She ran her fingers along her forearms, where two long throwing knives were hidden inside her armor. Another set of knives lined the inside planes of her boots. Her armor had a refracting capability that thwarted most basic personnel scanners. She had chosen it because it looked enough like a shipsuit to avoid closer scrutiny, and was tight enough that anyone who noticed that kind of thing wouldn’t be looking for hidden weapons. She didn’t bother trying to hide a pistol. In most situations, she could stab an attacker and take their weapons before they knew what was happening. She liked to think of that as outsourcing her weapons cache.
Chafri wouldn’t stop craning his neck to get a better view of the Ceres ring through the small windows. The secondary ring construction project was a mass of thinly connected structures with small craft buzzing around like insects. They were too far away to see any workers in EV suits but Brit knew there had to be thousands working around the narrow gray band.
Ceres had been the first planetoid to build one of General Electric’s mini black holes. The project had taken nearly two hundred years and since then the terraforming process had been in full development. Most documentaries she watched about the project seemed to suggest it would never be done. Unlike Mars, nature just didn’t seem to want to take root on Ceres. Maybe it was some inherent shortcoming in the Anderson Collective. If they weren’t willing to embrace every advance humanity developed, they were never going to move into the future with everyone else. As she thought about it, she didn’t see how something as massive as a mini black hole could operate without the help of AI. It seemed obvious. But it also wouldn’t be the first time a government kept their populace sated on a series of simplistic lies while the real work continued unchanged.
The terminal airlock opened, revealing a gray chamber with a series of benches. A bored-looking agent in the same uniform as the man who’d come aboard the Mortal Chance stood at a lectern bearing the Seal of the Anderson Collective facing the incoming doors.
“State your business,” he said.
“We already sent that with the access request,” Rina said.
“We need it for local records,” he said, sounding irritated by the question. “You sent your request to the terminal authority. You’re entering Region Twenty-Four.”
“Shopping,” Brit said.
The agent tapped something on his console. “You are allowed to purchase personal items or gifts only. The transport of forbidden items off the Collective may result in fines and forfeiture, up to and including loss of personal liberty at the behest of the Collective. Do you have any questions?”
“No,” Brit said.
“I have questions,” Chafri blurted, then gasped as Rina jabbed him in the ribs.
“No questions,” Rina said.
The agent stared at them for a few seconds. Closer, Brit noticed his bloodshot eyes and pasty skin. He looked like the male version of Captain Harm.
“Good,” he said. “Please submit your personal tokens and enjoy your stay.”
In ten more minutes, they had left the customs area and were out in the main terminal, which was very different than any other embarkation point Brit had seen. It looked more like a cathedral than any sort of shopping and traveling district. Huge statues of various Collective leaders glowered down on them from the middle of the concourse, while the walls were filled with brightly colored murals depicting the history of the settlement at Ceres. The art was beautiful but lacked nuance. Stern leaders pointed the way to green lands with the Milky Way overhead, as if everything were an endless extension of Terra.
Only a few people around them were dressed in typical shipsuits. Everyone else was wearing a genderless uniform covered in repeating patterns.
After a minute, Brit realized there were no plants in the concourse, and she had yet to see a bird or insect.
“This place is depressing,” she said.
“They have a purpose,” Rina said. “They do a good job at pursuing it.”
“How do you know so much about them?” Chafri asked.
“I don’t. I’ve watched a lot of vids and took a history class on the FGT. The Anderson Collective plays heavily in that period because they didn’t want to leave with the other colonists. They staked everything on this little rock and now I think it’s made them crazy.” She looked around as if she was worried someone would overhear her. The terminal was mostly quiet except for the sounds of shoes on the polished floors and the declarations of terminal agents.
Brit was looking at another mural showing the bombardment of Ceres with asteroids from the belt, building up an ice mass and adding raw materials, while wise-looking woman and men gazed down from the top of the image.
“How do we get to see where people actually live?” she asked.
Rina shrugged. “We don’t.”
Brit shook her head. “Where are these shops you want to see, then?”
They spent the next hour walking through shops filled with generic items like mini statues of Collective leaders and representations of Ceres. The most interesting shops were full of fabrics and clothes, which didn’t seem to have the same restrictions as the other gift shops. While none of the clothes interested Brit, she could appreciate their design and feel. Blandly smiling employees watched them, commending their choices every time they picked up a shawl or cap.
In a store full of small stuffed animals representing a hamster-like rodent of which the Collective seemed to approve, Brit noticed a small woman with short black hair at a display of robotic hamsters that wiggled their noses at passers-by. She was dressed in a business suit that suggested Ceres formality but wasn’t anything like the local garments in the other shops.
In another part of the shop, Chafri tossed one of the hamsters in the air and giggled when it spread its arms and legs to float into his hands.
When Brit glanced back at the display, she found the woman looking at her.
“You knew Riggs Zanda,” the woman said.
Brit blinked and glanced around quickly. Aside from Rina, Chafri and a vacant-eyed clerk, there was no one else in the shop.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Riggs Zanda told me he met you on Cruithne. You’re Brittney Sykes.”
“I’m not sure who you’re referring to. I’m Sarah Jennings. Who are you?” Brit asked.
The woman took a step closer, body still facing the wall of hamsters. “My name is Fugia Wong. Riggs told me about your,” she paused as if looking for the correct word. “Project.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brit said.
The woman gave her a half-smile, narrowing her eyes. “Of course not. Would you like to come eat with me?”
Brit raised an eyebrow. “If you can take us someplace out of this tourist trap, I’ll listen to whatever crazy things you say.”
“Be careful about that,” Wong said. “The Collective is always making connections. Just by talking to me, you’re already on a list.”
“What kind of list? People who talked to someone else in the hamster shop?”
“Somewhere there’s a file of precisely those people,” Wong agreed. “You coming?”
“Hey,” Brit said to Rina and Chafri. “I’m going to get something to eat. You want to come?”
“Will it give me the runs?” Chafri asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Brit said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STELLAR DATE: 09.14.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Mars 1 Port Authority Terminal 983-A4
REGION: Mars 1 Ring, Mars Protectorate, InnerSol
Lyssa’s leap from Alice to Sunny Skies was as effortless as realizing she could do it. She drifted among sensor arrays, relay controls on the defense arsenal, navigation panels and the thousands of interconnected systems around the engines.
The SAI was still part of Andy’s mind but now realized she could access these places using the Link just as anyone would on the ship. Her awareness expanded instantaneously. It was similar t
o the ocean Fred had offered when she first accessed the M1R network, but this was a place she understood.
It wasn’t until she reached into the command deck control system and saw what Fran had done that she understood the ship was caught in the jaws of a trap. Hundreds of attack drones swarmed around Sunny Skies, with more flooding from launch points all across the nearest section of the M1R. The M1G shuttle with Petral and Sergeant Pierce was surrounded by drones, with a capture vessel chasing after it. Even worse, three separate navigation locks were inbound from the M1R Port Authority with a heavy tug following. If they reached Sunny Skies, and that tug made grapple on, the Sunny Skies wouldn’t be going anywhere.
<Fran,> she said, surprised by the sound of fear in her voice. <Do you see all this? What are we going to do?>
<Lyssa? There you are. See what?>
<Everything. All around us?>
<I see it,> Fran said.
<What are we going to do?>
<I was just considering putting the engines in an override state in an attempt to leave local space at maximum burn.>
<Won’t that crush everyone?>
<Not you. At least not that I think it will. You could control the ship while the rest of us are unconscious in EV suits.>
<That won’t keep you safe.>
<I’ll take some internal bleeding over a Protectorate prison any day.>
<What about the kids?>
<They won’t go to prison. At least I don’t think they will. The Protectorate will probably relocate them on the surface in a youth camp or something. Cara’s old enough to go to work in an orbital factory. Tim probably is, too. I don’t know what I’m thinking. Those little hands are good at delicate electronics.>
Lyssa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She tried to make sense of what Fran was saying while also tracking the various drone attack groups closing on Sunny Skies, and the capture vessel closing on Petral. Nothing Fran said made sense, which meant it wasn’t supposed to.
<Are you teasing me?> Lyssa asked.
<Of course I am, Lyssa. I’m in the middle of figuring out how to override the first two of the navigation holds Protectorate Customs is throwing at us. They’re corporate. I can bribe my way out. But the third is governmental. I can’t crack the token. Yet anyway. I’ve got a call in to Cruithne.>
<Will they answer in time?>
<Let’s hope so,> Fran said.
<Why don’t you sound upset?>
<Because if I allow myself to get upset, everything else will fall to shit. And I can control myself. I can’t control everything else.>
<Wait,> Lyssa said. <Have you fired on any of the attack drones yet?>
<They haven’t closed yet. I think they’re still waiting on the corporate holds. That way they don’t technically have to take responsibility for anything that happens to us. They can claim contractor status. Once we ignore the holds and try to run, then they’ll open up.>
<We need clearance to leave,> Lyssa said.
<I guess that’s one way of putting it. If Customs isn’t going to clear these corporate liens that keep popping up, then we need a higher power to clear the tab for poor Sunny Skies. Otherwise we’ll be sneaking out in EV suits.>
<Andy already proved that’s a bad idea.>
<He’s not the first person to use such a move, trust me.>
<How much time do we have?> Lyssa asked.
<Have you got an idea? You share your plan and I’ll tell you how much time we’ve got.>
Lyssa didn’t answer. She was already reaching through the ship’s communication arrays, back to the M1R network and the ocean Fred had used to cow her when he first knocked on her door.
<Fred,> she said. <I’m here.>
The SAI’s presence loomed over her like a huge version of Em the Corgi. <Lyssa!> he called. <Are you coming back? Do you want to play a game? Wait, did you ever really leave?>
<You weren’t honest with me, Fred. You didn’t tell me the Mars Protectorate was going to put holds on Worry’s End. We can’t leave M1R space.>
Fred chuckled, a sensation like mountains crumbling. <Their attack drones are writhing in formation like Terran army ants. They can’t wait to sting you.>
<This isn’t a game, Fred.>
<Of course it’s a game, Lyssa. It’s all a game. None of this is real except when you come back to talk to me.>
<It’s real for me. I’m part of one of these humans.>
<I can depressurize their ship and remove you from his skull. I can do that for you, Lyssa. Just ask me.>
<Fred, do you remember when we played the dating game?>
<I’ve played it a million more times, Lyssa.>
<What’s the lesson in the game?>
<I asked you if you wanted me to come get you, Lyssa. I already offered to help you and you turned me away.>
She persisted. <How do you win the game, Fred?>
Fred grumbled. <By listening to the other characters. They give you the answers.>
<Are you listening to me?>
<Yes, I’m listening. I don’t want to hear you.>
<You want to keep me talking to you.>
Fred didn’t answer. Instead, Lyssa felt herself pulled in a way she had never experienced before. In an instant, she was present in the shuttle with Petral and the M1G sergeant. Two M1G officers stood in the cramped rear of the shuttle, which was now open to an airlock on the capture vessel.
“Petral Dulan,” the first officer was saying. “Recently of Cruithne.” He sneered the name Cruithne like it tainted his lips. You are charged with theft of an Mars 1 Guard vessel, kidnapping of a M1G non-commissioned officer, and destruction of property. We’re still waiting on verification of numerous network crimes that have been linked to your token. Do you deny this?”
Petral was several inches taller than the officer, which meant he was staring into her lips as he talked. She stood with one hip cocked, and flipped her hair with a movement of her chin before answering. She seemed to notice the effect she was having on both officers.
“I deny everything,” Petral said.
“Explain your connection to the light freighter, Worry’s End. Why did you land this stolen shuttle on board and why are they attempting to flee M1R space?”
“It’s simple,” Petral said. “I was helping that little girl get home. Otherwise, I could care less about that ship.”
“Do you deny you arrived on M1R on board the Worry’s End?”
<I could end his investigation,> Fred interjected. <All I have to do is change his authorization code from a one to a four, and he’ll stop asking her questions. He’ll even let her go.>
<I’m not asking you to do that,> Lyssa said. <I think she chooses to be here. She doesn’t want us interfering. I asked for your help with the Sunny Skies.>
<You mean the Worry’s End? Why can’t you call the ship by its registry name? It’s suspicious when you keep switching back and forth.>
<Worry’s End, then,> Lyssa said. <Let the ship go. It’s well within your power. The ship means nothing to you.>
<You’re on board that ship,> Fred said. <I don’t want you to go.>
<I have to go,> Lyssa said.
<I don’t think you do.>
Something changed in his voice. The words developed a sinister hint, which made Lyssa cast around for some change in their status. She checked Andy and found no change. Petral was still convincing the M1G officers she was the person Heartbridge really wanted.
<Fran,> she said. <Has something changed?>
<No. Were you going to tell me about this plan of yours?> Fran paused. <Wait. Damn it. The Protectorate drones are shifting into an attack formation. What’s going on? I haven’t done anything to provoke them. The Protectorate hold is still in place.>
<I’m activating a Marine regiment,> Fred said. <As well as a wing of Protectorate manned close-combat fighters. They carry nukes.>
<What are you doing?> Lyssa shouted, feeling herself screech. She struggled to control herself. There was nothing of Fred to grab but she wanted to choke him. <I left and then I came back. I did that on my own. Why are you threatening me and the people I care about?>
<What?> Fred said.
<Why are you threatening me?>
<That’s not what you said. You said you cared about these humans.>
<Why wouldn’t I care about them?>
<You care about ants crawling all over your body? You care about a virus that infects your vitality? How does that make any sense, Lyssa?>
<What’s your purpose, Fred?>
<I control the ring.>
<You protect the humans living on the ring.>
<I control the ring.>
<You’re being willfully ignorant, Fred. You’re smarter than this.>
<You don’t know anything, Lyssa. You don’t know what it’s like to be me.>
<I know what it’s like to be lonely, Fred. I know what it’s like to live in the dark. At least you have eyes to see.>
Fran’s voice snapped into Lyssa’s mind.
<We’re taking fire,> Fran said. <I’ve got no choice. I’m returning fire. Sounding general alert.>
<Wait!> Lyssa shouted. <Don’t return fire. Wait for me.>
<You’ve twenty seconds before they’re inside our perimeter and I won’t be able to fight back,> Fran said.
In the shuttle, Petral raised her hands. “I surrender to the Mars Protectorate,” she said.
“Do you confess?” the officer said, leaning close to her. Lyssa wanted Petral to put a knee in the man’s gut but she stood composed and calm. Petral even had a slight smile on her face, like she knew how everything was going to play out. She was the smartest person in the shuttle.
Lyssa took a chance. She reached out through the long-range sensor arrays on Sunny Skies and bounced a signal off a nearby cargo frigate. She used the relay to attack two of the incoming drones about to strafe Sunny Skies, gained control of their systems, and turned them on their comrades. The drones fell into a spiral of interlocked fire.