This Virtual Night Read online

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  “So, are you suggesting . . . that they’d try to remove me?”

  “If you belonged to one of the clans, no. The price would be too high. But as an independent? No patronus will muster all his resources to avenge you. Everyone knows that. It makes you fair game.”

  He managed to keep his face impassive, but it took effort. The dynamic Dominic was describing was indeed a far cry from the world he had left two years ago, and the light this conversation shed on his relationship with Saito was not reassuring. We’ve been useful to each other, Ivar thought. Nothing more. The clans look after their own. But was the situation really as bad as Dominic was suggesting? The man had been trying to get Ivar to swear allegiance to Saito for as long as they’d known each other. One would expect him to exaggerate any danger, if he thought that fear might drive Ivar into his camp.

  I need to see what’s going on here, with my own eyes. It would be foolish to make any life-altering decisions before doing that. “I need to think about all this,” he said.

  “Of course.” Dominic leaned back and picked up his drink again. “I would expect no less.” Just don’t take too long, his expression warned.

  Shutting his eyes for a moment, Ivar emptied his glass. The whiskey went down smoothly, but his nerves were jangled now, and mere liquor wasn’t enough to soothe them. “Thanks for the advice. And for the loan. As soon as I recover my emergency stash I’ll pay you back.”

  Dominic waved off the thought. “Not necessary. Consider it a gift. For old time’s sake.”

  “I’ll consider it a loan. And I’ll pay it back with interest.”

  Dominic chuckled. “As you wish.”

  It was an old game of theirs, the duel of debt. Dominic liked people to owe him things; Ivar hated owing anybody. But today the dance had a darker tenor. You will never own me, Ivar thought. Nor will anyone else.

  He pushed himself up from the chair, trying not to favor his damaged leg too much. The last person he wanted to display weakness in front of was Dominic Saito. “Your hospitality is appreciated—as is your counsel—but I think it’s time I headed down to the core and saw things for myself. Not to mention let everyone know I’m back from the dead.”

  “You have my contact information if you need it.”

  “I do.”

  There was more that he’d wanted to talk to Dominic about. Things he wanted to ask him. If there were signs that Shenshido’s madness was infecting Hydra, this man would have heard about them. But asking for information right now seemed like a bad idea. Asking for anything seemed like a bad idea. Better to parry that debt and quit the dueling ground unbloodied.

  “Be careful,” Dominic warned him as he left.

  “I always am,” he responded.

  It was just a small lie.

  When in doubt, amuse the bad guys.

  MICAH BELLO

  Outside the Game Box: Square Peg Strategy in a Round Hole World

  HARMONY NODE

  HYDRA COLLECTIVE

  “HOW DO I look?”

  Ru looked up from her mapping project, blinked, and looked again. “Where on Guera did you get that clothing?”

  “You said I could take anything of Tully’s that I needed and do whatever I wanted with it.”

  “Yes, but . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything of his that looked like that.”

  Micah was wearing Tully’s reinforced jacket, but instead of being the crisp, clean item she remembered, it now looked like someone had lived in it—and slept in it—for at least a decade. The collar and cuffs were visibly worn, and judging from the faded color at the elbows, the sleeves were close to wearing through. Parts were discolored, as if someone had ineptly tried to scrub out stains. A chain was clipped to one shoulder, hanging in a loop under his arm, like a military decoration, and there were small tokens pinned to the front pocket, like trophies. Inside, she knew, was a layer of armor cloth strong enough to repel small projectiles and insulating enough to protect the wearer from surface charges, but the outside looked like crap. His pants were the same ones he’d been wearing before—seamless jeans, neat enough—but they, too, looked like they’d aged years in the last few hours.

  She couldn’t stop staring.

  He smoothed his hands down over the altered clothing with obvious pride. “I found a component in the cleaning assembly with an abrasive surface that I used to wear down the fabric. And I borrowed some glycolic acid from the air sterilizer to fade the color. Don’t worry, I put it back.”

  “I’m not worried. Just . . . surprised.”

  “Ivar said we’d be safe if we looked like we belonged. I couldn’t do that in what I was wearing. So I used him as a model for the degree of wear.”

  He did have the same well-worn aspect as Ivar. And the same vaguely disreputable air, as well. She didn’t know for certain if that would pass muster down on Hydra, but it was certainly a lot more appropriate for the effort than what he’d had on before. “You know, you have the most bizarre skill set of anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He looked at the main screen, where a magnified image of Hydra’s core was displayed. “What are you working on?”

  “Analysis of the social patterns reflected in the structure. It’s a bit more chaotic than our algorithms usually have to deal with. There’s no single guiding concept behind it.” She turned back to the image and pointed to a place where several walkways converged. “This place is probably near a focus of independent social activity, so a good starting point for us. But it’s hard to be certain.”

  “How does it work?”

  “What?”

  “The algorithm.” He moved closer to get a better look. “You were telling us all sorts of details on the way in, about how the ruling factions interacted with each other, and how that had changed recently. How did you get that from just looking at their ships?”

  “Look here.” As she pointed to the screen, the image on it changed; now it showed a close-up view of the main Saito ship. “You see this row of mooring stations on the hull?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All but two have been shut down.”

  “And you know this . . . how?”

  “Well, now that we’re close enough, I can see they’ve been permanently sealed. But from farther out, Artemis detected that the airlock readouts on four of them were dark. See? No energy signature.” She pointed to the panels beside the hatches. “Ivar’s friends used to have a lot more visitors than they do now. Now . . . let’s look at what we’re moored to.” The image changed, displaying the saucer-shaped hospitality ship they had docked at. “Six access points around the periphery, all active. Four are slightly different construction than the rest. Those were probably added recently.”

  “So Saito redirected their guests . . .”

  “Away from their mothership. Visitors probably used to come straight to it. But something has changed now, and Saito no longer feels safe with that arrangement. People have to dock a safe distance away now, where they can be inspected before they’re cleared for access. And—here’s the interesting part—” The image shifted again, to a split-screen display of the other factional motherships. “These all have similar adjustments, at least the ones I can see.” She sat back in her chair. “There’s been a recent shift in the patterns of social interaction surrounding Hydra, that has made the ruling elite more wary of strangers.”

  He whistled softly. “That’s . . . amazing . . .”

  She waved off the compliment. “Just good software.”

  “This is what you do when you find a lost colony? Study the things they’ve built and deduce how they function?”

  “Not just what they’ve built. We look at their transportation patterns, communication frequencies . . . if they’ve got satellites we look at the orbits, at what kin
d of debris surrounds them . . . a thousand and one subtle clues your normal traveler wouldn’t bother to take note of. Individually they’re cryptic, but when you put the puzzle pieces together properly—”

  “You see their whole society. Damn. That’s . . . damn.” Hands on hips, he stared at the image. “I wish I’d had someone like you on my design team for the last project.”

  A smile flickered briefly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “So now that you’ve found an entry point for us, are we taking the ship down to it? Or using the flyways?”

  “Depends on what Ivar tells us.” Assuming he tells us anything, she thought. With a sigh she rose. “I suppose I have to decide what I’m going to wear. I can’t let you be the only fashionable one.”

  “That outfit you had on in Shenshido looked pretty buff.”

  “Except the safeskin is structurally fatigued, and may not offer much protection. Not to mention, the jacket is torn in at least a dozen places.”

  “Which is evidence you’ve been in combat. That’s probably a good thing here. And as for your safeskin . . . no one will know it doesn’t work. So it may act as a deterrent. Why try to stab someone if the blade won’t get through?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re pretty good at this yourself.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I am a master of make-believe. Which, thanks to you, is turning into a useful skill.”

  “But the dragon really doesn’t work. You know that.”

  He blinked. “Say what?”

  She indicated his headset. “Doesn’t go with the rest of the outfit.”

  “Shit.” His hand went up to the golden dragon that was coiled around his head. Opulent and exotic, with brightly jeweled eyes, its message was diametrically opposed to that of the rest of his outfit. “You don’t think I can sell them on ‘ruthless outlaw who likes fantasy role-playing games’?”

  “Maybe if you damaged the headset enough that it matched the condition of your clothing . . .”

  “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen.” He sighed. “Please tell me you have a backup headset, amidst all your other prepare-for-Armageddon supplies.”

  “Of course. There are two on board. Just for emergencies, though. No fancy software.”

  “I can upload what I need.” He paused. “You and I need to be something, Ru. Scav, pirate, drug runner, smuggler . . . no one’s going to believe we belong here if we don’t have suitable roles to play.”

  “Well, piracy’s a team effort, so that’s out. Scavengers? You seem to know a lot about them.”

  “And they observe each other’s exploits pretty closely. You can’t come out of nowhere and claim to have made away with a derelict spaceship that no one ever heard of.”

  “Smugglers?”

  He considered that for a moment, then glanced back toward her armory. “You do have some contraband on board.”

  “One piece. Maybe a few items that are borderline. That’s it.”

  “Samples. That’s all we need. Something to prove we have the connections needed to slip stuff past authorities.” He looked back at her. “Tell me about the borderline items.”

  “Don’t know what’s still on board. They may have cleaned the skimmer out while I was asleep. Let me check.”

  She led him to a hidden slideaway in the back room, invisible until she opened it. Inside were a collection of bottles, envelopes, and small gadgets, all labeled with small plastic tags. “Some of these are from our last mission,” she muttered as she rummaged through the drawer. “Haven’t sorted it out yet.” She picked up a small clear plastic envelope with bluish powder inside and held it up to the light. “This might do.”

  “What is it?”

  “A drug. Euphoric. Scraped from the back of a poisonous salamander on Seti VI. Not technically illegal, but that’s only because the Guild doesn’t know about it yet.”

  “Powerful stuff?”

  “Try it and see.” She opened the envelope and held it out to him. A noxious smell filled the small room, and he stepped back quickly, fanning away the air in front of him with his hand. “Whoa! That’s nasty!”

  She chuckled. “But it does provide one hell of a high. And until an official recovery team gets to Seti VI, there won’t be another source for it.” She resealed the packet carefully. “So it might be worth something to the right people. Maybe if—” A sudden chime from the pilot’s station cut her off. “Incoming message.” She tucked the envelope into her back hip pocket. “Probably from Ivar.”

  It wasn’t from Ivar, but from a slender Saurin with iridescent face scales that glimmered as he spoke. “My name is Dominic Saito. Ivar has told us of your service to him. We are glad to have him back among us, and as a gesture of appreciation, offer you safe harbor at our reception station. You may leave your ship docked here for as long as you need, provided you respect Hydran laws and customs while you are visiting.” He paused. “You may contact me on this channel if you have any questions or needs.”

  A com code appeared on the screen, and then the image faded to black.

  Ru looked at Micah. He grinned and spread his hands out, fingers splayed. “Showtime!”

  * * *

  They took a no-G flyway to the core. It was a narrow tube, chilly and dimly lit, barely big enough to coast through. Obviously it had been designed for function rather than comfort, and the lack of any viewports or screens made Ru feel like she was entombed. On top of that, the initial G-field transition was jerky enough to leave her stomach churning. It was a markedly unpleasant journey.

  But that was to be expected. There was no one on Hydra who would have a vested interest in the quality of its services, and she doubted there was a structured tax system to cover infrastructure costs. Different parties had probably financed different segments of the crazy structure, with an eye toward minimal investment. Since environmental control was a major expense in deep-space architecture, every degree of heat or light that could be done without, was.

  When they got to the end of the first segment, Ru stopped to inspect the juncture, curious about the mechanics of disengagement. As she poked and prodded at various components—including a pair of emergency seals that looked like they hadn’t been used in a long time—she was aware of Micah behind her, recording all her actions. Or trying to, anyway. He was so used to having top-of-the-line customized equipment that the stripped-down headset she’d given him must feel as refined as banging two rocks together. He was far too dependent on tech, in her estimation. Well, Hydra might help cure that.

  The last thing she’d done before leaving the Artemis was to make it clear that no matter what kind of network was available, he must not under ANY circumstances connect to it. If their adversary was on Hydra—or if his software was—doing so could open a gateway that Micah might not be able to close. He had opened his mouth to protest—but then stopped, and just nodded. Because she was right. He knew she was right. Whether he would be able to resist the temptation to connect was another question. Netting was as natural to him as breathing, and she suspected equally unconscious. He might connect to Hydra’s system without even thinking about it.

  He should try going twenty years without a connection, she mused. Out in the middle of uncharted space, with travel time to the nearest space station measured in decades. That would blunt the edge of his addiction. But it wasn’t a fair comparison, and she knew it. Any ship large enough to undertake that kind of journey would have an internal network running—as the Artemis did—and while that might not be as fancy as a virt designer would like, it would probably be enough to fend off withdrawal symptoms.

  They’d uploaded all her Hydran data into their headsets, including a map of the flyways, but navigating on faith in this dank tunnel, with no view of the outside world, was still disconcerting. She remembered being taught in school that Earth’s first space capsules had been made with small windows, not s
o astronauts could enjoy the view, but to keep the sense of blind confinement from unhinging their minds. Ru was probably better prepared than most to handle that kind of anxiety, but even so, she was glad to see the landing stage emerge from the shadows ahead, and to know this part of their journey was over.

  The hatch at the end of the flyway wasn’t locked, and it opened at their approach. A tide of smells rushed into the flyway, not all of them good. Ru could pick out notes of human sweat, smoke, some kind of peppery spice, and a strange musky-sweet odor, like a cat in heat. There was particulate matter as well, and columns of dust swirled visibly in front of dome-shaped ceiling lights. That set Micah to coughing, and Ru had to wait until the fit played out. What an odd mixture of strength and weakness he was. Born and bred on artificial worlds, he no doubt was used to having his air scrubbed clean of any dust or odor, and his lungs weren’t prepared for this kind of assault. You’ve probably never been close enough to a campfire to taste its smoke on your lips, or walked through a field of flowers while clouds of pollen enveloped you. His power of imagination might be impressive, but there were some things imagination was no substitute for. “Smells are good,” she reminded him. “Even bad ones. Right? It means all this is real.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Bad smells are great. I love stink.”

  When he had finally caught his breath, they moved through the hatch, into a low-ceilinged circular chamber. Tunnels splayed off in all directions, some barely wide enough for a single person to walk through, some wide enough for a couple if they were friendly enough. The room they were in was modern enough, lined with synthetic panels and outfitted with a display screen and control console, but several of the tunnels appeared to have been crudely excavated from solid rock. Headed underground, no doubt. If she and Micah went down there, the maps of the surface that she’d assembled would be of little use.

  Voices were faintly audible, coming from one of those tunnels. Ru had her misgivings about going underground, but if they wanted to find people to talk to, it seemed the best direction to try. As the tunnel enveloped them they were surrounded by the echoes of human voices, resonating from the stark stone walls. Laughter. Cursing. Carousing. Apparently she had made a good guess about where Hydra’s main social space would be located. Once there, they needed to find someone willing to give them the information they needed without questioning their motives; there were only so many questions you could ask about a station if you were trying to pass for someone who belonged there.