“Annatarr is a military base,” I pointed out. “There are no law-enforcement battalions there.”
“And you expect the Rangers to pay any attention to that division? They never have in the past. I’m combat and I’ve arrested my fair share of petty criminals, too.”
I seethed for a moment. It was fucking inconvenient to have been pushed away from New Phoenicia. It didn’t help that our research had been interrupted, either. “Perhaps Devonire has a hilton we can rent. We can hunker down and nail the records. Find that trace. Then we’ll know where we’re going.”
In the back of my mind I was thinking that Devonire was a remote and out-of-the-way place. Who in their right mind would think of looking for us there? We were traveling on the new IDs, which no one knew was us. As difficult as it was to find a trace of Gabriel Dalton running under a false ID, that same degree of difficulty would also hamper anyone looking for us.
“I suspect we may have just bought ourselves time to properly figure this out,” I told Juliyana.
“Yeah, you said Zillah’s World would be nice and quiet, too,” Juliyana said, her tone dry. “I’m going to find food. I got up way too early this morning and I’ve been moving since. I need breakfast.”
I felt the need to apologize and squashed it.
Things were moving, as Juliyana had said on Zillah’s World. Life got interesting when that happened.
As I had eaten breakfast already, I stood in the middle of the cabin and considered if I should try to catch up on my sleep after all. Juliyana hadn’t said how long the schlep through the hole would be. Devonire was a near-neighbor in astronomical terms so it was likely the trip would take double-digit hours.
Only, I didn’t feel the need for sleep. I was wired, zapping with energy. Glowing with it.
Noam stepped into my lateral view, moved a few more steps and turned to face me. “Hi again. Thought she’d never leave. We have a few moments, now.”
I didn’t feel any concern about him standing in front of me like that. Instead, the sensation swept down upon me that something was behind me…coming closer. Something was about to happen.
My heart zoomed up into the run-for-your-life level. Adrenaline painted a coppery taste in my mouth.
The sensation of doom washed over me, making every hair on my flesh try to stand up in a prickly parade. Coldness touched me.
“Noam…” I wasn’t sure if I spoke aloud or not. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve been here all along,” he told me. “I’ve been trying a long time to speak to you. There’s a lot to say, and I don’t know how long I’ve got until—” He jerked his head toward the door of the cabin. “Shit…” he breathed.
And disappeared.
Juliyana thrust open the door. “They’ve invited us to dinner, Danny—” she begun.
I heard her, but was incapable of replying. I sagged, and just barely got my hands out to stop from falling on my face.
I was sweating, my heart threatening to explode out of my chest. “Noam…” I croaked.
Juliyana gripped my arms and hauled me to my feet, then shuffled me over to the bed and dropped me on the end of it. She crouched to look me in the face.
“Noam, what?”
“He was just here,” I squeezed out of my uncooperative throat. “Talking to me.”
10
Juliyana didn’t believe me, of course. Even I had trouble believing it, and he had been right there in front of me.
I’d been an old woman so recently, I think the effect still lingered in her mind. Juliyana fussed. She dialed up the medical AI on the concierge panel and connected it to her pad and ran diagnostics, even though I told her more than once I was fine, nothing wrong.
Which was a small lie. I felt very tired, when only moments ago, I had been pulsing with energy.
The AI directed Juliyana through a series of scans and probes. Just like a real doctor, it said nothing until it’d had a chance to consider everything properly. Unlike real doctors, though, it could collate and analyze the mountains of data points it had collected and consider them in gestalt, plus consult every medical resource available to it in the hole…all in a few seconds.
It cleared its “throat” and said in a pleasant tenor; “It appears you have suffered a petit mal seizure—what laymen call a waking seizure.”
Juliyana put her hands on her hips, looking less than happy.
It matched how I felt. “These are not the old implants,” I pointed out. “They were causing the seizures, before.”
“Perhaps not.” The AI spoke with a pedantic tone which matched every doctor I’ve ever met. “It is possible the epilepsy is independent of the implants. As you no longer have the old implants for me to examine, I can only make assumptions based on the data I have to hand. It is also possible the implants were merely enhancing the seizures. You said they were classic incidences?”
That is what Andrain had called them. “Yes. Grand mal.”
“Modern implants have a neutral impact on brain polarity and energy. It is possible your new implants are ameliorating the seizures, so they are reduced to petit mal, instead. I can prescribe an anti-seizure inoculation which will hold you over until you have emerged into regular space and can consult a specialist.”
“No,” I said quickly.
Juliyana raised her brow. “You said these things were killing you,” she pointed out.
“That was before,” I said. Even to me, my tone sounded testy. “Noam was right there,” I added.
Juliyana rolled her eyes. “Hallucination. You were having a seizure.”
“It isn’t typical to hallucinate while seizing,” the AI interjected, its tone studied.
“The anti-seizure inoculation,” I said, staring at Juliyana while I addressed the AI. “What are the side effects?”
“Many and varied, including increased seizures,” the AI said, happy to be able to answer a question properly at last. “Brain fog is typical. Headaches, slowness of thoughts. Impact on cognition has been recorded throughout medical history. No medication has ever provided relief and not made the patient feel groggy. Also, increased appetite and over the long term, slowed metabolism, both of which contribute to significant weight increase—”
“Stop. Thank you,” I said, looking at Juliyana.
“Shit…” she breathed.
“Exactly.”
“Are the petit mal seizures life-threatening if left unmedicated?” Juliyana asked the AI.
“Not generally,” was the reply. “Although they are usually considered to be pre-cursors to a full seizure, which in Danny’s case, may be fatal, according to her previous physician. Without a full medical history to hand, I cannot be more specific.”
Juliyana stirred. “Thank you. Dismissed.”
The concierge panel lights blinked out to the single glowing green point to indicate it was listening.
Juliyana crossed her arms. “Then there’s nothing that can be done. You can’t medicate, and you can’t predict when you’ll have the next one.”
“That’s the way I heard it, too,” I agreed. I got up. Everything felt normal, once more, yet I was still baked. “How about we get that dinner you were yammering about, when you came in?” Food would help.
We emerged from the gate thirteen hours later. In that time, I ate, slept a solid eight hours, and ate again.
I was back to feeling twitchy with good health and an overload of energy. One of the side benefits of rejuvenation is that in the second and subsequent go-rounds, you don’t for a second fail to appreciate youth while you have it. I found myself smiling a lot. I got permission to use the ship’s gymnasium and worked myself up into a glowing sweat, stressing my well-developed muscles.
I could deadlift a ridiculous amount, more than I ever had. The off-duty crewmembers watched me from the corner of their eye, just as interested in the weight I was moving around. I didn’t laugh out loud at the male crewmen who reached for the upper end of the weight stacks and turned red in t
he face proving they could sling more weight than me. They didn’t know they were responding to cues which came out of antiquity, that humanity had never got rid of and wouldn’t while reproduction remained a sexual process.
The rejuvenation therapy had been worth the outrageous price. Right now I was fully inclined to recommend the clinic to anyone who asked. I was unused to luxury level therapy. Ranger-provided rejuvenations were standardized—there were very few options one got to pick. The Imperial Rangers wanted their soldiers to be fit, strong and healthy, and that was it. Senior officers had a few more options, including cosmetic age, but less than the average grunt thought we got.
We were less than an hour from emerging out of the hole when I ended the session—not because I was drained, but because I thought it prudent to shower and change before we disembarked from the ship. Every time we had stepped onto a station lately, it had proved eventful, with no time to linger for basics like showering and eating.
This time, though, events came to our attention before we reached the station. The first I knew of it was when I was repacking my overloaded sack. The concierge gave a little cough and said; “Captain’s compliments. Will you step along to the flight deck, as soon as you can.”
Passengers were rarely invited onto the flight deck. They got underfoot and distracted crew with inane questions if they did.
“Problem with the IDs?” Juliyana suggested, looking up from her pad.
“Newman wouldn’t give a damn about that.” I sealed my boots and got to my feet. “Only way to find out is go see him as directed.” I didn’t for a moment consider the request optional. If I didn’t respond, a crewmember—possibly more than one—would come to find me and make sure I presented myself.
I checked the layout of the ship on the screen the concierge thoughtfully displayed. The flight deck was at the end of the main gallery, as I had expected it to be. Even though a flight control deck could be placed anywhere on the ship these days, most ships followed the ages old practice of placing the deck at the top or at the front of the ship. “Front” was often subjective—and could only be figured out by finding the outlets of the reaction engines and tracing a line forward along the ship from them. The Dream Queen, though, was elongated, and had a pair of stubby articulated guns facing forward, making the leading edge of the craft very clear.
The deck was cramped. The five deck crew manning the controls all rested casually against newish-looking shells which they didn’t need. The modern shells were smaller, yet there still wasn’t a lot of room on the deck.
This deck was a donut model, all control dashboards facing the center, where the screens could display any view needed, plus schematics, and clear headshot views of the other members of the deck, if needed.
Newman beckoned with his fingers, as I paused at the entrance to the deck.
I made my way around the back of the shells. No one bothered to glance at me. They were busy, now we’d emerged from the hole. There was plenty to do between now and docking.
Newman pointed at a screen. “You said leaving New Phoenicia would be the end of your woes.”
I looked. The screen showed a long view of the Devonire station. It was as small as I had guessed from Juliyana’s quick research. The three landing bays were ranged on this side of the station, facing the gates where all the traffic came from.
An old-fashioned cable setup hung from the bottom of the station, trailing down to the planet’s surface. “Haven’t seen one of those in years,” I murmured, watching the glasseen pod rise up into the underside of the station.
“Check the bays,” Newman said. “We’ve been cleared for the portside.”
The portside bay was empty. The station was one of the old kind, where a ship had to nudge up against an outside port and couple with it. I hoped they didn’t use molecule tunnels to hook up with the ships. I didn’t like walking along a ramp which had nothing between me and fatal vacuum except for a thin membrane of invisible, coherent molecules acting as a shield. They said the molecule barriers simply couldn’t fail because of the nature of the interaction between molecules and vacuum. If that was the case, then why didn’t more people use them? They’re cheap enough.
I’m guessing too many people felt the way I did, including those who made decisions about a station design.
The surprising aspect of the station was that both other landing bays were in use. “The Queen is supposed to be the only ship arriving for a week,” I said.
Newman pulled at the softer skin below his chin. “Recognize either ship?” He tapped the keyboard. The view pulled in tighter upon the two ships snuggled up to the station.
Glasseen connector tunnels. Thank the stars.
I focused upon the ship at the starboard landing bay. It was a thick, blunt design, solid all the way through, with no projections or spindly extensions which could be snapped off or sheered away. There were regular shapes all over the hull, and all of them would have a purpose, too. The ship had that sort of spare, elegant design about it. Nothing for show or decoration. Just utilitarian efficiency. Despite the blocky shape and sparseness, there was an elegance to the dimensions.
“Can you focus on the starboard side?” I asked Newman.
He tapped. The lens shifted and the view expanded.
Now I could see details. Big reaction engine cones—very big in proportion to the size of the ship. That sucker would move under that sort of impetus.
The hull itself was strangely colored. The standard subdued glow of gray carbon steel showed here and there. Carbon steel was the material most external hulls were made of these days. Everywhere else, the hull was a matte ochre red. I frowned, peering at the mottled color, wondering what that was about. Then it clicked.
“Rust,” I breathed. “How the fuck does a ship get rusty in space?”
“Good question,” Newman said. “You don’t know the ship, then?”
I took in the four rail guns mounted top and bottom of the ship and shook my head. “Independent party, I guess. I don’t know them, sorry.”
He nodded. “It’s the other one I wanted to ask you about.” He nudged the lens. The screen dissolved into a mash of pixels, then resolved once the lens stopped moving. The lens focused on the big ship which took up the center bay. The center bay was the big one. The ship had got this bay because it wouldn’t have fit either of the other two.
I traced the lines of the ship. The entire ship was matte black, a non-reflecting material which in space would make the ship virtually invisible, except for the negative space it would make from blocking the stars behind it.
Two long, independent arms ran forward from the body of the ship, both of them three times longer and nearly half the width of the body. They were independent troop drop ships, which would detach from the main ship to get infantry to the surface…or mechs, or armed crawlers, or whatever was required down there. While attached to the ship, their front end cannons could be aimed and fired by the main flight deck weapons officers.
I swallowed. “An Imperial Ranger armed carrier.”
Newman was watching my face. “Friends of yours?”
He was being ironic, yet for all I knew, I did have friends on the ship. Only, the way Newman meant it was also true. I pushed my hand through my hair. “That’s a combat vessel. The combat battalions have no interest in me.” Which was true as far as I knew.
“Meaning the police battalions do?” Newman rasped, looking unhappy.
“They’re not here for me,” I assured him. “It’s a coincidence. No one knew we would be on this ship and…” I plunged on, “…and no one knows what names we’re using.”
Newman considered this, his old eyes narrowed.
“Fifty minutes out, boss,” one of the crew said softly.
“I wouldn’t bank on no one knowing you’re here,” Newman said. He pointed at a tiny woman frowning at her screens. “LeOnde says the ship’s security feeds were raided before we made it into the hole.”
LeOnde nodded and lo
oked up. “It wasn’t subtle. They accessed the footage showing the cargo ramp, in the last three hours before we left.”
I stared at her unhappily. “The footage shows our faces as we came on board,” I guessed. Even though we were traveling under false IDs, a smart AI could still go through visuals and match faces to ours on file.
LeOnde gave me a taut smile and went back to her dashboard.
Newman was back to tugging the flesh beneath his chin. “The heavy hand meant they didn’t care if we knew. It usually means some sort of official agent, with the authority to raid private feeds. And lo, the Rangers are here.” He waved his hand at the screen.
I carefully said nothing. No point in committing myself. I already knew where Newman was taking this. I would be thinking the exact same thing, in his shoes. I was a passenger who would draw too much official attention upon his ship. Nothing he was doing was illegal, that I knew about, except for carrying passengers, which every freighter did as a matter of course. He was like most honest civilians, though—nervous in the face of authority.
“I can’t take you on from here,” Newman said. “We part ways at Devonire.”
I nodded at the expected announcement and turned to look at the screen again. The lens was adjusting as the Queen drew closer to the station, shifting focus. The black ship looked lethal…and it was lethal. Everyone thought of the dreadnoughts and the super-maneuverable frigates as the powerhouses of the Imperial fleet. Carriers, though, were designed to protect ground troops and were damned good at it. Yet they could also use that firepower against enemy ships with an effectiveness as devastating as any dreadnought’s.
The shitty bonus for me right now was that most of the time, carriers had at least three or four cadres of infantry aboard.
My lucky fucking day.
According to Newman, this wasn’t the coincidence it looked like. I wanted to point out to him that I’d faced two major coincidences lately. This would be number three…if it was chance at all.
Hammer and Crucible Page 10