The Only Game in the Galaxy (7 page)

Taking several deep breaths, Hatsu sank to the floor and meditated briefly, inducing an icy inner calm, like the eye of a storm. Then she stood.

She checked her field generator and set her cloaking devices at max. The Fortress’ security systems would pick up her signature fairly soon – that was part of the plan.

For the next hour, she planted non-lethal explosive devices, designed to cause mayhem with noise and smoke, and to shut down vital systems, including the main surveillance hub. The hub would only remain out of action for twenty minutes max but that was no problem.

By then she would have recovered Jeera Mosoon – or at least the lost data – and set in motion events that would lead to the termination of Bodanis and Sasume.

Or Hatsu herself would be dead.

Once ready, Hatsu boldly took a cargo elevator to the tenth floor. Now wearing the typical blue overalls favoured by the Fortress’ army of maintenance workers, she moved through the crowded corridors unchallenged. At any minute, however, she expected the alarm to sound. Indeed, her mission required it to.

Hatsu moved purposefully along several corridors, following the mental map downloaded into her wetware implant. She made her way to a large cafeteria, collected a tray of food supplied by automatic vendors, and sat down at a crowded table. A device attached to her field generator activated and went questing for Brown. The device created a ‘field’ virus (an EM field process that Brown called
webbing
), infecting all adjacent fields, piggybacking a replica of one’s signature (or any desired encoding) onto the signatures of those nearby; these in turn ‘infected’ other adjacent fields, and so on. A by-product was that other ‘signatures’ would also be shared, and overlapped, like signals rippling off in all directions on a spider’s web – more like hundreds of spiders’ webs, superimposed on each other.

A clever, diabolically simple concept, driving any AI insane within nano-seconds.

God knows what it did to system operators
, thought Hatsu.

Hatsu ate, mentally ticking off the seconds. Suddenly, she put down her spoon and stood. No one paid her any attention. She went to the rear of the room just as smoke emanated from the table where she had been sitting. At the same time a series of distant explosions could be heard.

Then the webbing device signalled it had reached critical mass.

As Hatsu watched, red warning lights flickered on waist-worn field generators. More lights on more units joined in. Soon the entire room was a smoke-filled landscape dotted with red blinking eyes. Chairs scraped back as mild panic rode the crowd. Someone called for security. Several others fled the room.

Hatsu used the smoke cover and confusion to disable the locking mechanism on a maintenance hatch and climbed inside. Within minutes she was four levels higher and one hundred metres west of where she had entered.

More explosions vibrated the floors and walls. Sirens could be heard now and the rumble of running feet.

Security lockouts would begin shortly – as soon as the mainframe AI came back online.

Hatsu located Jeera Mosoon without trouble. Maximus had not infected her with a lethal self-de-structing toxin, but he had her well wormed, utilising the old Rusky method, worms within worms within worms. Canny bastards, those Ruskies.

Hatsu shut down the grid on the floor where Jeera was being held. She then set off an ultrasonic field wave knocking out any living organism larger than a bacterium. It would also rattle their teeth and give them a lousy headache.

Hatsu found Jeera collapsed on a couch in a small room, part recreational room, part torture chamber. Two beefy goons were out for the count nearby.

Jeera appeared untouched, as Maximus had predicted. The allergen-producing virus he had infected her with would have to be neutralised before anyone could stay in a room with her for as long as required to counteract the amnesia toxin.

Obviously, Black was an expert when it came to poisons, toxins, viruses and nerve agents. Hatsu filed that away for future reference.

Kneeling beside her, Hatsu revived Jeera with a drug cocktail designed specifically to match her DNA fingerprint. As the girl opened her eyes, Hatsu said, ‘Don’t take this personally,’ and kissed her full on the mouth.

Jeera screwed up her face, but she didn’t recoil.

Hatsu pulled back. ‘Don’t be frightened.’

‘What do you want?’ Jeera seemed dazed.

‘Not much. I just administered, saliva to saliva, an agent to unlock the code on the micro-burst. Your inability to remember the coordinates will dissipate on its own.’

‘Black sent you.’

‘The man himself.’

‘Are you here to get me out?’ Hope glittered in her eyes, along with doubt.

‘Yep. But first things first.’ Hatsu pulled out a retinal uploader, fitted the upstream end to Jeera’s eye and the downstream end to her own, and triggered it, causing a brief double flash.

‘Okay. It’s now uninstalled from your implant and loaded into mine. Let’s go.’

Jeera had a dozen questions but Hatsu, neuronotically inclined, did not answer them. The girl remained dazed. Hatsu wondered what they’d done to her.

By now the mainframe AI would be back online, busy searching for Hatsu and Jerra’s intruder signatures. But the webbing effect would give the AI a nervous breakdown as it discovered that Hatsu’s signature was in five hundred places throughout the Fortress at once. Of course, the moment they realised Jeera had escaped they would soon latch on to her.

‘Put these on.’ Hatsu tossed Jeera a set of blue overalls, identical to the ones she herself wore. She’d stolen both sets earlier on.

‘Where are we going?’

‘GIGO,’ said Hatsu.

‘Pardon?’

‘GIGO.’

Jeera blinked. It was an ancient computer term. Garbage in, garbage out. ‘What’s that to do with me?’ she asked. She’d soon find out.

After descending a dozen levels and traversing the equivalent of five city blocks, Hatsu led Jeera into the main kitchen that fed the hungry Fortress. Ignoring the staff, she went to the rear of the kitchen, stopping at an opening in the wall. Inside was a smooth sloping tunnel.

‘I suggest you go feet first,’ she said to Jeera.

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Either you jump or I throw you in. Your choice. We don’t have all day.’

‘Are you coming too?’

‘Nope. I have things to do. Speaking of which, it’s time for you to go home.’

‘But – what do I do when I get out?’

‘Someone will meet you.’

A chef stalked over to them. Hatsu glanced at the slicer the man wielded. ‘What you pair up to?’ the man demanded.

Hatsu drew her blaster. ‘Back off,’ she said.

‘Who’s going to meet me?’ Jeera insisted, ignoring the chef who had now decided he had work to do. She sounded nervous.

‘I have no idea. But this is
not
a trick, Jeera. You’ve been coded at the highest level:
protect at all costs
. Now go.’

Jeera took a deep breath, grabbed the upper lip of the hole, and slid her legs into the tunnel. She gave Hatsu one last nervous look then let go.

‘Sayonara,’ said Hatsu and turned to find a dozen high-powered pulse rifles trained on her.

‘What took you guys so long?’

Sasume stepped forward. ‘Why, you did, Anneke Longshadow.’

Anneke, aka Hatsu Kaan, blinked once, then three times, then once more. It was a signal. Almost immediately a dull muffled explosion sounded in the distance and the lights went out. Sasume spat an order and the pulse rifles opened up, blasting the space in front of the garbage chutes and lighting up the dark kitchen with a staccato strobing effect that turned everything into slow motion.

When the lights came back on, Anneke was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Sasume.

Anneke, oddly and disquietingly startled at the use of her real name, ran lightly along a steel girder high up under the roof of a cavernous space. Below her lay a docking bay: small space cruisers, scout ships and patrol vessels dotted the floor of the bay, at one end of which was a huge oblong mouth open to the night sky and veiled by the faintest shimmer of a high-intensity deflector field. This was the famous Armoured Cavern, reputedly the location of the last bloody stand by Commander Quizko shortly before he betrayed the Old Empire, hastening its doom.

But Anneke wasn’t interested in the Armoured Cavern or its history, not right now, not under the mission-intensifying effect of neuronosis. She was interested in the tall, stout and very recognisable figure on the docking bay floor ordering hunt-kill teams – some hired hit-mercs – to find Anneke Longshadow and remove her head.

Anneke smiled at that. If she had a credit for every time someone had …

Uh-oh. Bodanis was leaving. He stomped off across the floor towards his personal drop tube, followed by his bodyguard hurrying to keep up. Anneke moved quickly back to the bank of tubes, located Bodanis’ dedicated one, and activated the Dyson scooper she’d previously installed in the drop tube. A tiny red eye blinked once. It was ready.

Down below, Bodanis’ lead bodyguard stepped into the drop tube and was ‘sucked up’ by the field. Another bodyguard stepped in. Same thing. Then Bodanis. The remaining four bodyguards followed in quick succession.

Anneke carefully removed the scooper, moved to a maintenance access hatch, and climbed through.

Twenty minutes later, after thoroughly checking every frequency, she unlocked the door of an ambassadorial suite and stepped cautiously inside, relocking the door behind her.

Sitting in a chair, immobilised by shaped blocking fields, was Sasume. On the floor at her feet, ignominiously snared in an
ixsin
web, was an angry Bodanis.

Both glared at her.

‘How the hell did you do that?’ Bodanis said. ‘How did you get me out of that tube and leave my guards behind?’

Anneke showed him the scooper. He clicked his finger. ‘Okay. You used a Dyson jump-gate, no doubt keyed to my specific DNA. Clever. Didn’t know they made ’em that small – or portable.’

‘They don’t. At least not publicly. But RIM’s been developing the miniaturisation technology for years now.’

Bodanis looked at her. ‘RIM? They’re behind this?’

‘Who else?’

‘Nonsense,’ said Sasume. ‘Why would RIM want us sidelined?’

Anneke puzzled over that for a moment but gave up. ‘I can’t answer that. Yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and …’

She left that hanging. Sasume and Bodanis exchanged looks. Anneke removed a tiny cylinder from her pouch, then loaded in a six-pack of darts.

Sasume’s nostrils flared. ‘What is on those?’ she asked.

‘An alkaloid.
Tetsin
.’

Sasume laughed. ‘The gentleman’s poison. How civilised of you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Bodanis asked.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sasume. ‘We won’t feel any pain or discomfort. Indeed, I believe we’ll experience a final euphoria.’

Bodanis fixed Anneke with a steely gaze. ‘You’re killing us?’

Anneke shrugged. ‘It’s just business.’

Bodanis snorted. ‘This is crazy. We’re on the same side, Anneke. We’re fighting the same devil!’

‘And who would that be?’

‘You know very well!’

Anneke felt a disconcerting sense that Bodanis was telling the truth. She also found herself liking the old man.

‘He thinks you two are the devils.’

Bodanis laughed. ‘Well, he’s right. There are no angels in this.’

‘Just the lesser of two evils, right?’ said Anneke. She raised the silver cylinder. ‘Time to die.’ She could not keep a hint of sadness out of her voice.

‘Get on with it then!’

M
AXIMUS
stood on the high battlements of Quesada Tower, as he had once stood before, long ago. He gazed up at the night sky and at the dull bronze shimmer of the atmospheric shield, through which stars glinted an icy copper.

As on that other occasion, the Envoy appeared at his back, unannounced, unwarned even by Maximus’ internal implants. Not for the first time he wondered how the alien did that.

‘The Hatsu renovation was successful?’ he asked.

The Envoy remained expressionless, as usual. ‘I believe the Hatsu neuronosis significantly suppressed Anneke Longshadow’s normal moral response long enough for her mission to succeed.’

‘She believed that “Hatsu” was entirely her own – invention?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Jeera –?’

‘Jeera Mosoon has been recovered. I took delivery myself.’

Maximus breathed out. ‘She’s – all right?’

‘She was alarmed at my appearance and I was forced to sedate her, but otherwise she has taken no harm. I have had all toxins and allergens washed from her system. There will be a delay before she is – presentable.’

Maximus nodded, saying nothing.

‘You do not ask about the other mission parameters?’ said the Envoy.

‘I am sure you will tell me.’

‘We have downloaded the deciphered set of coordinates from Jeera Mosoon.’

‘Does Anneke know the retinal uploader she used just made a copy instead of uninstalling?’

‘It is unlikely. Your precautions were warranted.’

‘Why?’ said Maximus.

‘Anneke has disappeared.’

Now Maximus turned, locking eyes with the alien. ‘Killed in action?’

The Envoy shrugged. ‘We do not know. She has simply disappeared.’

‘And Bodanis and Sasume?’

‘Dead.’

‘In what manner?’

‘She was not able to destroy them in the hospital, as you hoped. Hence, framing the Imperial Myotan Combine for such a despicable action will not be possible.’

Maximus shrugged. ‘It was a low probability outcome …’ He shifted his gaze back to his study of the heavenly bodies.

‘Your restraint is admirable.’

Maximus snorted. ‘Very well, where is the final set of coordinates to be found?’

‘You will not like it.’

‘I have liked very little of this affair. So spit it out.’

‘Due to the shape of my mouth, I am unable to spit.’

Maximus waved him on.

‘The third set of lost coordinates,’ said the Envoy, ‘is on Arachnor.’

Maximus scowled. He turned back to stare questioningly at the Envoy.

The Envoy said, ‘Affirmative.’

Black leaned back on the nearest battlement, feeling the cold hard stone press into his spine. ‘Arachnor?’ he murmured then slowly began to laugh. ‘Arachnor! The hell world itself. Well, if that isn’t a slap in the face.’

‘Recovery will be complicated.’

Maximus laughed harder. When he had finished he straightened up, wiping tears from his cheeks. ‘Envoy, you have a talent for understatement that is cosmic.’

‘Now what?’

‘Now we get our best spin doctors to work to see where the chips fall.’

‘Chips?’

‘An old and quaint saying, Envoy. Of no importance.’

Over the next few days, Maximus monitored the political situation with the care a first-time mother might give her pre-term baby.

On the third day came good news. On the fifth, bad.

Maximus was in his office on both occasions at Quesada Tower. He had gone onto a ‘light roster’ at RIM, citing health reasons, and could essentially work when he chose. On this particular morning he was having a quick breakfast at his desk when the news broke that Stella Mercantile had broken away from the Imperial Myotan Combine. Black almost choked.

Leaping to his feet, he switched on the main galactic newzine. A stylishly coiffed anchorwoman appeared. ‘… confirms this late-breaking news. Stella Mercantile CEO, il’Kiah, has cited irreconcilable differences and has formally applied for an annulment to their recent merger. The Securities Commission and the Court of High Contracts will hear their submission this afternoon …’

Maximus switched off, jubilant. He buzzed the Envoy, who appeared almost immediately. ‘You heard?’ he said.

The Envoy nodded. ‘Clearly, they feel the wind shifting.’

‘Shifting
our
way,’ crowed Maximus. He slammed a fist into his palm. ‘If we can get Stella Mercantile, the others will flock to our banner like sheep to a shepherd.’

‘It might be a trap.’

Maximus stopped. ‘Are all aliens so paranoid?’

‘One creature’s paranoia is another’s caution.’

‘Let me deal with that,’ said Maximus, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. ‘We will start making overtures today. They will expect it.’

Forty-eight hours later the situation was bleaker.

Again at his desk, Maximus hit a button, signalling to the man waiting in his outer office to enter. He was tall and dark, almost black, with incongruously pale hair and a full beard.

Maximus felt harried, as if he knew what news the waiting man had brought, which indeed he did. ‘Give me the short version.’

The man nodded. ‘We analysed it using different matrices, ran six-dimensional projections, the works.’

‘And?’

‘It’s bad.’

‘How bad?’

‘The hospital that you – that was, ah, randomly chosen – was a
children’s
hospital.’

Maximus’ jaw tightened. ‘That wasn’t listed.’

‘No, sir, it wasn’t. The change was recent and they were too busy to catch up the paperwork. Be that as it may, the story has broken that Quesada attempted to frame the IMC by destroying a children’s hospital and trying to make it look like Bodanis and Sasume ordered it.’

Maximus said nothing.

The analyst went on, ‘The media’s operative phrase is “hospital full of
sick children
…”’

‘Naturally,’ said Maximus, his mouth suddenly dry.

‘How bad can this get?’

‘In our estimation, it can undo the advantage gained from the secession of Stella Mercantile – and a lot more. It could actually reverse the recruitment rate. Drastically.’

‘Thank you,’ said Maximus. ‘You may go. Please ask the Envoy to join me.’

Maximus was on his balcony, two hundred floors up, when the Envoy stepped through the polarising field, which modulated the amount of light entering the suite, eliciting a telltale whisper.

‘Some days …’ said Maximus, but did not finish the sentence.

‘I have heard.’

‘The small hand giveth and the big hand taketh away. So much for
Kadros
.’

‘The path to
Kadros
is unknowable.’

‘Now how did I know you were going to say that?’

‘No doubt –’

Maximus waved him to silence. ‘Rhetorical question. But here’s a real one. What do we do to reverse the reversal?’

‘A display of military boldness right now could work against us.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

‘You have another plan already.’

‘We will not cease playing the “game” – it is, after all, the only game in the galaxy – but it is time to make a more substantive move.’

‘Yes?’

‘Activate Operation Omega. Immediately.’

The Envoy hesitated the merest second and Maximus later found himself wondering about that. Aloud, the Envoy said, ‘As you wish. You will go yourself?’

‘I’m already packed.’

Two days later, Maximus moved through the spaceport departure lounge at the head of a small army. Papers in order, they boarded a light cruiser that lifted off and blasted for orbit where it joined a small fleet of ships, all bearing the Quesadan crest and coat of arms.

The captain of the flagship, newly named the
Ring of Roses
, greeted Maximus personally. ‘Ah, Captain Bleaker,’ Maximus said. ‘I would like to get underway as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, sir, we’re waiting for orbital clearance. May I show you to the bridge?’

The captain led the way. Once on the bridge, Maximus said, ‘I will be assuming tactical command,’ and seated himself in the captain’s chair. Bleaker did not blink.

Several hours later, when the fleet had cleared Lykis Integer’s interplanetary space, Bleaker requested final course details.

‘Make for the Malthus system,’ said Maximus. ‘We will shape orbit for Gamma Pavonis.’

Bleaker raised an eyebrow but if he felt any curiosity, he suppressed it. Instead, he asked, ‘And the final destination, Admiral?’

Maximus concealed a smile. The rank of Admiral was a fitting one for him to assume, as it left intact the command responsibilities and functions of the various ships’ captains. Nevertheless, at the callow age of eighteen (even if he did look older) it sounded – odd – to Maximus’ ears. Perhaps the little slave boy, deep inside, found it amusing.

‘We’re looking for one of the planet’s moons, Captain. Designation:
Omega
. It has an erratic orbit – highly unpredictable.’

‘Aye aye, sir. We’ll run search algorithms and dispatch probes once we enter the system.’

‘ETA?’

The captain stared down at the screen. ‘Just over a week, Admiral.’

Eight days later, as they reached the Omegan orbit, they were attacked.

The first Maximus knew of it was the deafening blare of the ship’s alarms. He blinked awake, wincing from the ear-splitting noise. He’d been having a serene dream about his past, something he rarely allowed himself. In the dream, he’d seen his mother and she had tried to tell him something important. But the alarms erased her words.

Maximus leapt to his feet, shrugged on battle station dress (a single blue overall, complete with field generator and weapons) and ran for the bridge, assessing the tactical situation via his implants.

As he burst onto the bridge, he found a haggard-looking Bleaker at his post. ‘How’d they get so close, captain?’ he snapped.

‘Some kind of shielding, sir. Whole new harmonics. We’re analysing it now.’

The ship lurched as a rocket exploded off the port side. Maximus’ tactical display indicated a blindingly rapid exchange of energy beams taking place. It calculated that most hits were being absorbed or deflected by the shields. But just as clearly, the enemy’s accuracy and penetration rate were unusual.

‘Damage?’ Maximus asked as he took the captain’s chair again, switching to external visual inputs.

‘Three ships lost, sir, two severely damaged. Element of surprise. We’ve scored a minor hit on the enemy vessel and are concentrating on their hyper-drive. Tactical computers are waging a full reprisal engagement as we speak.’

‘They identified themselves yet?’

‘Not yet, sir,’ said Bleaker, his face glistening with sweat.

‘Get it up on screen,’ Maximus ordered. Most ships’ captains these days were so born and bred to tactical implants and AI-generated facsimiles of space-time, they hardly bothered with visual assessments. Indeed, they claimed that the visual marred their internal computer-aided conceptualisation of the battlefield.

They were probably right, Maximus reflected, but he liked to see what was going on.

And now it stared back at him from the screen. For one brief second, a field of stars had appeared, with a dark oblong shape off to one side, making a too regular ‘hole’ in the background scattering of stars – a cloaked enemy ship.