Vigilante (14 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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Matt heard Dr. Lee say something in a tense, shrill voice, but he still
couldn’t understand her words. David Ray was closer and his voice was deep and clear.
“We’ll cooperate—don’t do anything to the children,” David Ray
said.
Matt reached for the autohoist webbing and cable. He worked quietly. The
autohoist was set up for cargo and he readied it for carrying a human.
There was a sharp question, to which David Ray answered, “I’m
alone.”
Matt set the autohoist to sense the weight of an adult, with an override
on the safety so it would move fast. The autohoist could be used to move bulky or heavy items
through the airlock. It could also move an unconscious person or, Gaia forbid, a body. He held
his breath as he lowered the autohoist webbing at the end of the cable.
Slowly, slowly
. He saw a sliver of the autohoist’s shadow appear against the
back of the airlock tube, and he brought it back up a smidgen. He didn’t know where the “bad
guys” stood and what they could see.
“I’m the general counsel.” David Ray’s voice was puzzled.
Another sharp question.
“Essentially, yes, I’m a lawyer.”
A male voice, the one that had been asking the questions, rose slightly
in pitch and gave a command.
Dr. Lee screamed, “No!”
Matt heard her clearly. What followed were the sounds of a soft thud and
a screeching, ringing sound, as if a million pins scraped along the airlock tube and tried to
drill into the metal. David Ray grunted and fell backward into the airlock in an awkward,
spread-eagled position. The fabric on his left thigh was shredded and bloody. Matt dropped the
harness onto David.
Many considered self-tightening webbing to be a miracle; Matt certainly
did as he watched the harness webbing tighten about David Ray’s shoulders and torso. Most of
the harness tightened to specifications in a fraction of a second. David Ray had the presence
of mind to lift one hand to a loop on the cable, allowing the webbing to connect under his arm.
By the time Matt reached over and tapped the command button, the harness had stopped
wiggling.
The autohoist hauled David Ray upward so quickly that he banged the
sides of the port. His yelps were overridden by another screech of metal pins. As he hung above
the port, Matt closed the hatch and slapped the manual override lever, seeing shadows
converging on the doorway below.
“Flechettes,” David Ray said, panting in pain. “They’re inside the
bottom half of the airlock.”
“Watch out—this is going to hurt.” Matt released the autohoist and tried
to catch David Ray, shoving him through the airlock door into the donation center.
David Ray groaned as he fell, trying to keep off his bad leg. He pulled
himself along the floor to lean against the small bar.
Matt followed him and shut the airlock. “Pilgrimage command: Lock all
airlocks to”—he looked up, reading the plaque over the hatch—“module two-zero-nine-eight.
Pilgrimage command: Emergency seal override required in module two-zero-nine-eight. Lock all
airlocks.”
The Pilgrimage systems answered him. “Are you declaring
nine-one-one?”
“No, emergency seal override.” Matt tried not to shout.
“Do you require assistance?”
“No! Emergency seal override!”
There was a lag, and then the confusion the Pilgrimage systems were
suffering became apparent. “No venting or gas mixture malfunctions detected in module
two-zero-nine-eight. Emergency maintenance has been initiated at the airlock. Please remain
calm and you will soon be able to exit the module.”
The men in the module below had been quicker than Matt. He let loose a
string of foul language that he’d learned from Ari. It started with common four-letter words
and got worse as the Minoan Bull’s genitalia were pulled into the fray. He turned to face David
Ray, whose eyes were wide.
“You have to issue the security override,” Matt said. “I’m not
Pilgrimage.”
“That could trap them. . . .” David Ray’s voice tensed and he
swallowed.
“They’re going to get through, in time, and
they’re
using flechette weapons
.” Matt pointed at David’s wounded leg, which was the most
damning evidence of barbaric behavior. Stun weapons were widely available for use in space.
They could be lethal, depending on the current they generated, but they were civilized weapons.
Even the
military
used stunners.
David Ray looked at his gory thigh and winced. “I was lucky to catch the
edge of the burst. I must have been at the far range of—”
A voice boomed from the nodes. “I am Abram Hadrian Rouxe and I now
command the
Pilgrimage
. Continue in your assigned work, and you
will not be harmed. Two of your captains are held hostage to your good behavior—the other’s
death stands witness to what will happen if you do not cooperate with me.”
Matt shivered at the cold, uncompromising tone in the deep voice. The
word structures and the slight accent were unfamiliar; the speaker wasn’t Autonomist or
Generational.
“Who is this Rouxe?” David Ray asked.
Matt shook his head.
“Please remain calm and the airlock will soon be repaired. The
maintenance staff will release you in a few minutes.” The helpful tone of the ship’s system
made Matt start cursing again.
“Maybe we should cooperate,” David Ray said.
“I’m thinking they’re not the forgiving type, even if all we’ve done is
made fools of them.” Matt tapped commands on the wall panel. “I’m locked out of ship
systems.”
Once again, an announcement by Rouxe came from the nodes. This time it
was slightly different. “I am Abram Hadrian Rouxe and I carry the spirit of our leader, Qesan
Douchet. My men will be visiting every work center. Cooperate with them and you will not come
to harm. I can be benevolent, but remember that I have control of your children, both born and
unborn.”
David Ray’s face paled. “There’s no chance of negotiation. We’ll die if
they get through.”
“You’re sure?” Matt asked.
They locked gazes, and he got the feeling that the older man was
terrified. The set in David Ray’s jaw meant he was no longer considering a quiet surrender. Why
the change?
“So we’re blowing the module,” Matt said softly.
David nodded. They waited for another announced threat, the same one, to
complete.
“Did you recognize the name, the one he reverently mentioned?” Then,
without waiting for Matt’s answer, he rapidly said, “Pilgrimage command: security override.
David Ray, alpha-ten-omega-four-two-phi. Pilgrimage command: security override. I require
access to the emergency module system.”
Matt held his breath and the independent EMS came online, showing its
emergency options, one of which was to disconnect the module from the ship. He drew a breath in
relief.
“What are you waiting for?” David Ray was adjusting the autohoist
harness to hold him to the bar and floor.
Matt turned and grabbed the handhold, near the display, and attached to
the bulkhead about a meter from the airlock. Any doubts that he might not remember how to do
this vanished as his fingers danced across the panel. Every child on a generational ship was
drilled in how to separate modules in a life-threatening emergency. Not surprisingly, the
Pilgrimage interfaces were the same as what he had trained with on the
Journey IV.
“Countdown starting!” Matt yelled.
Warning lights and a countdown display would be blinking in the airlocks
above and below this module, warning the occupants that they had fifteen seconds . . . ten
seconds . . . five seconds. There were clangs from below. Perhaps the men were trying to
prevent the airlock door from closing. That was foolish, because their own module might
decompress.
Matt tightened his hold as thumps came from charges blowing below and
above him. There was creaking, a sharp, strong thrust, the screech of metal on metal combined
with David Ray’s grunt of pain, and module 2098 pushed away from the
Pilgrimage III
.
CHAPTER 8
The Absolutionist party uses the slogan “Yellowstone
caused the war,” but that’s not right. That extinction
event only taught us that we didn’t know the first thing
about terraforming and intentional climate change. We
also didn’t know how to pay for it, after the emergency
aid dried up. So the colonists got tired of being taxed
into extinction and
that’s
what caused the war: money.
In particular, who had to pay for fixing Terra?
 
—TerranXL State Prince Ling Adams, 2104.281.15.08 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 22
under Conflict Imperative
 
 
“I
t’s a good sign that you’re willing to meet
my deadline,” Maria Guillotte said.
“We wanted to show our good faith, once we received your message.” Joyce
gave her a broad smile, at least by his standards.
He’d pushed Journey and Kedros on the schedule, which then allowed him a
whole shift of sleep by renting a berth in the singles’ quarters on Beta Priamos. He’d arrived
on the moon’s surface before first shift. The few nodes near the entrance recorded his arrival,
but other than that, there wasn’t standard node coverage in the facility. Priamos Moon operated
without the watchful presence of ComNet or MilNet, although that would change in the next
month.
“Let’s go to my office.” Maria signaled for silence and strode deeper
into the structure along sloping corridors and through strangely angled intersections.
Joyce would have liked to linger and look at the alien architecture, but
instead concentrated on the long legs and tight ass of the woman in front of him. Sure, she
looked good from the back, but the Terran penchant for standardization meant that Maria looked
like any other Terran woman, at least when it came to her perfect proportions. She looked like
the Aphrodite action figures his kids played with.
Given his experience, Joyce preferred the proportions of his wife, who
was shorter and plumper than Maria. Besides, no soldier should allow his dick to distract him,
particularly when he was on a plainclothes military intelligence mission.
Maria stopped at a recessed door that looked like one continuous piece
of semiprecious stone similar to agate. It was highly polished and had a shiny weblike design
of inlaid metal that looked like copper, yet the metal hadn’t oxidized. There was a pattern
near the side of the door, about halfway up. She held her hand over the design and a
four-clawed appendage shot out.
Joyce jumped backward before he saw it was a holographic projection. The
door slid open. Maria turned and smiled sweetly at him. “My office,” she said.
Once inside, he used his enhanced slate to scan for recording pips.
Maria watched patiently, a quirky smile on her lips.
“Well, what’s on the bargaining table?” he asked. Information was always
the currency in the intelligence arena.
“What do you want?”
“Andre.” His reply was quick. Andre Covanni was a shadowy legend during
the war and he remained undercover to continue his work for TerraXL, despite the Directorate’s
best efforts.
“Going for the brass ring, aren’t you?” Maria shook her head with a sad
smile. “If I had that to peddle, do you think I’d be here in G-145? Nathan might have passed
messages to Andre, but we were too low in the food chain to know Andre’s orders or
identity.”
“Parmet?”
“The SP isn’t his handler, that’s for sure. I don’t think the SP even
knows Andre’s identity. But I could reduce the possibilities for you, perhaps as low as
twenty.” Her eyes narrowed.
That wasn’t any better than what the Directorate already knew. Joyce
kept his face passive, remembering Maria’s
somaural
capabilities,
and tried another approach. “We’ll need you to stay in place,” he began.
She cut him off. “Not acceptable.”
“If you can’t give us a lead on Andre, then your value—”
This time, she got a message on her ear bug and had to stop him.
“The SP arrived early. I thought he wouldn’t be visiting until after the
contractor meeting. We’ll have to continue this discussion later.”
“Wait. Should I stay in your office?” he asked.
She paused, turning and smiling, before opening the door. “I suppose,
but don’t show yourself. If necessary, you can hide in the closet.” She pointed at a narrow
door behind her desk that, given the strange shape of the room, he’d hesitate to say was on the
back
wall.
Joyce pressed his lips together in irritation as she left.
“You must be from Aether Exploration, the company that masterminded this
extraordinary mess.” Sewick’s self-importance showed in his expression. He moved ahead of his
colleagues to get center stage and offer his hand, which she grudgingly shook. She hated
introductions where everyone pretended not to recognize one another, particularly in the age of
ComNet. Either this was pretension, or the man hadn’t done his prep.

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