by Adam Gaffen
“We’ve got to use our own supplies overnight? They’re gonna pay for that.”
Another unseen eye roll. “Yes, Dad, they’ll pay for it.”
“Hmmph. Think you have all the answers.”
“Don’t forget, Mom wants you back in time for dinner tonight.” The commlink clicked closed. He sniffed at the air vent, but there wasn’t any difference between their own air and the City air. Then again, there never was. He went back to his garden, a hint of a bitter taste on his tongue.
“MIKE.”
“Harpo.”
“The people from the rovers have connected to the internal networks of those three warrens.”
“Can you block their feed?”
“No. It is a physical link. I am cutting our link to the warrens.”
“Mistress Newling, the security networks of the three warrens have been compromised. I advise no contact with them via normal methods until we can land technicians to remove the taps.”
“Is anyone available?”
“Not at this time. It will be several hours. I have sent the standard ‘cease activities’ message to each warren.”
“Nicole!”
Crozier poked her head around the corner of the open hatch. “If you’d get an implant, you wouldn’t have to yell, you know.”
“Yeah, whatever. We’re going to need an escort for some techs for surface work near Artemis City.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“FIVE HOURS, EIGHTEEN minutes.”
“Impressive. And you’re sure nobody is left alive?”
“It’s possible someone is still breathing, but we’ve matched our records with the count.”
“I’ll tell the Empress.”
“Thank you, Tal.”
“You’re welcome, Michael.”
“SQUAD! WE HAVEN’T RECEIVED any response from the warrens, so consider this a hot LZ,” Stone snapped to the Marines aboard the Wolf.
“Aye aye, Chief!” boomed the response.
Stone carefully hid her smile, but it was always rewarding to hear grunts give the Navy proper respect. She’d been chosen to lead this expedition because she was apparently the only person on the entire damn moon who’d actually seen ground combat. She didn’t count the drop on Titan which had ended so badly for the former Artemis Marines. Oh, they may have shot their guns in anger, but ground-to-air firing against a Wolf wasn’t exactly combat.
“Ten seconds,” said Zhukov’s pilot, dropping the Wolf from a relatively spacious hundred meters down to a hair-raising ten meters without shedding a single klick of speed.
“Time to earn your pay, boys and girls!” Stone sang out, then sealed her helmet as the crew compartment pumped down to vacuum.
“Five.”
Adams pivoted her bird, fired the engines full, and dropped them the last meters with a thud. The hatch popped and the dozen Marines burst through, followed closely by Stone. She listened on the squad frequency as they assumed their positions.
They almost know their shit, she thought.
Corporal Crampton directed her people smoothly and calmly. Within a minute she was comming Stone.
Perimeter secure, Ma’am.
Nicely done, Corporal. Where’s my escort?
Coming, Ma’am. She saw three Marines heading for her in a peculiar-looking lope that ate up the ground.
Give us five minutes.
Aye, Ma’am. The techs were heading for the spot Harpo had determined the tap had to be.
“Where’s the closest entrance?”
Scott Davis, one of Newling’s people, pointed. “Just over that rise.”
Entrance to the warren was anticlimactic. No alarms, no sirens, just an utterly quiet corridor leading inward. Something tickled at Stone’s memory.
“No, don’t,” she said as one of the Marines went to open his helmet.
“Everything looks normal, Ma’am.” But he didn’t open it.
“So did Cape Town.”
“Ma’am?”
“Forget it. Move in. Davis, behind me.”
We’re in, she commed to Crampton. Mike, are you seeing this?
Yes, Master Chief. Analyzing.
For once Stone wished that Kendra had invested some of her credits in the more mundane technology from those old shows. She’d give a fair piece to have a tricorder about now. Her skinsuit might make her all but invulnerable, but it didn’t have squat for sensors, and the ones the Marines carried only detected motion.
Motion!
“McGill, do you have any motion?”
“No, Ma’am, just us.”
“Shouldn’t you? I mean, that thing can see into the warren, right?”
“Yes, Ma’am, it can, but no, Ma’am, I’m not picking up anything.”
“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. Move out.”
“Ma’am.”
The corridor wasn’t terribly long and didn’t have any side passages. It was, effectively, an extension of the external airlock, and the hatch on the far end was closed and locked.
“McGill. Open it.”
The private punched the code Mike had pulled from the warren’s systems and the hatch slid aside.
“Stay frosty, Marines,” Stone said. “Be ready, but try not to ventilate the residents by accident.”
The corridor beyond continued straight, but it was wider and had a number of side passages branching off.
“Anyone have motion?”
All three Marines reported negative.
“Where’s the center of the warren?”
“End of the corridor, right, then another hundred meters,” McGill said.
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
The passage down the corridor was unnerving, even for Stone. Their external microphones caught every sound, but all they could hear were the mechanical noises of the warren. Air whooshed, distant water gurgled, engines whirred, and occasionally a circuit would crackle.
“Where is everyone? There’s supposed to be fifty people here,” muttered Stone. “Not even a bloody cat!”
As if on cue a calico emerged from a side passage, mewing. McGill knelt and the cat bent into her hand, purring.
“Back to work, Marine,” Stone snapped, and McGill straightened, abashed.
They moved back along the corridor, now accompanied by the cat, weaving in and out between their legs. Stone snarled, “Piss off,” but in the timeless manner of cats she was ignored.
“Davis, pick up that bloody nuisance before it trips someone.”
The cat seemed willing to accept the indignity of being carried, and they resumed their stealthier progress. After the turn they could see an open space at the end of the corridor and their uneasiness increased another notch.
Stone had almost given up on asking about motion on the sensors when McGill, still on point, held up a clenched fist.
“Got a reading. Sort of. It’s moving, but it’s slow and all over the place. Like they’re drunk.”
“A bit early to be stonkered,” said Stone. “But it’s not my home. Lead on.”
The corridor ended and they were in an open space, similar to an Earthly town square, maybe fifty meters on a side and lined with shops and other corridors heading away. McGill pointed left, then crept forward, weapon readied but not threatening.
A figure moved in the shadows of a storefront, then collapsed into the square, seizing.
“Cover me!” McGill said, then she hustled over, weapon shouldered. She took one look at the convulsing man and called out again.
“Kidwell! I need your medkit; this guy needs more than I can do!”
Kidwell didn’t even look at Stone, which she approved. McGill was in charge of the Marines in the escort, after all. Kidwell pulled a portable medkit from his pack and started extracting items.
“Nothing I can do until the seizure stops,” he said. “Looks like he’s burning up. Maybe a febrile seizure, but I thought those are mostly in kids.”
Stone was looking aro
und. “Where the ever loving Hells is everyone?”
The final escort, and Davis, were peering around to no avail.
“No idea, Chief,” Davis said, absently petting the cat.
“Mazzi, poke into any store that’s open. Make lots of noise. These people are supposed to be our allies.”
“Ma’am.” Mazzi trotted to the closest door, which opened immediately.
“Chief!” he yelped, jumping backwards.
She broke into a sprint, pulling her pistol without thinking.
“What did you find?”
Mazzi pointed. “Them.”
She followed his finger to a pile of three or four bodies, twisted together in what looked to have been an agonizing death. And death it certainly was; cyanotic skin was a tell-tale sign.
She lowered her pistol and holstered it.
Nicole, Jordan, are you seeing this?
I am, Nicole answered. Jordan’s a bit indisposed.
Mike?
Monitoring. Symptoms could indicate poisoning, but it is impossible to determine cause at this distance.
It doesn’t affect animals, Stone commed, remembering the cat.
Useful, agreed Mike.
Chief, you should get out of there.
McGill’s with Kidwell; we have a possible survivor. There could be others.
Nicole’s response was long in coming.
No. It’s too big for five people to cover. We’ll send a full team.
Stone cursed aloud, but commed, Will do. Out.
“Wrap it up, people! We’re bouncing!”
Kidwell and McGill both stood and walked slowly to her. Stone’s face showed the unasked question.
“Dead,” McGill said. “Kidwell recorded a temperature above 44.”
“Bloody hell. Right, we’ve been ordered out.”
“What about the cat?” said Davis.
Stone sighed. “Bring it.”
“It won’t survive vacuum!”
“Emergency bubble,” McGill said. “I’ll pull out mine. It won’t like it, but it’s tough enough to survive the claws.”
Stone took one more look around the dead square and shivered.
“Fuck me running. Poisons.” She shook her head as if to dispel the notion. “Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tycho Under
Stardate 12008.13
“And I’m telling you Artemis doesn’t have anything which could do that!” shouted Nicole.
“Then what killed everyone?” Stone shouted back.
“I don’t know!”
The argument was raging in a conference room in the rebellion’s headquarters. Nicole, Stone, Jordan, Novak, Zein-Hutter, and Newling were all present, while Diana, Mike, and Harpo provided virtual presences. So far, though, the AI’s hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, as the flesh-and-bloods went back and forth over the same sterile ground.
Finally Diana, who was the only AI in her avatar form, stood and took over the room’s sound system.
“Will you shut up?” she boomed, and the room fell silent. She nodded to Newling, who nodded back.
“Thank you. It doesn’t matter if Artemis had any means to kill a warren when Nicole was in charge; they do now. Mike, what do we know about how the people died?”
Wolves with full medical teams from Njord had been dispatched to all three warrens which had fallen silent, discovering nearly identical scenes in each. Every human inhabitant of the warren was dead, while none of the animals, whether dog, cat, goat, chicken, or fish, were harmed in the least. The cat Davis had brought back from Johnson Pressure, now firmly attached to Stone despite her displeasure, had been thoroughly tested.
“Death in every case was caused by seizure, instigated by extreme internal temperatures. The victims also displayed other symptoms, including an inability to sweat, dehydration, and other degradation of the brain tissue.”
“Do you have enough data for a cause?”
“Probability analysis indicates an 84.329% chance that the active substance was a chemical with the formula C21H23NO3.”
“Great, Mike, that tells us so much,” Newling said acerbically.
“It is a nerve agent, developed in the mid-Twentieth century and known by the names ‘Agent 15’, ‘BZ’, and ‘Buzz’. It was thought to have been destroyed after the treaties which ended the Green Wars outlawed all such substances.”
“Obviously not, unless it got cooked up in an Artemesian lab?”
Nicole, calmer, answered. “No. There aren’t any labs which are set up for the sort of isolation production of a nerve agent would require. Most of the weapons labs, the ones which used to be at Grimaldi Crater, were simply open to vacuum to prevent contamination.”
“Which wouldn’t work for chemicals,” Stone agreed. “So they found someone on Earth to sell them some. And I’ll bet it was brought back on the ship that Double Dip splashed a few weeks ago.”
“The Covey,” agreed Diana. “That is logical.”
“And shooting down the Covey probably delayed their tests, while they tried to find their lethal little cocktails.”
“What next? That’s the real question,” Jordan said.
“Harpo? Any chatter?” asked Nicole.
“No. Their operational security has improved immensely since the revolution launched and I have been unable to breach their barriers. However, there are strong indications they are planning a surface maneuver; in light of the latest developments it would seem logical to presume this will be an attempt to deliver the agent to the larger rebellious warrens.”
That chilled the conversation. There may have been four dozen warrens involved and united under their banner, but the one which counted was Tycho Under. If Tycho fell, the rebellion would crumble, whether there was a succession plan or not. More vitally, the fall of Tycho would virtually guarantee that Autumn was dead. As much as Kendra was the heart and soul of the Federation, Autumn played the same role for the revolution.
And Tycho had a direct connection to Artemis City. Multiple connections. Personnel transport tubes, bulk transport tubes, air, water, power, all converged on Tycho. While Tycho could, and had, cut off access from Artemis, those could be breached. With the introduction of a nerve agent it wasn’t even necessary for Artemis to force personnel into Tycho. A minor penetration and the deadly gas could spread through the entire complex.
“What do we do?” Newling asked, breaking the silence.
“We have two choices. Go fully onto defense, deny them the opportunity to poison us, or try to smash them,” said Nicole.
“Attack them?” sputtered Novak. “Attack?”
“Attack,” agreed Stone. “I like it. They won’t be expecting us to take the lead.”
“Typical SEAL,” said Novak.
“Like you would know!”
“Can it!” Jordan surprised everyone with her outburst.
“We’re all on the same side here,” she continued in a lower voice. “Before we ask the AI’s for the numbers, let’s talk, and I’ll start. I don’t think we can attack because we’re not ready for it. Nicole, weren’t you telling me yesterday...”
It wasn’t settled quickly, or quietly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TFS Enterprise
Stardate 12008.14
“A what?”
“We’re not entirely sure, Commander. The closest Terrestrial analog would be a bobcat, but like the Freyr’s goats they have four ears and six legs, instead of the regulation two and four. And the forelegs are more like hands.”
They were in Seabolt’s office on deck three, in the heart of the Science Division, and Cass looked at Seabolt in wonder. In the five days since they’d arrived, the improved sensors had indicated an abundance of animal life, most of which were utterly strange. Most were hexipedal and bi- or trilaterally symmetrical, at least the land creatures. Flying creatures tended, broadly, to be vaguely reptilian in form, though warm-blooded, and had two pairs of wings mounted like a dragonfly. N
obody had quite dared to explore the lakes and oceans yet, as some of the readings they were getting were upwards of twenty meters long and slicing through the water at thirty plus KPH. Even to a non-biologist like Cass, that said predator.
“How big are they?”
“Our best estimate is 80 centimeters long, 30 tall at the front shoulder, and that doesn’t include the tail. Not sure how much they’d weigh.”
“Big bobcats, then.” Something was bothering Cass, a thought she couldn’t quite capture. Then she did. This was the first discovery which Seabolt hadn’t simply included in her daily report, though, and Cass wondered why.
“Phaedra. Why did you bring this particular animal to my attention?”
Seabolt had the good grace to look abashed, saying, “Well, I know that the girls were hoping for a near-cat, and –”
“Oh, no. No, no. Not happening. And how did you hear that in any case?” Cass could be forgiven for a hint of panic in her voice, imagining what a six-legged ‘cat’ might do.
“It’s all over the Division, Cass,” Seabolt replied. “I think everyone’s trying to find something for them. I had to talk Willerman out of bringing up a colony of near-mice when they chewed their way out of the sample container.”
Cass opened her mouth to answer and shut it again, remembering the rule, “Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed.”
“Fine,” she said instead. “But bring any more potential ‘pets’ to my attention first, please.”
“Exactly what I’m doing.” Seabolt tapped the sparse documentation she’d pulled together on the ‘cats’.
“Who saw it?”
“Nobody, yet. We caught some video on one of the remotes we installed. It’s really odd, actually.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, it’s obviously a predator, and Wilt has been cataloging its probable prey and their habitats, so we’ve put rigs everywhere we’ve found the nests and habitats of the prey.”
Cass nodded. “Good thinking.”