most,” the computer complained.
“We’re being targeted,” Keely told her.
“Probably by automated defence units on asteroids,” Haynes clarified.
“What do you expect?” Lyssa asked. “Some very rich people live here.”
“I expected some sort of warning.”
“Oh we’re getting one of those,” the computer revealed.
“Did I happen to mention silicone stripping bacteria earlier?” Haynes reminded.
“You were busy,” the computer replied, adding sniffily, “doing something important.”
“House of cards?” Lyssa queried sympathetically.
Haynes nodded. “Computer, play the warning.”
The main screen lit up with a huge logo incorporating a stylised representation of a solar system behind some thick black bars with guard dogs rampant on either side. “...change course. I repeat. Unidentified vessel, you are approaching space controlled by Galactisafe Security Services - ensuring personal safety in an uncertain universe. Your flight is neither logged nor authorised and therefore you are due to be destroyed in seven minutes and sixteen seconds unless you change course. I repeat. Unidentified ...”“
“Sound off,” Haynes ordered and the voice was muted.
“They sound serious,” Keely said worriedly.
“The threat board now shows fifty six tracks and holding steady,” the computer informed them.
“See if you can raise someone,” Haynes ordered, “and be ready to a
lter course before they start shooting.”
“I’m glad someone thought of that,” the computer said sarcastically.
“You two get into those dresses and get back here fast.”
The two women ran out of the room. Haynes was impressed that neither of them stopped to argue with him.
“Computer, give them both a running countdown and don’t stop until they get back here no matter what they say.”
“Delighted,” the computer confirmed. “I’ve also managed to contact someone in authority for you.”
“Stall him.”
“Stall him? I just worked my cooling fans off to get him.”
“Price of efficiency,” Haynes shrugged. “Stall him.”
“How?”
“The ‘i’ in DIANA stands for intelligence doesn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well then figure it out.”
Spurred on by the insistent countdown to the start (and almost instantaneous end) of hostilities, Keely and Lyssa raced back into the control deck with a little over three minutes remaining. Their hair was disarrayed and the dresses seemed in imminent danger of slipping off, but Haynes thought that rather added to their allure and then hoped that Lyssa didn’t pick up on the thought. She seemed to have become more able to block out her shipmates’ minds as she became used to being around them.
“All right computer,” he said, pulling one of the girls to either side of him, “let’s talk to them.” In a whispered aside, he suggested, “Try to look sexy and bored.”
Before they were able to question the combination, the screen was filled with the flushed and florid face of a harassed man in uniform. The room behind him was filled with large displays that showed the planetary system and the defensive weapons arrays, all of which seemed to be focussed on one small moving dot.
“Are you mad, suicidal or both?” the man demanded without preliminaries. “Because in about...” he consulted an off-screen chronometer, “...two minutes and forty three seconds you’re going to be nothing more than a floating cloud of gently glowing molecules.”
“And just who the hell do you think you’re talking to in that tone of voice?” Haynes demanded and was satisfied to see the response that he was hoping to evoke. For all his bluster, the uniformed man on the screen was nothing more than a hired flunky and knew it. He was used to taking orders and had an almost pavlovian response to the tones of authority as a result. “Who the hell are you? What is your name?”
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