PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.04
>>Connection lost. Connection lost, scrolled over the drone’s screen. >>Suspected interference.
>>Utilize video and auditory processors to remain in contact, I entered.
>>No neural chip.
“I know.” Braving potential intrusions might be safer if the drone could assist, so I entered, >>Continue visual monitoring and pheromone detection. Connect with datapad.
>>Protect.
“Indeed,” I said aloud and inserted a tendril into my datapad, and the drone’s writhing slowed. It unspooled the tendril about my waist, allowing me freedom to move, but remained hovering two meters overhead, so I set Edwards’s pack down and lowered myself next to it. Jackson returned to the communication console to call for supplies and escorts, and the other two marines departed for whatever duties they had.
Zhen dodged under the drone to crouch in front of me. “You need rest.”
“We all do,” Jordan observed, “but real rest or even instant coffee will have to wait until we’re settled.”
“So . . . Timmons said there was a feeding frenzy outside deep storage.” Eric shuddered. “Do you suppose the bugs have moved on?”
“Probably, though I’m more concerned that no one outside our group heard about our arrival. We’ve been careful enough, so Ross”—Jordan spat his name—“and his cronies shouldn’t know where you are.”
“I studied the schematics,” Zhen put in. “The room is located at a dead end. It feels like a trap.”
“Maybe it’s a good place for that very reason?” Eric asked. “Defensible? Like having high ground in a fantasy vid?”
Jordan did not answer, and though I was inclined to agree with Zhen’s concern over Eric’s optimistic supposition, I remained silent. Tucking my knees to my chest, I rested my head against the wall. The drone’s grip slid down my arm.
“Zhen,” I said while staring up at the shadows pooling awkwardly around the stalagmites, “did the drone harm you?”
She lowered herself to sit at my side. “I’m all right, but my insides are still buzzing. I don’t think it approves of me in general and wearing the suit in particular.”
“It does not, but your violation of the AAVA code has been—” What was the word? Excused? Absolved? “Dismissed.”
“Hardly seems likely, but I’ll take your word for it.”
I kept my eyes on the ceiling. “It is more likely your attempt to free yourself provoked the reprimand.”
“It was bad,” she said slowly, “but yours have been worse.”
In the powerful floodlights, one of the rounded formations in the far corner resembled a nose. It made me uncomfortable that a large nose protruded into the control room, as if the moon could smell the drone and me and would inform the Consortium of our location.
“Perhaps.”
“That’s dross. This particular monstrosity nearly killed you at least once.”
Zhen’s rudeness lifted my spirits, but my thoughts drifted to my other friends: Eric’s distrust when he met me, then Tia’s personal questions on Agamemnon.
A thread of worry turned me toward her, the drone’s tendril tugging on my arm. “You are not pregnant, are you? I do not know if the reprimands would damage—”
She flushed. “No.”
Eric coughed. When I looked over at him, he shook his head.
My faulty memories of social etiquette rushed back. “I apologize. I should not have asked such a personal question.”
“It’s all right,” she said after several seconds. “You were concerned.”
“I still am.” I folded my arms on top of my knees and studied the ceiling again. “You should not pretend to be me. Inherent dishonesty aside, it is unsafe.”
“Easy decision,” she said.
“It was her idea,” Jordan added quietly. “You’re close to the same height, and the suits mask any difference in weight.”
“Not that there is much after you’ve stopped eating.”
“Ease up, Zhen,” Jordan said.
“What?” Zhen protested. “She can make personal remarks, and I can’t?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll fatten you up on the way back,” Eric put in, earning a glare from Zhen.
“You’ll be safer with a double,” Jordan said with an air of finality. “Keep your head down, and no one will know the difference.”
“I do not like it.”
Zhen nudged my shoulder. “Don’t fuss. It’s the obvious choice, even if finding another navy datapad was a challenge. The difference is that thing.”
I followed her gaze to the drone two meters in front of me. “The drone will be too much of an identifying mark. The people who want to kill me and my people will simply . . .” I hesitated.
“Simply what?” Jordan prompted.
I sighed and, against my better judgment, explained, “Eventually you and I will separate, and the drone will go with me.”
“Of course it will.” Zhen jumped up and pointed to the side door opposite the communication console. “Why do you think we asked for those?”
Six marines escorted the four undamaged drones across the open floor, the hum of microantigravity devices approximating their whir. My mouth fell open, and I clambered to my feet.
“Zhen’s idea again.” A slight smile appeared on Jordan’s face. “By your own account, she manages the controls pretty well.”
“I loaded them on microAG before J and I went up to Thalassa so we could hide them, if we needed to,” Zhen said. “I guessed that if the Consortium showed up, which seemed likely, you wouldn’t want them to have the drones.”
An unfamiliar marine guided a small platform loaded with bags and equipment. “That should be everything you need. Jackson’s not thrilled about having a parade when those trogs could be watching, but if you’re gonna hole up, you’ll need all this.”
Gratitude brought heat to my cheeks. They had anticipated my needs as if those requirements had been their own, and even with the Consortium overhead, I felt safer.
“So we leave now?” Eric asked.
“Not quite.” Jordan motioned at the backpack against the wall. “Max wasn’t fudging his request for antibiotics. They’ve run low, after everything.”
The final drone reached us, and a marine handed Zhen a holster and sidearm. The man hesitated before offering a second one to me. I shrank back against the wall. The drone dropped closer.
“I do not know . . .” My mouth went dry. “I cannot take the weapon.”
“Can and will,” he said.
“I cannot.”
All I heard was the echoing crunch as the drone killed that man. Cord. His name had been Cord.
The marine’s reply slurred together in my ears.
“No!” If I had caused death with a drone, how much more dangerous would a sidearm be? “I have no training—cannot—”
“It’s not loaded,” Jordan said, though sound lagged behind as she pushed the drone aside. Tentacles wrapped around her neck and arms. She swallowed, but kept her eyes on mine.
The drone lowered, and its screen flashed red. >>Protect.
She caught my gloved hands in hers. “Listen to me. You can’t hurt anyone with it.”
>>Protect.
“Zhen needs a weapon,” she said calmly, oblivious to the drone’s continuing directive. “She can’t wear one if you don’t. You won’t match.”
I gulped down air and nodded.
“Void take it,” someone said. “This is such a bad idea.”
“For Zhen.” My voice wobbled. “I will take it for Zhen.”
I reached past Jordan and entered directly on the drone’s screen, >>Protected. Release her.
Tendrils and tentacles lashed away from Jordan and retreated into interior pockets, all save the one coiled about my torso.
>>Well done, I typed.
I took the holster and strapped it to my left leg so it would not interfere with my ability to reach my datapad. Zhen ducked under the tendril to adjust it.
“It’ll be all right. I promise.” She stepped back and set a hand on my upper arm. “You’re holding my spare, in case I need it later.”
“Spare,” I repeated.
“Right.”
The control room’s double doors slid apart, and Max strode in, flanked by the bearded marine—Quincy—and another one.
Max’s eyebrows became a thick line at the sight of me and my double, at the drone, at the holster at my side. He half turned to Jordan. “Venetia, are you sure this is wise?”
It was not, but I did not say so.
“It’s our best option for keeping her safe.” The rest of Jordan’s low reply was hidden by footsteps as Jackson jogged up.
“Get going,” Jackson ordered. “Attlee’s sending a shuttle. Consortium’s inbound.”
“But James,” I began. “And Daniel—”
“Not your problem.” He turned to Jordan. “Get out of here and as deep as you can.”
One terse nod was her sole answer, and as if she, the bearded marine, and five others communicated telepathically, they gathered weapons and started to the door.
Jackson touched my arm and said with unusual softness, “Don’t worry. We’ve got it covered.”
Max moved aside. I pressed the backpack into his hands, though a part of me wanted to keep it. It was all I had from Edwards, and he was gone.
“Thank you,” Max said gently.
Zhen shooed me along. Before the doors closed, I glanced back to see Max standing alone, the backpack dangling from one hand and the other raised in farewell.
Jordan led the way and the bearded marine—Quincy, I repeated over and over in my head—followed behind, so I was as safe as possible, given the circumstances. The trek was silent and uneventful, though each step had me checking the ceiling for cracks and listening for the faintest sound. My head ached from the effort.
We wound through clean, dust-free corridors to a lift and a ladder reminiscent of the ones in ships. I held my breath as Jordan descended the ladder, then Zhen, the drones, and I took the lift next. Jordan awaited us at the bottom.
Dust was thicker on the lower level, with occasional ovoid shapes and remnants of exoskeletons littering the halls and hiding the blue safety lights. We passed one half-eaten carcass, larger by a third than the live ones I had seen, though why the insects would abandon a food source, I could not guess.
I pulled my datapad over and typed, >>Insectile presence?
>>None detected.
“None present” would have been preferable, but the answer sufficed.
On and on the hall twisted, meandering unevenly. Dark passages yawned on either side, and the metallic clicks of the marine’s equipment kept startling me. Tracks laced drifts two decimeters deep. Motes sparkled in the tracking beams, and clouds rose at our feet. When we reached the door, only a few scraps of synthetic material, one boot, and a face mask testified to the reported frenzy.
I motioned the others to stand clear as the drone and I moved forward. Once it adequately handled security measures, Jordan and three others entered, emerging within minutes. She beckoned to me, so I followed her straight through the room to an inner door. Again the drone handled the locks with ease, and again, Jordan investigated the interior room before she gave an all clear.
>>Lights, I ordered.
The drone glowed, illuminating a large, sparsely furnished but not unwelcoming, paneled office, which was unlike the grim computer cave I had expected. A center console faced the back wall lined with monitoring equipment. The room must have been designed with Consortium presence in mind, for a drone alcove was embedded in the wall to my left beside a charging station for smaller equipment. A small VVR unit occupied the far corner.
Jordan leaned in. “Does the monitoring equipment work?”
“I shall attempt to find out.” Ignoring the bustle of marines, drones, and supplies behind me, I manually attached Lorik’s drone to the computer. Static screens lit, displaying the hallway outside the rooms with its half-buried scraps, dust, and tracks. The hangar flickered on another screen, then the control room, and more. I found the link to the AAVA drone and snuck a look. I exhaled. It was indeed secure.
Once that was completed, I ordered Lorik’s drone to dock in the alcove and power off to conserve energy. It complied.
Jordan patted my back. “Good job.”
“All documentation ceased when Westruther activated the self-destruct. I am setting it to monitor but not document, though we do not have sound.”
“That presents a challenge.” Quincy’s words made me jump, and I spun around to face him. His frown gentled. “Don’t worry, Recorder-that-isn’t. We’ll figure something out.”
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Eric peered at the screen in front of me. “The whole setup is pretty fancy for a computer cave, and I don’t see any computers. It’s just monitors and entry pads. Besides, that VVR display is older than the one on my parent’s freighter.”
“It’s even bigger than this,” Zhen said. “When they built this place, they dug out a large enough space for this room and added extra seismic reinforcements. The main units are protected beyond those panels, and geothermal power keeps the units cool and dust free.”
“Good thing, too, with all this tech in here,” said a young marine with a moustache struggling across his upper lip. He handed his scanner to the bearded marine. “The air in both rooms is cleaner than on most ships.”
Quincy grunted. “Hodges is right, but we’ll still leave the air filters, in case something goes wrong.”
Eric tapped a panel on the wall, then crossed to examine the VVR unit. He hit a button, and it flickered on, showing nothing but a transparent version of the room in which we stood. “I don’t get it. VVR on Gryphon—my parent’s freighter—was old, but this one?” He knocked on the control panel, making the image jump. “It’s an antique.”
“Probably didn’t need anything fancy down here,” the bearded marine answered from the other room. “Might’ve been for entertainment if the assignment was long.”
“Lousy quality for vids,” the young marine said.
“Older technology is frequently inaccessible without specialized equipment,” I added before turning back to the displays, but a yawn hid the monitors for three seconds. “I might need to rest.”
For the first time in what felt like years, Jordan chuckled. “That was the plan. I suggest we send the extras back home, secure the door, and set up camp.”
“Extras?” quipped the young scanner-marine. “We risk baddies and bugs to get you all here, and we’re extras?”
A guffaw sounded from the antechamber, drawing my attention back through the door.
Powering the computers on had turned on the lights, so the room was no longer the dark void I had traversed. Whatever I had expected to find in the bowels of Pallas, the small, comfortable antechamber was not it. Landscapes of Ceres’ rocky northern beaches hung over the two squat, surprisingly aubergine sofas facing each other from opposite walls. A small white table with two matching chairs and an empty decorative bowl stood in the corner closest to the inner door. Lined paper rested on one end table under a lamp, and opposite the end table, a door led to a small water closet. Two cleaning bots blinked quietly in their alcoves. The room felt almost welcoming.
“You’re set?” Quincy asked.
“Set?” The young marine with the thin moustache answered on our behalf. “This is nicer than my flat at home.”
“Except for the neighbors,” someone quipped. “I’ll take loud music over bugs.”
Several of them laughed. When another marine made an unkind remark about bugs being the only neighbors who would want to live near him, more laughter ensued.
“Contact us if you have to, Jordan.” The bearded marine turned to me. “You stay tight until we say so.”
“If there’s any news, Quincy, let us know,” she answered.
“Will do. Thompson, you’re with us. Can’t leave our newest pilot behind. We’ll see the rest of you later.” A tight grin snuck past Quincy’s grizzled stubble. “Don’t forget to lock up.”