Eden's Trial

by Barry Kirwan

  * * *

  Vince could tell Antonia didn’t want to leave; she’d only just arrived in any case, sent to explain the latest security breach on comms. Thank God the weapon had never been discussed except face to face – Jennifer’s suggestion from her terrorist days after the fall of Dublin – a good call.

  “But Louise is going to kill you, Vince.”

  He perched on the ledge of the small oval table in the centre of the hastily-erected field dome, or the igloo, as they all called it, and shrugged. “If it’s just me and Micah, and she leaves the rest, it’s a bargain. In any case, if this works, she’ll be joining me.”

  Kostakis spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically small. “I understand she’s coming alone, unarmed.”

  “Don’t believe a word. First, I doubt she’ll be unarmed, even if it looks that way, and second, I’m sure her crew are watching like hawks for any attempts on our part. No – we have a plan, we stick to it.”

  Antonia shook her head. “But Vince, like you, I’ve seen what she can do. Louise –”

  “Enough! Get out, Antonia. Dimitri, take her out of here, now! I don’t want either of you running into Louise out there; she might kill you as a warm-up.”

  He turned his back on both of them, until he heard the click of the door seal behind them. “Thanks,” he said, “nice to know someone cares.” He moved into the empty circular zone encompassed by the hidden weapon’s range, and folded his arms. The Hohash was also out of sight, so Louise wouldn’t see it, not at first.

  Although he’d spent the night with Sandy, and it had been more passionate and intense than he’d expected, there just hadn’t been enough time for them to have a history. He found himself reminiscing about Louise – the good times, and not just the sex, either. He recalled a shoot-out in Rio during the Carnival: silent, scarlet plasma pulses zipping in and out of the crowds in Ipanema, like deadly hail; he and Louise covering for each other, the rest of their squad picked off one by one. They’d finally escaped inside the hollow undercarriage of a carnival wagon shaped like a giant cow, as it trundled along in the cacophony. It was the first time they made love, knowing they could die at any second, staring into each other’s eyes, neither of them masking their cries of ecstasy drowned by the music and hubbub outside.

  Vince knew it hadn’t all been Alician ploy, part of Louise’s deep cover. They’d had something. She’d been the only one who…

  The door clicked open and Louise breezed in. She looked tired, drawn, thinner than last time he’d seen her – killed her, to be precise. He had no illusions about how he looked either. The past month had worn everyone down. He watched her as one would a tarantula. She sealed the door behind her.

  “Hello, Vince. Long time.” She produced a slimline pulse pistol from behind her, and aimed it squarely at his forehead. “My turn.”

  * * *

  The air was thick in the MCC, crammed as it was with technology which had proven useless against Louise. Sandy gazed at all the displays and dials, the winking lights and glinting controls, and at Micah’s occasionally twitching body, and wondered what was happening to him. She looked away.

  She hated this waiting, not knowing. Vince, who she’d made love to for the first time – well, second and third, too – just last night, who she’d just said goodbye to, whose scent she could still detect on her fingertips, was on a suicide mission in the igloo with the Hohash weapon, with the ultra-bitch serial killer Louise. She stood up, and Vasquez for the umpteenth time glared at her, willing her to sit down. She folded, and obliged. She ignored the fact that Ramires kept surreptitiously staring at her – she didn’t know what that was about and didn’t care right now, though she was glad he’d survived Louise’s first wave of attacks. Shakirvasta and Jennifer were huddled in a corner, murmuring – a match made in hell, she thought. She glanced again at Micah’s form – he looked peaceful at least, as if sleeping.

  The door burst open, Antonia whirling inside, followed by the large-framed Kostakis, clearly out of breath. “We saw her. She must be in there by now.”

  Vasquez nodded. “Then bring it online Jennifer.”

  Jennifer moved over to the inert Hohash propped up against one of the MCC walls. She held out a slim black box and depressed a button, and the Hohash sprang to life, lifting off the ground ten centimetres, its mirror face surging with a whirlpool of blues and mauves.

  “Where did you find that?” Sandy asked, suspicious of the box.

  “Sanjay made it for me … for us. It’s a remote node, basic communications only.”

  “Sanjay, huh? Well, that answers one or two questions.” She glanced at Kostakis but he avoided her gaze.

  Jennifer vaulted the slur. “I can give the Hohash instructions here, and the procedure will be executed in the igloo by the two other Hohash there.”

  Sandy got to her feet. “When we need it.” Her voice was steel.

  Jennifer reeled. “When is now. As soon as it’s ready, we activate it.”

  Everyone stared at the two women, and there was a realisation around the room that the criteria for the final move had not actually been discussed. Jennifer turned back to her remote. Sandy bent down and retrieved something from her rucksack. The pistol barrel lifted and targeted Jennifer’s head. “Back off, bitch, or I’ll blow your ugly face off.” She caught a movement out of the corner of her left eye. “Don’t even think about it Vasquez. I reached the fencing nationals four years ago; fast-twitch reflexes – you so much as touch me, her brain’s barbecue.” She glared at Jennifer, who returned the favour. “Go ahead,” Sandy said, “try me”.

  A woman’s scratchy, tinny voice stabbed into the heavy silence. “Colonel Vasquez, Colonel Vasquez, this is the Q’Roth Hunter Vessel calling. Switch off all other comms. We need to talk.”

  Sandy ignored it. She remembered her fencing bouts, the concentration, waiting for a subtle move, an opening. But Jennifer didn’t budge a millimetre. Sandy had thought that Kostakis, or even Shakirvasta – Sanjay, no less – might try and intervene, but both remained behind Jennifer, Kostakis agitated, Shakirvasta serene.

  “Colonel Vasquez, are you receiving me, this is –”

  “This is Vasquez. Who the hell is this?”

  Sandy heard a sigh of relief at the other end, ignoring or oblivious to the harsh tone of the Colonel, his patience obviously finally run out.

  “My name is Hannah. This is a secure channel I installed yesterday in your comms matrix. Louise can’t intercept it. I’m commanding the Q’Roth vessel at this time.”

  Vasquez left the microphone off for a while longer. “Ladies, could I suggest we put down –”

  “NO!” they both said, at the same time.

  Vasquez sighed. “Hannah, what do you want, I’m a little busy right now?”

  “To surrender this vessel.”

  Sandy’s head turned a fraction towards Vasquez; it was less than half a second, but Vasquez didn’t miss the slot. His left backhand whipped out slamming into her pistol-bearing forearm. It was a precision strike, spiking the tendon on her inner arm just the right way to make her trigger finger loosen rather than contract, sending the pistol spinning from her grip. His hand rebounded to strike her jaw. She stumbled and hit the bulkhead, dazed. When the faze passed, she looked up to see Vasquez towering above her, his own pistol in his hand.

  “Jennifer, in case it’s not obvious, I’m in command. Prep the weapon, but don’t unleash it until I give the order. Is that clear?”

  Sandy was watching Vasquez, and didn’t hear an answer, but she assumed the bitch had nodded. She’d underestimated Vasquez: he’d moved frighteningly fast.

  “Colonel Vasquez, are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you. Power down your ship and open all access ports. Prepare to be boarded. I understand there is at least one other crew member?”

  “There was. He’s dead.”

  Vasquez shook his head. “I see. I’m sending someone over to check out your ship and bring
you in.” He nodded sideways – without taking his eyes off Sandy – to the three men at the back of the trailer. “All of you. Take weapons. I can’t call the other marines without using a non-secure channel.”

  Kostakis and Shakirvasta picked up pulse rifles like rookies, and shuffled out the door. Sandy glanced at Ramires, who seemed reluctant to leave, but he followed suit nonetheless.

  “Now, Hannah. You’re clearly mutineering. What about Louise? Does she have any remote access to the ship or weapons? How much of a threat is she without you and your ship on her side?”

  There was a pause. “Yes, yes, she’s still very dangerous. She wants to kill Vince then nuke the city; she wants to kill you all.”

  Sandy played it back in her head. There was no doubt. “She’s lying, Vasquez.”

  Vasquez clicked off the mike. “What?” His frown deepened. “Why would she lie?”

  “Yes, Sandy,” Jennifer joined in. “Are you a psych now as well as a fencing champion?”

  She disregarded the taunt. “I’m telling you, Colonel, this Hannah is lying about Louise being dangerous. She just went from vagueness to extreme threat, she clearly hadn’t thought it through; she’s just shit-scared Louise will kill her somehow if you don’t terminate her.”

  Vasquez leaned back against the console.

  “It’s ready,” Jennifer said, her thumb hovering above a button on the remote.

  “Wait, Jennifer.” He clicked back on. “Hannah, tell me, what about Micah? Can you release him?”

  There was a pause, but Hannah’s channel was obviously open all the time; they could hear her moving about, cursing occasionally. “Yes, yes I should be able to. Just hang on a minute… There, he’s clear to exit now.”

  Sandy and the other three stared at Micah’s limp body. The tech, who had been trying to blend into the rear wall for the last half an hour, ventured forward and tried various controls. “Sir, he’s not coming to. I can’t tell if he’s been released or not. He might not be able to find his way back, Sir; depends where he’s been, if you see what I mean.”

  “You see,” Sandy said, “she’s lying.”

  “Doesn’t mean squat Sandy, and you know it.” Jennifer leered at her.

  Sandy got to her feet. “Don’t you push that. We can take Louise down without losing Vince.”

  “Sandy, please sit down –”

  “Let her stand.” Jennifer transferred the device to her left hand so she could jab her right forefinger in Sandy’s direction. “Vince trained that whore; he said it as much himself, she’s his responsibility. If he’d been here, he’d have pushed the button already, and you damned well know it.”

  She recognised the look in Jennifer’s eyes. She rushed for her but couldn’t reach her in time. Jennifer pressed the button. Sandy flailed at her. “NO!” just as Jennifer side-stepped, and her left foot connected with Sandy’s cheekbone, knocking her out cold.

  * * *

  Vince relaxed his shoulders: he’d stared down the barrel of more pistols than he cared to remember. Fire up the weapon, guys, Louise doesn’t do long goodbyes.

  She walked to him, spun the pulse gun around and presented the hilt to Vince. He didn’t take his eyes off hers for even a fraction of a second, nor did he blink. He took the pistol and tossed it behind him, sending it clattering across the stone floor.

  “Okay, you just surprised me, Louise. What’s going on?”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders, like they were dancing late at night. She smiled. The way she used to. He took her wrists, and was sorely tempted to cast them aside and slap her for what she’d done to Rashid’s ship. But he didn’t.

  “I’m here to offer a truce, Vince. Terms will be a little tough, but nothing we can’t live with. You were the only one I knew would actually listen.”

  He’d thought he’d become immune to her a long time ago, but seeing her resurrected stirred up old emotions. He stared hard into her eyes. “Shit, Louise, you’re serious aren’t you?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “You’ve been on my mind. So I figured when you shot me you were just playing hard to get.”

  That did it. He flung her wrists to the sides. “Do you know what you’ve done? Did you think they’d let you live if they had a second in which to kill you?” He flared at her. In his peripheral vision he noticed the Hohash that had been behind the door illuminate, snapping into life. Too late.

  “You could negotiate for me,” she said, her sultry façade cooling rapidly. We have technology that can increase your chances of survival, prevent detection by hostile aliens passing by who might fancy a bite or some easy manpower. It’s a jungle out there in the stars, Vince, you’ve no idea.”

  Vince felt the static building up on his forearms, like goosebumps. Flashes began to light up the room.

  Louise swivelled around on her heels, facing the glowing yellow Hohash. “You! You were in my dream!” She spun back to Vince. “What –?” She darted for the entrance but was stung backwards by a force-field that burnt like dry ice. She glanced upwards and noticed another of the mirrors attached to the domed ceiling above them. A third device, metallic and squat, lurked behind Vince. It had also powered up, glowing orange. Her voice steeled. “What’s going on, Vince?”

  Vince didn’t do sadness or remorse; he’d seen too much killing. He watched the glistening shroud, like a huge soap bubble, cocoon the area where they stood. It started to shrink towards them.

  “They’re killing us, Louise. There’s not much time, and no way out. And no comms, so no way I can tell anyone it’s unnecessary.”

  She slapped him hard. “Sonofabitch. Of all the stupid fucking –”

  “Seconds, Louise, That’s all we have. Remember Rio?” He grabbed her, yanked her towards him. The air between them flickered.

  She glanced down at her arms, quivering with static, ice cold. “Hell, Vince.”

  “I know.” He kissed her hard, locked his arms around her, one around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. She resisted at first, then kissed him back.

  * * *

  Micah, still groggy, reached the igloo, supported by Ramires. He found Sandy there, sitting on the floor, listless, staring at the statue.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” she said.

  He gazed at the statue for a few seconds, then knelt down behind her, and draped his arms around her shoulders. He didn’t speak. He’d observed it all silently through the Hohash connection. That’s why he hadn’t exited: he hadn’t known Louise’s real plan until it had been too late, and he’d needed to see it through till the end. Apparently, Louise had told Zack, but even if Zack had believed her, which he hadn’t, he’d had no way to communicate with Vasquez and the others, his ship’s comms system having been fried during Louise’s initial attack.

  Sandy lowered her head against his forearm, and he felt the stickiness of dried tears. He stroked her hair with his other hand.

  He watched Ramires approach the metallic effigy, and test it with a finger. Ramires rapped his knuckles against Vince’s chest. There was a dull metallic sound, like the giant kodo drums Micah had once seen in Nara, near Kyoto. Ramires touched Vince’s eyes, as if to close them, but he couldn’t. They were fixed on Louise’s. He knelt down before the two of them, and began incanting a low chant: Tibetan, Micah guessed, probably from Ramires’ early Sentinel training. He chanted for an hour. No one else entered the igloo during that time, as the three of them paid homage to Vince, and Micah said a final farewell to Louise.

  Ramires carried Sandy back half a kilometre to the camp in the starlight. They heard shouting and celebratory whoops long before they reached it. Vasquez came out to greet them, took one look at their faces, and handed them the keys to the MCC.

  “There are bunks in the front compartment. Get some sleep. It’s too noisy here, anyway. Everyone else is celebrating; you understand, right? I’ll go pay my last respects to Vince when it calms down here.”

  Micah nodded, and they meandered back to th
e deserted MCC. As they lay in darkness, sleep just out of reach, Sandy spoke.

  “We can’t stay here, Micah.”

  He didn’t know how she’d reached the same conclusion he had an hour ago – her probably by intuition. She’s right, he thought. It’s going to get bad here. The Grid, this galactic society out there, that’s where we have to go.

  “Get some sleep, Sandy.”

  “Not till you tell me you have a plan, Micah.”

  “I have one. Now, go to sleep.” He watched her till her chest rose and fell with a calm rhythm. Then he began planning.

  During the next two hours, every time he thought he had a good way forward, he imagined presenting it to Vince, who would shake his head and point out the holes. On the fifth attempt, in his mind’s eye, Vince shrugged and said “Okay, it’s a plan.” That was good enough for Micah. He rolled over onto his right side, and whispered “Goodbye Vince; thanks for everything,” and fell asleep.

  Chapter 13

  Fractures

  “War is better,” Vasquez said, on the cliff’s edge. “Uniforms, insignia: you know who the enemy is. With politics, well… That’s why I always turned down promotions above the rank of Colonel.”

  Micah listened, half-absent. His head felt heavy, weighed down by theories, some marginally less paranoid than others: hypotheses about who supported who, and who was out to get whoever else. They all ended up at the same destination. It wasn’t his preferred journey. “You could come with us,” he said, knowing that his very usage of the conditional already admitted what he knew about this man.