Pathfinder (40 page)

“Hang on, we’ll get you back to the ship. Who attacked you?”

“It was Nathan . . . we should have warned you.”

Ariane displayed the location of Maria’s module, which had been ejected about an hour ago. The ship had moved since then, leaving Maria halfway back to the buoy. Meanwhile, in her mind, she ran through the crew members on the
Pytheas
. “I don’t remember a Nathan.”

“His cover is Hanson, the Terran xeno-archeologist. But he’s really Nathan—Nathanial Wolf Kim,” Maria said. “And he’s insane. He didn’t recognize me, but I know his muscle memory, his moves in hand- to-hand. He smashed up the comm console.”

Ariane paused. She’d gotten complacent, letting her guard down around Parmet and Maria, almost thinking of them as coworkers rather than
enemies
. “You knew Kim was on board?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“No. I suspected. We looked, we really did,” Maria’s voice faded. She was either tired or wounded, or both.

Hanson? She searched her memory, recalling a Richard Moki Hanson. A Terran, but not one of the “suspicious four” identified by Edones. Perhaps someone else had unknowingly transported his explosives. Hanson was new to G- 145 and had been on the
Pilgrimage
for a short period, coinciding with the bombings. She tried to connect the picture she remembered of Hanson with Kim’s face. It seemed unbelievable, after going through the crew herself. She couldn’t have missed Nathanial Wolf Kim, the man who tortured her, could she?

Her implant vibrated, reminding her that she had another mission to complete. “We’ve lost the mission commander and at least one engineer. Once I can get the crew together, they can retrieve your module.”

“I think he did something in the clinic, maybe harmed a medic. He was obsessed with getting to that orbiting monstrosity,” Maria said.

No! Don’t let him. Hurry, hurry—must get there first
. She gasped at the intense anxiety the parasite let loose in her body. She signed off with Maria. Going back to the control deck and no longer worried about running into Kim, she got some answers from the second-shift medic and engineer, who were in their work centers and trying to get operational again.

“Hanson killed Sapphira.” The medic, who had been locked below, had arrived in the clinic to find their Autonomist medic, who was also their xenobiology expert, dead. “Crazy—what a waste.”

Yeah,
crazy
. Considering the chemicals pouring into her bloodstream and the anxiety her parasite was invoking, she figured this was why Kim wasn’t behaving sanely. He must have installed his own parasite—the missing one from Lee’s lab—despite the fact that it was experimental and designed for her biochemistry. Now there were three dead, on the
Pytheas
alone, to lay at Nathan’s feet.

The engineer had been crying, obviously close friends to the man Nathan had killed. She’d escaped the carnage by being off-duty in her quarters below, and then had been saved from a cold death when Ariane restored life support.

“He took one of the exploration skiffs, so we can use the other one to get—”

“No. I’m taking the other one,” Ariane said. “You’ll have to turn the ship around and retrieve Ms. Guillotte. Use the manipulator arms.”

“But—what about you?” The engineer was aghast.

“I’ll get back to the ship in the skiff. Don’t worry.”

When Ariane arrived at the skiff docking area in the aft section behind engineering, she knew she was on the right track. She bared her teeth, feeling a primitive excitement surge through her body.
Hurry, hurry
. She ensured the skiff had its environmental suit, air, and power. As she climbed in, she felt the parasite in her upper arm vibrate.
Yes—yes—yes—yes—yes. . . .

 

Matt woke up, feeling like he had a hangover. He was in the common hygiene closet of
Aether’s Touch
, which wasn’t an immediate problem, because he had to relieve himself. As he did so, he surveyed his situation and his attitude sputtered into hopelessness.

Dr. Lowry had locked him in, but he tried the hatch anyway. Worse, she’d smashed the nodes inside the closet—that bitch must have used a heavy wrench to break them, then pulled the node assemblies out of the bulkhead and cut them off, leaving the microwire harnesses dangling without their connectors. The damage enraged him and cleared the last vestiges of fuzziness left by the stunner. It also dispirited him, because she’d cut him off from communicating in
any
way with the rest of the ship. The nodes brought in comm, controlled the displayable surfaces, and operated as sensors. Any hopes he had of contacting Muse 3 or causing emergency alarms, via smoke or chemical vapors, died a quick death.

However, growing up on a generational ship, he’d been trained to handle emergencies since he could walk. The first step was always to inventory everything you had available, meaning food, tools, and resources. Sometimes he thought this first step was just a mechanism for calming down. He looked through everything secured, either through webbing or magnetic surfaces, inside the lockers. There were various cleaners and personal toiletries, as well as a small one-third-full pint of liquor with the Stellar Shield’s logo slapped on it.

He squeezed some air out and sniffed. His eyebrows rose. Rotgut—it couldn’t even qualify as artificially flavored liquor. Was Ari starting to drink in the mornings as she got ready? He sighed. Whatever problems Ari had, she was in much deeper trouble now, considering the mayday he’d heard.

Surveying the wealth of hair and body care products, he decided that none of it would be useful. He looked up, thinking through the ship’s structure. Considering that a second-wave prospecting ship was defined by its customizations, and the fact that he’d overseen every upgrade, addition, and alteration, he knew every bolt, strut, and level of his ship.

Above this hygiene closet was an air duct that ran above the central corridor all the way to the passenger airlock. It pressed against the ceiling, so it probably could work as a sound conductor—but only on this level, which was insulated from the control deck level. Unfortunately, this was just a normal-size air duct. He wasn’t in a v-play where one could watch actors, or co-opt an actor’s part, and escape evil through absurdly
huge
vents that ran through
all
parts of a ship or habitat. No, sound conduction through this level’s central corridor was all the conduit could provide, but that might be good enough.

Standing on the closed head and twisting his neck, he could get his ear pressed against the vent opening. He heard nothing but ship hum, so he figured Lowry wasn’t in the central corridor.

“Muse, can you hear me?” He started at a whisper, but had to go to a conversational tone before he got a response. This was an uncomfortable process, having to speak into the hole, then twist his head sideways to hear.

“Yes, Matt, I can hear you near the passenger airlock, but I cannot see you.” Muse 3 sounded clear, but he could tell that the AI had pushed its volume up.

“I’m in the hygiene closet. You haven’t identified yourself to Lowry, have you?”

“No. I have followed your procedures,” Muse 3 said primly.

“That’s good—but now we might have to violate those rules.”

“I have already run through scenarios to see how I can assist your escape. Unfortunately, Dr. Lowry has exhibited what Ari would call ‘controlling behavior.’ She has turned every system to manual and cut off all automated input.”

Did Lowry suspect the existence of some agent like Muse 3? With everything set to manual, Muse 3 couldn’t do anything small, like open doors, adjust temperature, or answer calls—nor could Muse 3 perform larger actions, like control parts of the ship. The AI had only been able to pilot the ship, following Ari on Abram’s fateful mission, because a ship at dock was left “asleep” so that someone,
with proper authorization
, could remotely control systems.

He asked Muse 3 about Lowry’s actions after he’d been stunned. She hadn’t reported the mayday from
Pytheas
; apparently, she’d expected some sort of problem. She’d given Beta Priamos Station an imaginary update that everything was going well. However, after waiting an hour, she’d tried to raise the
Pytheas
herself and seemed puzzled when there was no answer.

“That smacks of mutiny aboard the
Pytheas
,” Matt said, looking at the time on his sleeve. Almost two hours had passed since he’d been stunned.

“Smacks?”

“Has the flavor of—er, we’re equating taste with—so when will the
Percival
arrive?” Matt didn’t have the patience for a lesson right now. Besides, he needed to step off the head, and stretch his neck.

“Expected ETA is four hours and seven minutes,” Muse 3 said. “From the way she is pacing, I think Dr. Lowry is worried about their arrival.”

“Keep me apprised of her actions. I need to think for a while.” Matt stepped off the head and stretched. He wished he had room to pace. There was little he could do, no matter what creative ideas might hit him. Lowry had to make the next move.

 

The exploration skiff was designed for real-space, but not for long trips. After undocking, Ariane put the boost engines at full burn and realized it’d take her almost an hour to get to the alien station.
Hurry, hurry
. Her fingers shook with anticipation.

She left the
Pytheas
behind her and, though she had no formal training in biofeedback, she tried to influence and calm the Minoan parasite.
My body can’t take this
, she thought—which seemed to mitigate the tension and adrenaline. She also tried to assure herself she wouldn’t become a murdering monster like Nathanial Wolf Kim, if that was who she was pursuing. Of course, Kim had already been a sadistic bastard who jumped at a chance to take out his revenge upon her. Now he was well beyond state-sanctioned execution and had become insane, probably from putting the implant in his body. She hoped she wouldn’t suffer the same fate, but it begged the question as to what sort of “tweaks” the Minoans had put into this second implant.

She tried a comm check with the
Pytheas
, but there was no answer. Maria had mentioned a damaged comm console, so maybe they were doing repairs. She passed time by doing things the skiff
should
be used for, namely recording data through its host of sensors. The planet was going to be a dream for biologists and naturalists of all types, but she was more concerned with the approaching artificial satellite.

It turned out to be smaller than most moons, but still huge for an artificial object. It measured about two hundred and fifty kilometers in height, by about two hundred and thirty kilometers in diameter. This made it similar in size to Phoebe, a natural moon in the Sol system that orbited the gas giant Saturn. However, there was no confusing this thing with a natural satellite. As she came closer, the cracked egg illusion turned out to be the result of many large, separated plates that allowed glimpses of the glowing green core between their irregular edges.

Following the urge of her Minoan parasite, she homed in on the sunward side. The dark red surface of the large plates began to resolve into large rectangular sheets of some substance, with obvious seams. Soon she saw large circular iris diaphragms, with thin overlapping plates that looked like they could expand and contract like a lens.
Hurry, hurry
. She headed slowly toward the one that
felt
right, trying to follow the signals of adrenaline that sped up her heartbeat. Her instruments indicated gravity, so she aligned the skiff with its belly toward the iris.

The diaphragm began opening when her skiff came close. At its widest, it was near thirty meters across, allowing plenty of room for the skiff. It closed above her, and she continued to descend into a cavernous space dimly lit with red light.

She directed the skiff’s spotlights downward and could make out a floor, along with something bright yellow—it was the other skiff, although it hadn’t made a controlled landing. The boom and antennas along its dorsal side were twisted and bent. The nose area appeared to be crumpled. Some bits of yellow farther away indicated that delicate equipment had broken off when it hit the bottom.

Landing her skiff lightly, she watched for movement in the wreckage of the other skiff and saw none. The environmental readings outside her skiff were interesting; the atmospheric pressure was about twenty- five hundred meters, like high altitude on Terra, and was quite warm. There was enough oxygen in the air to sustain humans, but what worried her was the amount of “unknown constituents” the sensors read. These were complex gaseous organic compounds and even though they were present in low concentrations, she didn’t trust them.

She put on a light environmental suit and a small self-contained breathing apparatus. She wouldn’t be able to withstand vacuum for more than a minute or two, but she didn’t expect to encounter it. Although the station had initially looked “broken,” that had been an illusion of the zigzagging plates; in general, the station looked to be in good condition.

Despite feeling anxious and driven to move away from her skiff, she spent time examining the wreckage of the other one. She had a tight spotlight on the chest of her suit, so she examined the cockpit area, marveling that Kim had managed to get out alive, as it appeared he had. There were bloody smears where he’d dragged himself out of his cockpit.

After twisting and turning, she determined which direction excited her parasite the most. She walked quickly but didn’t run, not until she felt comfortable in the slightly heavy gravity. Beneath her feet was the same smoothly designed surface that she’d seen in the Priamos ruins. She was approaching a tunnel, which had familiar inlaid ornamentation and glowed in the dim red light. When her spotlight hit it, she drew in her breath, distracted by the arching roof of the tunnel, inlaid with glowing symbols.