This Virtual Night Page 22

  He was clearly less than pleased by the news. No surprise there. If he really was a scavenger, the last thing he would want was to be trapped inside a quarantined skimmer, waiting for Gueran authorities to inspect it. “Why the fuck are we being quarantined?”

  “They said they want to make sure that whatever caused the problem on Shenshido isn’t contagious.”

  “They think a disease made everyone crazy?”

  “I’m not sure they think it so much as need to rule it out. I’m sure there won’t be a problem. It will just take a bit of time. I’m sorry.”

  He was looking less and less pleased. “That doesn’t sound like a bounty hunter’s report,” he challenged her.

  She was silent for a moment, biting her lip, as if considering how much to confide in him. She’s a good role-player, Micah thought. Given her profession, I guess she has to be.

  “Ivar, I was hired to find out what happened on Shenshido. It was rumored the station had been working on some kind of new weapon to use against the scavs, that backfired on them. Obviously if that was the case, I couldn’t just show up and start asking questions about it. I needed a cover story.”

  “Do you believe that’s what happened? They were working on a weapon?”

  She spread her hands. “I’m just a mercenary, hired to gather data. Others get the pleasure of analyzing it. Apparently they need to do some of that before we rejoin civilization. I’m sorry.”

  Micah watched Ivar closely. If he really was a scav, quarantine would be an untenable situation. But admitting to that meant admitting to his outlaw status. Who else would be so fixed on avoiding the Guild’s scrutiny? Up until now his conversations with Ru, back on Shenshido, had been a delicate dance of implications and assumptions. At least that was how she’d described it. If Ivar wanted her to help him avoid quarantine he’d have to ask for that help. Which would put a lot of new things on the table.

  Ivar stared at her for a moment, as if that would somehow make her motives visible. “Can you drop me off somewhere else?” he asked at last. “Before that. Since you know I’m not carrying anything contagious.”

  Now it was she who took time to consider, or at least pretended to. After letting Ivar’s fears simmer for a few seconds, she turned to Micah. “Can we work in a discreet side trip?”

  He hesitated. “I could wipe it from the pilot’s log. But if they check on our fuel reserves they’ll know we diverted, and realize that the log was probably altered. Very risky.”

  Ru looked at Ivar. Said nothing.

  “Ten thousand,” he offered. “Untraceable cash chits.”

  Micah whistled softly.

  “You carrying that on you?” Ru asked. “Somehow I doubt it.”

  “I can get it before disembarking.”

  A slight smile crept across Ru’s face. I know what you are, it seemed to say. And I know how much you need my help. That doesn’t come cheap. “Twenty thousand.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. Lips tight, he nodded.

  “So I take it you’ve got a destination in mind. Last I looked, there wasn’t much in this octant.”

  “I was thinking a little further out.”

  Ru’s eyebrow rose. “How much further out?”

  “Sector Nine.”

  “That’s empty space. No stations.”

  “Nothing mapped. But I’ve got friends out there. I can give you coordinates for a meeting point. They’ll give you the cash when you arrive.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And I’m to believe this would be a safe thing to do . . . why?”

  “You rescued me. I owe you.”

  “Assuming for the moment I’m willing to trust that, what about those who’ll be meeting us? No offense, but that’s pretty far out for me to be counting on people’s good will.”

  “You rescued me,” he repeated. “No ally of mine is going to screw with you.” After a pause he added: “I guarantee it.”

  “With what backing?” Micah asked quietly.

  Sharp black eyes turned to him; he felt as if they were piercing through to his soul. “Saito. They’re the ones who will be meeting us. House Saito. I have an understanding with them. They’ll honor my word.”

  Ru looked at Micah, a question in her eyes. He nodded very slightly.

  “Thirty thousand,” she said. “Because of the risk.”

  Ivar opened his mouth to argue, then chuckled instead. “You are indeed a mercenary. Agreed.” He offered his hand. She took it. Bargain sealed.

  It isn’t the answer to our question about Shenshido, Micah thought. But it’s a good first step in seeking it. That’s assuming he’s being straight with us. And assuming he didn’t just make up that family name, because how the hell would we know if he did? This could still be a death-trap.

  But Ru’s eyes were gleaming. If she had any doubts, the excitement of the moment had clearly overridden them. And why not? She was used to risk. She spent her whole life seeking out planets she knew nothing about, aware that the locals might try to kill her before she even had a chance to say hello. That was the lifestyle she’d chosen. He sensed that hunger in her now—the desire to embrace danger instead of running from it—and Micah felt his own blood stir in response. How could one deny such an opportunity? Or pretend that the risk of it wasn’t as intoxicating as it was terrifying?

  Maybe I did catch what was on Shenshido, he thought. Because I do seem to be going crazy.

  Intuition, insight, imagination: where is the line to be drawn between them?

  Must it be drawn?

  NIGEL BAHN

  Meditations

  HARMONY NODE

  INSHIP: ARTEMIS

  PROBE DETECTED

  CODE REQUESTED

  SOURCE UNIDENTIFIED.

  “Shit,” Ru muttered. “That’s not good.”

  The main display looked no different to Micah than it had for last eight hours. Empty space—unclaimed, uninhabited—with the usual backdrop of stars. If something was out there, it was either too distant or too small for the skimmer to get a visual.

  Ru twisted back in her seat to look around the ship. “Where’s Ivar? In the back?”

  “Sleeping, I think.”

  “Damn.” A column of data was scrolling onto one of the smaller screens; she studied it for a moment, then shook her head in frustration. “None of this is telling me what I need to know. Get Sleeping Beauty up here, will you?”

  Glad to have something constructive to do, he got up from the pilot’s chair and headed aft. The long hours of travel had started to wear on his nerves, and though Ru had maintained an impressively calm façade, it was clear now that it was no more than that: a façade. She didn’t like not knowing their destination. Micah didn’t like not knowing their destination. But Ivar had been maddeningly tight-lipped about details, so they’d stopped asking him questions. Micah suspected the man was amused by their frustration. Screw him.

  Ivar was indeed sleeping in the back. Probably still recovering from his forced healing in the medpod; repairing that many broken parts must be draining. But he woke up as soon as Micah entered the room, going from sleep to full alertness instantly, like a cat. His hand went instinctively to his belt, as if seeking a weapon, but there was nothing there. Maybe he was searching for something he’d left on Shenshido. Maybe he would have attacked Micah if he’d had it, before he remembered where he was. “What?”

  “We’re being probed,” Micah told him. “Ru wants you up front.”

  Ivar pushed himself up to a sitting position, paused for a moment to consult his brainware—probably checking the time—then eased his legs over the edge of the bunk and down onto the floor. He winced as the weight of his body shifted to his injured leg. “That was fast. I figured we’d have a few more hours at least.”

  So you knew this was coming and didn’t warn
us. Micah shook his head. Asshole. It didn’t help that the man was wearing a black vest from the ship’s wardrobe but had disdained Ru’s offer of a fresh shirt, so his scarred and tattooed arms were on full display, framed in black leather. If he was trying to look disreputable, he’d succeeded admirably.

  Ru didn’t look away from her screen as they approached. “Basic probe signal,” she said. “Not from a ship. Or so my instruments tell me. It’s asking for an ID code.”

  Ivar slid into the chair beside her and looked over the data. “That’s a sentry buoy.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Which is what?”

  “Stationary probe. It was awakened by our approach and wants to know who and what we are.”

  “And when it does know?”

  “It’ll inform people that we’re here.”

  What people? Micah wanted to demand. But that would just be feeding into Ivar’s arrogance. He fetched a chair from the dining set, since the second pilot’s chair was now in use.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Ru demanded. “Ignore it and just keep going?”

  “It needs a passcode. Hook me up, I’ll send it.”

  Ru looked at him suspiciously. It was clear she was less than pleased about their current situation.

  SIGNAL REPEATED, the ship informed them.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Keyboard or voice?”

  He scowled. “What are we, primitives? Doesn’t this ship have an internal network?”

  “It sure does. But I don’t give strangers the key to it. Keyboard or voice control?”

  He stared at her for a minute, but if he was expecting her to back down, it wasn’t going to happen. “Keyboard.”

  She tapped the control panel and a keyboard graphic appeared. He began to pick out letters and numbers with his middle fingers, an oddly vulgar motion. The code that appeared on the screen was nothing Micah recognized, but he recorded it with his headset for later study.

  Finally Ivar leaned back and hit transmit. TRANSMISSION CONFIRMED, the screen said a moment later. “There you go. All done.”

  “So people know we’re here,” Ru said. She stressed the noun slightly, as if reminding him that he’d never told them what kind of people they were heading toward. “Should I be expecting trouble?”

  “If this ship had been classified as a threat, you might have. Though my contacts are more likely to avoid confrontation. But those codes should reassure them.”

  “Except they’re two years old,” Micah reminded him. “Are you sure they’re still good?”

  “They can be identified. My contacts know where and when I disappeared, so they’ll figure it out.”

  And if not, Micah thought, this could turn out to be a wasted trip.

  “And who exactly are we meeting?” Ru asked. They were getting close enough that maybe she thought he would part with the information.

  He got up from the chair. “You’ll see soon enough. Let me know when we’re in visual range.” Without further word he headed back to the rear of the ship, presumably to resume his nap.

  Ru looked at Micah. Micah looked at Ru.

  “You want to punch him in his arrogant face?” she asked quietly. “Or should I?”

  * * *

  It was another hour before they got within sensor range of their target. It was big, Ru’s ship told them, and it had a complex energy signature, which suggested it was more than a ship. By the time she got a clear visual on screen, with decent magnification, Micah’s heart was racing from anticipation; he gave his wellseeker permission to steady it.

  Then: there it was. A station . . . and not a station. Space stations were orderly, rational creations, planned and executed for maximum efficiency. This thing hadn’t been planned. It certainly didn’t look efficient. The best word Micah could come up with to describe it was surreal.

  It was a vast structure with ships moored to it in no discernible pattern. Big ships and small ships, some well maintained, others badly degraded. Connecting them was a tangled network of tubes and flyways, all splaying out from a common center, like a web spun by a drunken spider. In the center was a huge chunk of natural rock: an ex-asteroid, perhaps? Its pitted gray surface could be glimpsed here and there between the haphazard structures that clung to its surface, some of which had purposes that could be guessed at—mooring stations, environmental domes, banks of generators, life support domes connected by tunnels—while others were weirdly shaped, indecipherable. New materials had been fused with old, sleek with rutted, fragmented with whole. It was as if someone had taken a junk field, crushed all its contents into an irregular ball, and set it floating in the middle of nowhere. Micah saw a symbol on one panel that looked suspiciously like Shido’s corporate sigil. Had pieces of Shenshido station found their way to this place? This was why they attacked Shenshido, he realized. You can’t build something this large without one hell of a lot of mass.

  “Welcome to Hydra,” Ivar said. No longer was he a refugee needing rescue, but a warrior returning to his homeland, and the change was reflected in his demeanor. What status did he have here? It must have been high once, for him to bargain so casually with tens of thousands of credits, but was that still true? How would two years’ absence affect his standing among the fiercely competitive scavs? Beneath that confident façade, Micah guessed that Ivar was worried.

  Data was starting to scroll down Ru’s screen, mostly abbreviations that Micah couldn’t interpret. Was she running the application she’d told him about, that could derive social patterns from technology? “Six centers of activity,” she muttered. “Key ships are modern, well maintained. Big money here. Ruling factions?”

  “Influential factions. Not officially in charge of anything. There’s a seventh one behind the core, that you can’t see from this angle.”

  “Hence the Hydra,” Micah mused. “A monster with many heads.” Did those centers of activity represent clans? Families? Occupational cliques? He hungered to ask so many questions, but was pretty sure Ivar wouldn’t answer them, and he was tired of amusing him. So he just gazed at the seven-headed beast in wonder, basking in the satisfaction of knowing that his speculations about scav society had been accurate. At least thus far.

  “There’s no order to the rest of it,” Ru continued. Was she talking to them, or to herself? “Independent ownership. Few signs of wealth. Building materials from different sources. No unified plan or aesthetic.” She leaned closer to the screen. “The flyways look weak. Badly constructed, hence easy to damage. That seems an odd flaw to have. Clearly these people know how build reliable structures, even if the designs are sometimes unorthodox. Some of the joints don’t even look—” She drew in a sharp breath and fell back in her seat. “Holy shit.” She looked at Ivar. “It’s designed to come apart? All of it?”

  “Indeed,” Ivar said. “And now you understand the purpose of the sentries.”

  “Trouble approaches, and this is all . . . what, disassembled?”

  “A stationary structure would be easy for enemies to attack. A few dozen ships going off in different directions would be lost in the darkness of space before anyone realized what had happened.”

  “That hunk of rock isn’t going anywhere quickly,” Micah pointed to the core. “Not with that much mass to accelerate.”

  “For which reason nothing of value is stored in it. Mostly it’s for hi-G shore leave, for those that don’t run full G on their ships. Human bodies need such exposure or they grow weak.”

  Yeah, Micah thought dryly. It’s really a health spa. Why didn’t we guess that?

  More data was scrolling across Ru’s screen, but now she was reading it silently. Perhaps she was learning things she didn’t want Ivar to know about. If this is where the Dragonslayer signal originated, Micah thought, it may be our enemy’s home base. From here he could orchestrate whatever attacks he wanted, knowing that Guild authorities would n
ever find him. Only Ru and I will find him.

  Ru looked at Ivar. “You said everyone here would be Saito. But this structure obviously isn’t home to only a single faction. Or even cooperating factions. Care to explain?”

  “I lied,” he said evenly. “To reassure you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Should I worry about other lies?”

  He shrugged. “The rest was legit. And the only people you’ll have to deal with here will honor my word, so unless you go wandering around on your own, you’ll be fine. Speaking of which, I should contact those people now and let them know we’re coming. So they can start getting your payment ready.”

  “Lower right screen,” she said, pointing. “Manual controls beneath it.”

  He smoothed a few stray hairs back from his face and angled the screen toward him. It showed his face as it would be transmitted: not a mirror image, with right and left sides transposed, but a true duplicate. “Begin recording,” he commanded.

  Bright words appeared across the image. BEGIN RECORDING.

  “This message is for Dominic Saito, from Ivar. Forward it to his office if he’s not available. Mark it time sensitive.” He cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to announce that I’m still alive, and after a lengthy and unpleasant stay on Shenshido Station, am coming home. I owe my return to Ru Gaya and Anthony Bester”—he nodded toward the two of them, though they were offscreen—“and ask that they be accorded the status of guests of the House. I’ll require thirty thousand standard creds in unmarked cash chits for them when we arrive, as per our arrangement. Please confirm, and provide docking coordinates.”

  Micah watched—and recorded—while Ivar typed in coordinates and hit the send key. A few seconds later the screen confirmed that the message was on its way. “How long do you think the com lag will be?”

  “Not too long,” Ru replied. “We’re pretty close. I can have the ship calculate the exact time if you need it. Once your message gets there, however . . .” She shrugged.

  “If Dominic is there, he’ll respond quickly.”