Masada's Gate

by Chris Pourteau

  I stared at Daisy in stunned silence. My throat refused to let my voice out of its cage. Déjà vu prickled my skin, and I remembered my dozing dream on the voyage to Titan. And I wondered what Mother Universe would demand someday in return for making that dream come true.

  “Ms. Brace,” Erkennen said, “the admiral reported he’d recovered you along with several SSR prisoners from Pallas. I don’t know if Regent Rabh knows yet. I doubt it.”

  “Do you know where she is, what’s become of her?” Daisy asked. Though she still slurred a bit, her voice held none of the stroke-like speech afflicting her on Pallas. Its sneer and snark sounded glad to be back.

  To my ears, she might as well have been singing.

  “No,” Erkennen replied. “But to my knowledge, she’s alive and free.” He gestured in a way he probably thought was positive. “But you can debark to Masada Station at your leisure. We’ll begin assessing your neurological condition immediately. We’ve made great breakthroughs in rehabilitation therapies involving stunner injuries. I believe that, with enough time—”

  “I thought you offed yourself,” I said. Erkennen turned his blocky Russian head to stare at me. He wasn’t used to being interrupted. Screw protocol. Daisy was back. “I thought you—”

  “Stunner misfired,” she said like she was reporting the weather. “Damaged when I was hit, I guess. I was sorely pissed, believe me.”

  I half-expected someone to say it was all a big joke on me, Daisy’s survival. This was some stand-in, an actress in camoshades. Must be. I half-expected to wake up from my dream, the Hearse’s alarm telling me we’d entered a neighborhood named Saturn. For once in my life, I exhaled a breath and stepped forward into faith. I had to think fast, before a PDA forced its way out of me.

  I flicked my gaze to Erkennen. “You just can’t trust newer technology”

  “Right?” Daisy said.

  “I’m glad I didn’t bury you, now.”

  “Yeah, turns out, that would’ve sucked for me.” Her voice was genuine and warm and past any temptation to make fun of my age—for the moment, anyway. It was a kindness.

  “Regent, Cassandra’s making a systemwide broadcast.”

  Erkennen’s face clouded. “Admiral, send a list of needed repairs, and I’ll see what we can accommodate in the short term.”

  “I can spare a day for refit and repair,” Galatz said. “Then we head back to Callisto.”

  Erkennen nodded. “We’ll talk soon.” Turning to the man at the comms station, he said, “Is Mr. Jabari on his way up? Good. Ms. Franklin—I want that secured signal we discussed earlier.”

  Bekah’s fingers worked her console.

  Cassandra’s throne in the penthouse of Earth’s UN building replaced the admiral’s face. The entire War Room hushed to hear the metered speech of the half machine who’d deposed four of five SynCorp faction leaders from power. Now and then we’d catch a glimpse of Elise Kisaan’s severed cabeza on its pike, a not-so-subtle reminder of the lengths Earth’s new ruler would go to. She—it—went on and on for a while, speaking in bumper stickers about freedom and the future and the death of tyrants.

  Standing next to Helena Telemachus, one of the Kisaan triplets—make that twins now, I thought, recalling fondly Daisy’s knife-throwing prowess on Pallas—replaced Cassandra onscreen. More flowery words from the usurper. When the clone put the mouth of her stunner against Helena’s temple and pulled the trigger ending her life, gasps erupted around the War Room.

  “Now is not the time for soft hearts,” Cassandra proclaimed. Out panned the camera. Elise Kisaan had been much prettier in life than she was in death. If you think gravity plays havoc with your skin when you’re alive… “We will break your chains,” the head snake wrangler prophesied, “one link at a time.”

  “We’ve got it, Regent,” Bekah said. “We’ve wrapped the signal through the array on Titan. We’ll have a few minutes, anyway, before she cuts it off.”

  “Good,” Erkennen said. “Hold it as long as you can. I’ll get to the point.”

  The doors opened, and the Traitor of Mars stepped into the War Room. Looked like a show was about to start. And me without my popcorn.

  Gregor Erkennen stood up straighter, smoothing his jacket. His face replaced Cassandra’s on the big screen. Huh—the camera really does add ten pounds.

  “Titan stands,” Erkennen said formally. “The rumors of mass genocide on Earth are true. Mars is rising up. The rebels are on the run.”

  With that last pronouncement, footage of the Corporatum fleeing Masada Station appeared. Behind it, Galatz’s Sovereign, flanked by the corporate fleet, fired its railguns to speed her on her way.

  Erkennen turned from the camera, making room in the shot for Jabari.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” Jabari said, his expression large and earnest on the big screen. “But I know Cassandra Kisaan is a liar. Like the snake from the Garden of Eden. She’s taking control of people through Dreamscape—those fantasies are also a lie. She’s killing hackheads with their own dreams! If you have the program installed…”

  He stopped speaking when the image shifted, replaced by the old broadcast pattern of the SynCorp circle-star brand. Pre-revolution, no one ever liked to see that—it meant loss of signal, please stand by. That was then. Nowadays, it was a reassuring symbol of hope to Company loyalists like me.

  It wasn’t there very long. Cassandra’s face returned. It was angry. It was speaking again.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Bekah said, muting the sound. “She’s re-secured the signal.”

  Erkennen shook his head. “It’s fine. It was enough. For now.”

  “Regent,” I said, unable to delay my concern any longer, “I’ve seen stories on CorpNet like everyone else… What’s happened to Tony?”

  “You’re right, we need to know what’s happened to him.” Erkennen looked to Bekah. “Can we tightbeam a message to the Moon? Surf it on top of Cassandra’s frequency along the subspace network?”

  “Sure,” Bekah said. “I can hypercompress it. It’ll compromise quality but hopefully muddy it enough to protect the receiver’s location.”

  “Do it,” Erkennen said. “Ping Ruben Qinlao’s implant signature. Black star encryption, for whatever that’s worth these days.”

  A few moments of watching Cassandra’s silent ranting passed. The screen split, and a very fuzzy Ruben Qinlao appeared. He was the least regal-looking regent I’d ever seen. Next to his tired face, smaller images: Tony Junior and that up-and-coming bull in a china shop, Richard Strunk.

  “You’re on, Stacks,” Bekah said.

  “Regent Qinlao,” I said, careful to use his title. It wasn’t just deference to the totem pole. It was also my way of showing solidarity. “We don’t have much time. Where’s Tony?”

  “Wounded and in Cassandra’s custody here in Darkside,” he replied. I admired his efficiency in foregoing pleasantries. “But she’ll move him to Earth soon. I assume you saw Helena’s—”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We saw it.”

  “And it’s true?” Ruben asked, turning to squint at Gregor beside me. Their end of the feed must be snowy too. “What’s happening on Earth…”

  “Either Cassandra is committing mass murder,” Erkennen said, “or she’s systematically deactivating hundreds, make that thousands, of SCIs a day. The dbase signals are dropping off the registry.”

  “She wouldn’t simply turn off the implants,” Jabari interjected. “They’re how she controls people. Through Dreamscape.”

  “Yes, Dr. Stuart briefed me,” Erkennen said. “You’ve been interfacing directly with Cassandra in Dreamscape?” The Traitor of Mars nodded. “One of our researchers made great progress in discovering how to subvert the Dreamscape algorithm. But Carrin Bohannon was murdered, so I’m going to take on the project myself. And you and Dr. Stuart are being drafted to my research team, Mr. Jabari.”

  By his blush at the mention of the young woman’s murder, maybe Traitor Jabari retained a mod
icum of remorse after all. His solemn look said he was glad to be drafted.

  “I’d be glad to help in any way I can,” Jabari said. “I have a background in exochemistry. More the application of mineral extraction processes, but maybe, with Dr. Stuart’s help—”

  “Regent,” Bekah said, “we’re losing our security wall around the signal. We’re putting Regent Qinlao and the others at risk.”

  “Get your ass back here, Fischer!” Tony Junior yelled. “We need to rescue my fa—”

  The transmission ended.

  “Sorry, sir,” Bekah said. “I had to—”

  Erkennen held up hand, no further explanation necessary.

  “Junior’s not wrong,” I said. “We need to take the fight to Cassandra. Rescuing Tony would be a huge blow to the SSR.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Erkennen said.

  “Great. I’ll prep the Hearse for departure.”

  Erkennen put his hand on my shoulder. “Meet me on the flight deck, yes? I have something for you that might make up for Richter.”

  • • •

  “I believe you suggested once I should build a faster drive?”

  The ship sitting in the middle of the busy-bee hangar looked dull, its edges unrefined. It was bigger than the Hearse and not nearly as stylish. It reminded me of those fake asteroid ships Daisy and I had tracked in the Belt. Never trust a Russian to make a vehicle with any style to it.

  “That was fast all right,” I said to Erkennen’s amused half smile. “The ship was here the whole time?”

  “Stored in a shielded slip beneath the main deck, yes. A prototype with an advanced Frater Drive. Don’t worry, it’s passed most of its trials.”

  “Most of its trials?”

  “It will get you to the inner system twice as fast as your ship could,” Erkennen said. I swear, he enjoyed throwing shade at the Hearse. I refrained from giving him my standard opinion of new technology.

  “I don’t want her,” I said. “My girlfriend gets jealous easily.”

  “It’s not a request,” Erkennen said, reminding me of my position on that Company totem pole. Technically, he was the only SynCorp regent still in power. That made him the power in the Company—what was left of it. And I was no Bruno Richter. I took my pledge of loyalty seriously.

  “You should take it. At your age, you need all the help you can get.”

  I turned to find Daisy Brace walking stiffly toward me. The gyros of her exoskeleton whirred. Other Sovereign personnel were debarking from the shuttle behind her.

  “Fine,” I said to Erkennen. “I’ll provision up and leave within the hour.”

  He smiled indulgently, like I’d had a choice. “The Coyote will take care of you.”

  “The…”

  “Coyote,” he said, his face lighting up. “Old family joke.”

  A joke, maybe. But not elegant and funny, like naming a ship “the Hearse.” Funny how everyone thinks they’re a comedian.

  “You’ve got an hour, then,” Daisy said seductively. I turned, amazed at the purr I thought I’d heard in her voice.

  “Hearing’s still cloudy,” I said, flicking fingers at my ears. “You were suggesting?…”

  “A shot and a beer. Or three,” she said. Daisy lifted her arms wrapped in their fine-metal frame. “I’m not up for anything else.”

  “Too bad,” I said.

  “For you, yeah.”

  It was good to have her back.

  “An hour, then. Regent, can you outfit the, um, Coyote for me? Daisy and I have some catching up to do.”

  “Of course. I’ll prep her for two.”

  “Two?”

  “Bekah Franklin is traveling with you. You’re going to the Moon. She needs to finish what Daniel Tripp started.”

  “No, no, now wait—”

  I cut myself off when his face again adopted its imperious expression.

  “I thought we were rescuing Tony,” I said.

  “It’s on the to-do list.” The regent’s face was serious. “But first things first. We need to solve the Cassandra problem.” The way he said it reminded me of Tony’s old rule, the thing that had diverted me from the inner system to Masada Station in the first place. The Company came first.

  “Fine. Come on, Daisy. Instead of three drinks, let’s make it four. And a bottle to go.”

  Erkennen began shouting orders. I followed Daisy from the flight deck, determined to do nothing but enjoy her sassy company for as long as I could have it.

  Travel from Titan to Earth in four days? I’d believe it when I saw it.

  But when I got there, I’d start ye olde ticking time bomb on Cassandra’s reign of terror.

  Best get ready, sweetheart.

  Shine up your scales and coif your curlies.

  Hell’s coming home.

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  About the Authors

  Chris Pourteau and David Bruns

  David Bruns is a former officer on a nuclear-powered submarine turned high-tech executive turned speculative-fiction writer. He mostly writes sci-fi/fantasy and military thrillers. Find out more at davidbruns.com.

  Chris Pourteau is a technical writer and editor by day, a writer of original fiction and editor of short story collections by night (or whenever else he can find the time). Want to know more about him? Sign up for Chris’s newsletter and get free stuff at https://chrispourteau.com/newsletter and join Chris’s Facebook fan page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/842647879401279/.