Onekka - The Tragedy of Jaqui Fennet (16 page)

Shouts were coming from just beyond her view as the mercs caught sight of the
mess she'd made of another comrade. Jaq dragged in several huge breaths,
forcing them through the pain, hyperventilating to saturate herself with
oxygen. Head buzzing with excitement and terror at what she was about to do,
she sucked in a final gulp of air and pushed the gun barrel, top first, into
the welding channel, aiming it back the way she'd come. She curled her left
hand tight on the ladder, her right on the sweat-slick pistol grip.
"We got you, bitch!" someone shouted, and she pulled the trigger.
Sparks bloomed from the wake of the muzzle flash, showering the underring with
a million tiny lights. The fountain of fire shot off along the line of the channel,
spraying golden motes in a stunning display as the friction of bullet casing
and welding channel wove its magic. It was the most beautiful thing Jaq had
ever seen. The spark blossoms carried a wash of light round the curve,
vanishing from sight and leaving Jaq in the dark.
Then the high explosive round collided with the Warehouse 12 ladder bracket.
There was a dull clang, which amplified into a gong reverberating the entire
circumference of the station like a vast, amplified bell. Jaq climbed with the
fervour of a woman possessed, alive with her instinct for survival. There was
no time for pain. She got one hand on a vertical rung before the explosive
detonated.
And the whole world became a hurricane.
Jaq, in a moment of clarity, hooked her good leg through a rung just in time.
She'd known the force of air pulling her towards the hull breach would be
immense, but nothing could have prepared her for the wall of ferocious power
that slammed into her. Jaq's consciousness filled with the sound of rushing
wind. Her nose refused to breath, her mouth wouldn't take air when she opened
it, and her eyes felt like they'd be bored from their sockets if she risked
opening them. There was nothing but the decompression; an entire existence
formed only of the will she had to hold on against the will of outer space to
swallow her whole.
Her hands slipped inexorably from their holds on the ladder - first one,
leaving the arm flailing, then the other. As her grip was lost, she grabbed at
the ankle of her good leg and held on for dear life, remaining in place only by
the strength of one knee, hooked around a narrow strip of metal. She'd half
expected to hear screams from the general direction of the breach, but with all
the air rushing towards her victims, and only a vacuum in space, there was
nothing to carry such sounds her way.
Around her, sections of the underring were bending alarmingly inward, leading
her ever-active mind to wonder if the walls had been properly tested before
installation. Several chunks of metal and badly fixed panels made a bid for the
new exit, one vid screen passing so close to her face she couldn't focus on it.
Deep groans sounded from ahead of her - the tired drawls of urgently distressed
steel and grinding fixtures. Jaq gritted her teeth and held on, ignoring the
pain in her knee, wondering if she'd be able to walk at all once this was over.
Eventually, after what felt like an hour of unremitting bombardment which had
actually taken no more than half a minute, the power of the wind began to
dissipate.
The underring is running out of air.
Jaq gulped in several
breaths, aware that she would soon be unable to breathe, and swung herself
until she could grab the overhead ladder rungs. Letting grim determination lend
her strength, she clambered across to the hatch.
As the air thinned, so did the gravity, which made movement easier but living
infinitely more difficult. Hooking one elbow on the ladder, she used the other
hand to spin the air hatch release, sending silent thanks to the maintenance
teams that the mechanism had been kept in good condition. The wheel turned
agonisingly slowly, and she could see the veins pulling to the surface of her
forearm as she moved it.
Hurry up, Jaq!
Her eyeballs felt too big in her head and dizziness
washed across her vision. With no breath left and her hand waving drunkenly
before her, she finally got the hatch open. Now completely weightless, she
pulled herself through into the tiny airlock chamber and pulled it shut behind
her. With the last of her co-ordination and the merest vestiges of strength,
she set the wheel spinning to complete the seal, and fresh, beautiful air
washed across her.
Jaq collapsed onto her back, breathing in great gasps of air as the chamber
pressurised. As her body inched back to normal, adapting to its environment,
pain assaulted her awareness and nausea filled her with the need to vomit. She
rolled to one side, retching painfully, but there was nothing to bring up
except the cold acid of a questionable victory.
Knowing she couldn't stay in the small chamber, she opened the inner airlock
door and clambered up into the maintenance room of the shuttle hangar, closing
it as quietly as she could manage behind her. The whole world was a blur and
lethargy suffused her muscles, beckoning her to sleep with a siren's call of
promised rest. She slumped to the floor, wondering if she'd be able to go on.
Am
I dying? Is this what the end feels like - just a heavy need to sleep, mixed
with doubt over whether you'll wake up again?
"You're a fighter, Jaq," she mumbled to herself. "You can still
do this."
"I urge you to reconsider," said a voice in reply; a voice that was
flat but simultaneously piercing. It was Henrickson, and he sounded as tired as
she felt.
She laughed, though it sounded more like the cough of a dying animal. "I'm
glad you're alright, DI Henrickson. I really didn't want to kill you."
"You might want to reconsider that sentiment too," he said.
"Because I'm here to stop you, Ms Fennet, and I've been told to do so at
any cost.

The small
maintenance room was gloomy and quiet, which made a pleasant change from the
cacophony she'd been through minutes before, but Jaq had been hoping not to run
into any more adversity. Henrickson was sitting by the door in a chair. He looked
like he'd been waiting, but there was a limpness to his stance, as though he'd
collapsed into that chair and was trying not to show it.
Perhaps I hurt him
more than he wants to let on.
"How does a cybernetic get tired?" she asked. Jaq was a fine one to
talk. Whilst her thigh seemed to have stopped bleeding from its bullet hole, it
still sent wafts of intense pain to her brain. When she moved, there was a
subtle grinding in the leg - the metal was lodged against her femur. That was
before she considered the near total coating of bruises that speckled blotches
of agony on her skin. Add to that the wound on the back of her head, still
manifesting as a damp, heavy feeling in her hair like she'd just come out of
the shower, and Jaq knew she was in really bad shape. Even if she pulled this
off, she was going to need some serious hospital treatment.
A tiny mote of fear flapped around in her stomach, and she wasn't sure if it
was worry that she'd die before seeing it through or an urge to give herself up
while she still had breath in her body. The man was right in front of her, and
despite what he'd said, Jaq knew instinctively he'd take her in alive if he
could.
"Parts of me may be, as you might say, organic," he said, shifting to
sit more upright, "but I function thanks to tech. That means various
systems will, err, dial down, as it were, while others need the ... need the
energy. My centre is shielded. After all, it would be a poor police android
that could be easily disabled by interference from a fire fight or... well,
direct EMP assault. Still, you damaged many of my, erm, systems. They are
repairing as we speak. The rest of me is ... well, reduced."
She sighed, relieved. "How did you find me?"
"I went, you could say, old school," he tapped his temple. "When
you rejected my comm call, you, err, sent back a signal. That was easy to
triangulate, what with Onekka's plethora ... abundance of receiver equipment.
You should have ignored it. When I saw you in what you call the underring, your
destination became, well, somewhat obvious."
His eyes were glistening - in a living being, she'd have said he was excited by
the situation, driven by his success, and pleased about his deductions.
"You're very human, for a robot," she said.
"...and for the first time I ... I wish I had tears. Thank you, Ms, erm,
Ms Fennet."
"Just, please drop the hesitant speech. You can aspire to that bumbling
personality all you like, but I don't believe it's truly you."
For
fuck's sake, Jaq, what are you doing - giving life coaching speeches to an
android? You need to get out of here!
He looked intently at her face, and she wondered if he was processing
information to create the statistically most valuable thing to say next against
the outcome he wanted, or simply studying her out of interest. A further
thought intruded, breaking through the pain and the urgency of the situation to
present itself to her wondering mind: Was there a difference?
"You are in a great deal of pain, Ms Fennet."
She laughed, unable to stop herself. "What gave it away? And for fuck's
sake, call me Jaqui, or Jaq, or anything except 'Ms Fennet'."
"You're an amazing person, Jaqui," he said. "I can't imagine
what you've been through emotionally during all this, but you come out
determined, single-minded even, and focused. There aren't many people around
with that kind of spiritual will. I admire you - truly, I do - but I also think
you need to concede defeat. Just say the word. I'll personally escort you back
to Earth. Nobody will get the chance to hate you, and I'll make sure you get a
fair hearing."
His words filled her with yearning, an urge to follow this man; somebody who
held a palpable authority. Could he really help her, this fake person with
beautiful eyes? He was strong and caring, capable and compassionate, and her
heart wanted to throw her into his arms. Not for passion, but for the
opportunity to curl up into a ball, and cry all the pain away in the cloak of
his embrace, protected. She sobbed, her throat closing as fear and hope and
terror and beauty all collided in one great choking dream. No tears came - Jaq
thought they'd vacated the premises - but through a swollen face, she knew
she'd never felt so simultaneously happy and desolate.
To fold herself in this man's trust - it seemed like a beautiful dream.
"You could say I've experienced the entire gamut of human emotions in the
last few weeks," she said. "I've been everything from a nervous,
suicidal wreck to a euphoric, merciless killer. How many can say that? It's
certainly given me perspective."
"And what does that perspective tell you?"
"That we have to stick to our decisions in life. If you think too much
about ramifications and consequences, you'll never manage anything, because
there's always something terrible that may result from your actions, no matter
how subtle or benign the intentions behind them. I see it now; that's why so
many people live middling lives, never even pursuing the dreams that fill their
minds. It's not their fault - it's just how we're programmed to function,
conditioned from birth to know our place. I've made my own place, and it's had
unfortunate repercussions for others, but at least I can say I followed my
personality; I tried to be the ultimate version of myself." She searched
his eyes, straining for acknowledgement. "Does that even make the
slightest sense?"
He paused for a long moment, studying her. "You've made your bed, and now
you have to lie in it; is that it?"
"Lie, sleep, it all seems the same."
"Have you at least found the answers you were looking for?"
She blinked, feeling more exposed than ever. "Yes." The world was
barely a whisper, leaking from loose lips that lacked conviction, even in her
own mind. "But now I have more questions."
Henrickson sighed expansively and placed a hand beneath his chin, as if he
needed the support or the weight of his head would unbalance him. "The
administration wants me to kill you, Jaqui. You know more than they are
comfortable allowing. They didn't say as much, of course, but the implication
was clear."
"I killed their dead mercenaries," she said, smiling. "I think I
killed them all, so they turned to you - the only person who figured out how to
catch me. Tell me one thing, Henrickson, and be as honest as you can. Do you
think they should be allowed to keep secrets that could affect the course of
human history? Is that an appropriate way to behave, for any ruling
authority?"
He looked like he truly considered his answer. "I think authority itself
is a watery concept, governed by personal perceptions of respect more than
written statutes or carefully defined roles. As for knowledge, its controllers
and its custodians are the same people. Those who know have always decided with
whom to share. We cannot change that - it's simply how we're built, as a race.
Whether something is right gets judged on historical consequence, but at the
moment of choice, there are only instincts to guide us." He shifted, as if
uncomfortable with his own conclusion. "There is no answer, Jaqui; no
answer to anything, really. There's only conjecture."
Despite the fact he'd pulled her mental rug out from under her, it was
something other than his disagreeing with her that stuck in Jaq's mind.
"You said 'us, and 'we're'. Do you consider yourself human?"
He shrugged. "I am a product of humanity. Is there a difference?"
She thought about that until she smiled. "Perhaps not." They each
eyed the other for as much as five minutes, neither apparently in a hurry, but
Jaq knew there would be others on the way. Whoever the authorities were, they
wouldn't put their sole trust in an outsider cybernetic cop.
"So, will you try to stop me?" she asked.
"I will stop you, Jaqui. You're in no condition to resist. It's been a mad
journey, but you have to face sanity some time."
She winced. "But why? How do you benefit from preventing me leaving? You
could just step away, and let me take one of those personal shuttles out
there."
"It's my job." His usual self-deprecating smile was missing, leaving
a sombre expression that made him look every bit the role he played; android,
and detective.
"A job." She giggled. "I remember having one of those." She
slipped her hand into the pouch on her belt, feeling the diminutive shape of
Barrow's concealed gun. "Doesn't it all seem a little pointless to you? I
mean, you don't get hungry or tired, need affection or a sense of achievement.
What possible incentive is there for you to work?"
His eyes lit up slightly, and she swore once again he was more than just
electrons firing. "By those observations, I shouldn't have incentives, or
even preferences. Am I not just a computer, following the lines of code towards
their peritropal destinations?"
She found the grip, and curled her fingers round the leather grasp. "Not
to me, you're not. I think you're far more, Henrickson. There's a spark in your
eyes that only humanity can muster."
"Thank you, Jaqui. You're right - I'm a bit more than that. I was a
prototype for the Humanity Reconstruction Project. What you see, as far as they
could manage, is Lawrence Henrickson, Detective Inspector with Interpol. My
code is formed from an ever-evolving digital distillation of my living mind.
They extracted me, you might say, and put me in this form. I'm fitted with DNA
RAM, which grows to accommodate whatever thought processes are required. The
only question, once they'd made me, was what to do with me." He shifted.
"I suppose the answer was inevitable, really. I'm led to believe I was
pretty damned good at what I do before, and now I have the advantage of an
infallible memory and virtually unlimited cognitive resilience."
Jaq paused in her drawing of the gun, fascinated. "So why the whole
hesitation act; the attempt to forge a specific personality?"
"I may have the memories of a forty-year-old, but I am barely a toddler.
They thought I would be like my downloaded essence, but when the biology is
fundamentally different, the person cannot be the same. I don't feel like the
man whose memories I share, Jaqui. I'm unique, and I want forge my own
niche."
She smiled. "I like that. You've always seemed your own person to
me."
"Thank you."
"So," she shifted her weight slightly to diminish the pain, and used
the opportunity to slip the gun from the pouch, resting it behind her other
forearm. "You're like super-cop, unbeatable in the field. Any
disadvantages?"
He grinned. "Other than that none of my human colleagues trust me, nothing
I'm likely to tell someone who has a gun on me."
She pulled the pistol into the open - no sense in hiding it any more. "I
have to leave, Henrickson. I have to warn Earth what's been going on
here."
The android pulled an air pistol from his coat. "No you don't, Jaqui. It's
not incumbent upon you alone to decide what the world should and shouldn't
know. You've done enough. Onekka is blind and semi-functional. Questions are
already being asked. Upstairs will have no choice but to be more transparent in
future." The look of regret in his gaze was heartbreakingly genuine.
"Please, please don't make me shoot you."
If Jaq could have wept, she would have, but tears were empty now. "I seem
to keep apologising right before I kill people," she whispered. "It
seems only polite, somehow." She raised the gun.
"Don't" pleaded Henrickson.
Jaq moved to tighten her finger on the small trigger, and Henrickson shot her.
It was faster than anything she thought possible. In the time it took her
tendon to tighten along her forearm, the stretch transferring through her
carpal tunnel towards her finger, he'd raised his gun, given her a disappointed
look, and fired.
The bole took her in the chest, slamming her against the bulkhead, spreading
her arms akimbo, but she kept hold of her weapon. Henrickson strode over to
her, his figure dominating her concussed gaze, and levelled the barrel of his
gun at her face.
"Drop it," he said. "Please, Jaqui."
Suddenly it was all clear to her. This was the only way it could ever have
ended. Jaq watched the faces of her victims drift before her mind's eye,
accusation in their eyes and betrayal in her heart. It all boiled down to one
thing - what will one do to survive?
She reared forward and clamped her teeth down on his gun, taking the length of
the shaft in her mouth and sealing her lips round its girth. Their eyes met,
and she saw the dawning of fear in his face.
When a cybernetic creation can
experience horror, you know you've made an impact.
Never taking her eyes from his, Jaq levelled her pistol at his face, aiming for
his left eyeball. Without a frontal lobe, any chance he had of cultivating a
personality would be gone. She took two deep, snorting breaths through her
nose, and squeezed her trigger finger.
Henrickson's electronic survival instincts took over, or perhaps it was his
sense of self-preservation. Either way, he fired a bole of air down her throat,
and there was a sudden eruption of pain.
Jaq's vision fell backwards. She watched her own lungs explode across
Henrickson's face, showering him in strings of membrane. The shock in his
expression made a fitting epilogue, she thought, as darkness encroached. With
her last moments of life, she heard;
"I'm sorry, Jaqui. I wanted to help."