Tilted Axis

by David Ryker

  “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

  “With all due respect, sir,” she said, more definitely this time, “I know what it feels like to get shot at — it’s happened a few times now — and the SB don’t seem to be doing anything about it!”

  “Careful, Arza.” His voice was cool, cutting.

  “We found their hideout in the Human Quarter — took out the second shooter at the port — and now—”

  “And now? You’ve gone off the reservation, Arza. Resisting arrest, fleeing the scene of a crime, obstruction of justice, failure to report a crime, violation of direct orders — and gods-know-what other crimes you’ve committed under the tutelage of… of… him.”

  Arza was shaking her head, fishing for the words to say. She was confident that what she was doing was right, but Moozana was everything she feared and yet also aspired to. Hearing him reel off the crimes she’d be indicted for the second she landed was just too much for her. Maybe being with Ward had shielded her from the reality of it all. Perhaps his callous disregard for the rules had lulled her into a false sense of security, like they were just going to catch the shooters and walk back into open arms. An all-is-forgiven sort of deal. She was realizing now that it wasn’t the case. And whether she’d insisted on coming or not, Ward still felt bad about letting her.

  He drew a breath and casually stepped in. “Moozana, if I may,” he said casually.

  “Gods — he speaks. You listen to me, Ward — I knew you were scum from the moment I heard your name, with a foot still in the AIA and the sort of attitude that would have had you thrown out of the Security Bureau my first goddamn day in charge if I didn’t have a diplomatic shitstorm looming over me. You’re a—”

  “With all due respect, Moozana, shut up.”

  Arza paled in the seat next to him. Disobeying him was one thing, but telling him to shut his mouth was another.

  “Excuse me?” he hissed.

  “You’re excused,” Ward sighed and jabbed the ‘End Call’ button.

  Arza’s eyes widened so much Ward thought they’d roll out of her head and fall onto the floor. But damn were they blue.

  He cast her a smirk, pleased with himself, and then laughed a little. “Oh, come on — that was kind of funny, right?”

  “You trying to get yourself killed?”

  “I’m not going back to Mars, Arza. I can’t. Not ever.”

  She stared at the screen, waiting for him to call back. Ward knew he would.

  “So where are you going?” she asked, voice small and quiet. “Earth? Back to the AIA?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know that they’d have me at this point. They’ve got a lot in common with the SB. They like yes-men. I’m more like a rabid dog.”

  “Thought you were going to say lone wolf, for a second.”

  His smile widened. “I thought about it, but I’m not that conceited.”

  She broke into a grin herself. “Conceited enough to think about it and then decide not to say it in case it makes you look more conceited than you want to appear. Translation: yes you are.”

  “What about you? Grovel to the SB to take you back?”

  She stared into space. “You know, I don’t really know. I hadn’t thought much about what came after.”

  “So we’re both without banners, both without a future, throwing it all away.” he laughed abjectly. “And for what, huh? I mean, honestly. Why are we doing this? What’s to stop us just picking a star and heading for it? We’ve got a ship, and probably enough food for a long, long time.”

  “Plus there are cryo-chambers in the back,” Arza said absently, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

  Ward raised an eyebrow at her.

  She shook off the thought. “No. We’re doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “The right thing. Huh, funny way to phrase it.”

  “The AIA — will they really not forgive you if you crack this thing?”

  Ward didn’t know. “I disobeyed a direct order.”

  “By not killing me?”

  “And I’ve very likely blown my cover, or at least gotten myself kicked out of the SB for good — maybe thrown in prison. If they don’t just torture and kill me, of course.” He added the last part miserably. “But… but my handler,” he continued, careful not to use Cootes’ name, “knows me. Knows I know what I’m doing. If he’s reporting back what’s happening, I think there’s a decent chance he’ll say it’s all sanctioned and above board, that I’m doing what I usually do — being a pain in his ass, but a productive one with the AIA’s best interests at heart.” He couldn’t force very much hope into the words.

  “A fair chance? What would you say that is?”

  “About fifty-fifty.”

  “Those aren’t very good odds.”

  “Eh, I’ve survived worse.” The phone started ringing again and Ward answered it. “Hello?”

  “Ward!” Moozana really was yelling now. “If you think—”

  “Moozana,” Ward said with the sort of definitive volume and tone that stopped his superior dead in his tracks. “Listen to me. We’re on to something. We went off the grid because of that. After what happened at Ootooka’s clinic — honest mistake or not —” he added as Moozana began to argue in defense of the bureau “— whoever’s set all this up has some serious pull. The shooters beaned in outside the city — you can go and find the pod yourself — a satellite went down. Not for long, but just enough for them to slip through. It’s all connected — one company, one financier. The shooters, the safehouse, the rifles — it’s all one company, pulling the strings. And they want Chang dead.”

  Moozana was silent for a second or two. “Our sat network is unhackable.”

  “I didn’t say hacked, I said went down. We’re connecting all the dots now, chasing down some leads—”

  “Leads? You’ve gone off the goddamn planet in a stolen ship! You’re running away. Don’t use this botched investigation as an excuse to—”

  “It’s not botched. And if it is, it’s because your investigators and sentinels are taking bribes to make sure it is. Sadler’s body. Ootooka’s place. And how’s that rifle from the docks doing? Mislabeled in evidence and destroyed accidentally? Or just missing?”

  Moozana was silent.

  “Hell — even the shooters’ hideout, probably. I’m guessing any forensic evidence left there had been destroyed or corrupted by—”

  “What are you talking about, Ward? What hideout?”

  Ward and Arza exchanged a worried look.

  “The brownstone in the Human-Quarter.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “We were — I mean, we found the shooters’ hideout.”

  Moozana was silent again. In the background, they could hear him tapping on his terminal. He must have been at his desk. “Where?”

  “The new development of brownstones in the Human-Quarter. This morning. Must have been around oh-six-hundred. We broke in — had to shoot a lock, which was what got called in, we guessed — found a heap of plans, weaponry, everything they’d need to take a clean shot at Chang.”

  Moozana wasn’t saying anything.

  “We heard sirens and got out of there before the SB arrived. We needed to preserve our autonomy, and we didn’t know whether they were coming to help us, or whether it was going to be a repeat of Ootooka’s.”

  Arza was looking at Ward like he was a snake charmer. Moozana’d been ready to rip his head off a second ago, and now he was hanging on Ward’s every word. Maybe he didn’t think so lowly of Ward after all, or maybe it was Ward’s tone. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever Moozana thought of him as a person, he couldn’t argue with Ward’s track record as an investigator, whether it was on behalf of the SB or not.

  Moozana drew a deep breath. “I’m looking at the report now — two sentinels were dispatched to follow up on a gunshot. Their report says that the premises were empty and secured. They swept them and found nothing.”
/>
  Ward growled. “That’s horseshit. It was all there. You’ve got wolves among the sheep, Moozana.”

  Moozana made an indistinct noise of indignation. “Don’t suppose you can prove any of this?”

  “Yes, we can,” Ward said, his voice surgical. “Have the whole thing recorded.”

  Moozana was thinking. “Why?”

  “Because I thought this might happen.”

  Arza tried on a tentative smile and it looked like it was going to hold.

  “I need the footage. Now. All of it. Masters and copies. I’ll review it all myself.” There was silence after that. “Ward?”

  Arza looked at him. He was staring blankly out of the cockpit window.

  “Wait,” Ward said, “you said their report said the site was clean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Goddamnit. Moozana, get someone out there — someone you can trust — and have them sweep it again. And do it now.”

  “Send the footage first. I’ll follow up—”

  “Do it now, Moozana!”

  “Why?”

  “Because if the place is clean then it means it’s been cleaned out. Which means that the rifle is gone, and the third shooter is out there, and armed.”

  “Third shooter?”

  “Jesus Christ — you don’t know? Of course you don’t know.” Ward curled his fist and punched the steering wheel. It wobbled on the column. “There’s a third shooter, Moozana.”

  “What?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Get out to those brownstones now, and make sure that this is inner circle only. Epsilon Protocol and all that, right? But this time make sure it’s actually enforced.”

  Moozana said nothing. He didn’t like being dictated to, despite knowing Ward was right.

  “Get me that footage, now, Ward.”

  “How did you know that we were on the ship?” Arza interjected suddenly, courage renewed.

  “We’ve had an alert out for you. You were both clocked going into the Helios Club. Gods know how you’ve been getting around, or where you’ve been — I don’t — just — we can deal with that when—” He cut himself off. He could barely speak. He’d been operating under the assumption that Ward and Arza were at the heart of his troubles and that the SB was a shining beacon of lawfulness. And now, his whole world had just been turned upside down. He was doing everything he could not to, but knew that Ward and Arza were the only ones he could trust just then — which made it all a hundred times worse.

  “We had sentinels en route to pick you up at the club quietly,” Moozana said, hushed now, as though he didn’t want anyone to hear. “I didn’t know why you’d gone out there — maybe to hide, or… I never expected you to… Your father’s yacht? Erica…” He said the last word softly. In fact, his tone had been degrading from callous superiority to something far more familiar since Arza had interjected. Ward saw then that there was a much deeper relationship between Moozana and Arza than he’d realized. He’d called her Erica for God’s sake. Ward just listened, seeing what he could glean. But he guessed from Moozana’s age, and Klaymo’s, that Arza’s father and those two had all come up through the SB together.

  Moozana had gone on to become director, Arza had transitioned into the Defense Committee at an advisory level, and Klaymo had retired on his UMR pension. Arza — Ward’s Arza, that is — had probably begged Moozana for the assignment, or hounded him for it at least. He’d given her a break because of their relationship, because of his relationship with her father, and now… That’s why he was so angry, why he had the ship’s number, why hadn’t had security arrest them at the Helios Club. Ward had been antsy the whole time, waiting for someone to try and apprehend them. He’d half expected a firefight, dignified company or not. Now, everything was falling into place.

  “I know what I’m doing, Valvet,” she said back with the sort of affection that she’d had for Klaymo.

  He sighed. “I hope so, Erica.”

  “Have you told my father?”

  “No, but I can only keep it from him for so long. You knew the entry and ignition codes — the ship hasn’t been flagged as stolen. But the second I saw you two pop up in the Outer Dock, I knew what you were doing.”

  “I’m sorry, Valvet.”

  “Where are you going, Erica?” He seemed genuinely concerned, and totally uncaring of the fact that Ward was there. They were way past professionality, he supposed.

  Arza looked at Ward, maybe for permission, maybe reassurance.

  “Moozana.” Ward stepped back in, his tone a little softer now. “If you’ve revoked our access to the Gate, then you need to re-approve it.”

  “Gods, Ward, where are you taking her?”

  “We’re following up on a lead, and we need your support here.”

  “Just tell me—”

  “We can’t.” Ward ground his teeth. “Every time the SB has been brought into this so far, things have gone sideways. You’ve got to trust us.”

  “But what if—”

  “Valvet.” Arza spoke again, urging him. “Please. We’ll report everything when we get back. But now… now we need your help.”

  He was silent for so long that Ward thought maybe the line had died. “Okay,” he said after an age. “Travel permissions are granted. Just… be careful. If anything happened to you, your father would kill me.”

  “It’s all right,” Arza said warmly. “I’ve got Ward with me.”

  He laughed nervously. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  The Gate wasn’t actually a gate, as such.

  In the space between Earth and Mars, a huge space station loomed. It was colossal, and perfectly designed. A work of pure genius in terms of design, efficiency, and aesthetics. Spaceship, space station, colony ship, inter-system travel terminal. It was nothing short of a masterstroke. A synthesis of art and engineering. God, how the humans wished they’d had a hand in it. But they didn’t. It was all the Martians, and it was one of the oldest things in the OCA that wasn’t on Earth.

  It was, in fact, not just put there by the Martians, but brought. It was their original colony ship. The vessel they’d traveled to Mars in. It was sectioned — eight in all. Bulbs in a row, joined by a central column that ran through each. In the narrow portions, great circular solar sails would expand like the frills of lizards.

  Though the Martians knew this system held the greatest chance of building a successful colony — with the Humans already making an effort to colonize Mars, albeit not very well — they were viewing it from across the gulf of space. Nearly forty light years. And, having seen what humans could do in just forty years — from building the first airplane to using them to drop two nuclear bombs on Japan — they thought it best to hedge their bets.

  They sent out beacons during the journey, fired toward other nearby, potentially habitable systems with the aim to begin colonizing them as soon as they could, in order to try to ensure the survival of their species.

  A relatively small number of living Martians actually arrived on the ship — just enough to keep the thing running. Family units where children were born and then grew up to take over their parents’ duties. It was a sacrifice they were willing to make for their species’ survival. There were a lot more cryogenically frozen — scientists and engineers, doctors and horticulturalists. Farmers and loving parents. Within the first year, over ten thousand eggs had been inseminated with genetically sound sperm, and the resulting children were given to the colonists. From there, it only grew. And now, the Martians numbered nearly fifty million, spread across seven systems. It was piffling in comparison to the humans’ hefty eighteen billion, but their numbers were growing fast.

  Of the six other exoplanets they sent beacons to, they were kind enough to gift the Humans three: Aeolus, formerly known as Proxima Centauri b; Boreas, formerly known as Lutyen b; and Eurus, formerly known as Kapteyn c. This was a show of good faith. They’d observed the Humans long enough to know that they considered everything theirs, whether they’
d been there or not, and that they wouldn’t take kindly to the Martians colonizing all six. Especially since they’d already moved in right next door on Mars.

  They kept hold of the others: Notus, which was previously Wolf 1061 c; Zephyrus, which was Ross 128 b; and Hephaestus, the Martians’ private military development planet, which once upon a time had been known as Gliese 832 c.

  They’d brought a lot of arms with them — in case the Humans weren’t so friendly, which had been a real possibility. They were aware before their arrival that the Humans had an obsession with movies and books depicting aliens arriving, and then promptly getting into a to-the-death war with them. So you couldn’t blame them. Though, once they realized that Humans could be reasoned with, they packed up all their advanced weaponry and bundled it off to Hephaestus, where they’d kept it under lock and key ever since, so that the Humans couldn’t get their hands on it.

  But Arza and Ward weren’t headed to Hephaestus — no one was. The Gate was off. Powered down. Only fired up for official UMR business. Not even the Thessaly Treaty could get it opened up for the UN. That was their one true line in the sand. Hephaestus was off limits to the Humans. End of story.

  The gate to Aeolus, though, was open.

  The six of them hung around their old ship — the Gate’s Central Terminal — like the points of a huge hexagon. They were about a hundred and fifty meters across each. Enormous rings that floated effortlessly in space, oozing a blue aura like Cherenkov radiation. Simply, they were portals to other points in space and time.

  Each of the six corresponded to a specific beacon in a specific place — short folds in the fabric of space, tunnels through to other systems. The Martians’ mastery of fusion technology had made space a lot smaller, though the sheer complexity of the science involved with the Gate would never allow it to be used freely. That it could be used like this at all was beyond the reasoning of Humans. As smart as they were, the Martians were smarter. It was the reason that they’d managed to stay alive with their planet dying, and the Humans had managed to nearly kill themselves off on a living one.