Freenet (14 page)

Simara raised her eyebrows in a look askance at the understatement. “You didn’t put up much resistance, but I know the V-net transition knocked you for a loop. It always does. Nurse Stavos got you through it, she kept you grounded—that’s what counts. At least you’re not off gibbering in a nuthouse. No one’s going to fault her for having some fun at your expense.”

Zen frowned with a renewed sense of guilt. “How do they expect patients to process all that information at once? It was a nightmare of chaos and cacophony, a mayhem of the mind with no off button.”

“A V-net installation is like a childhood vaccine for the brain. It’s done on infants, not adults. That’s why you were on a twelve-hour watch. Every adult turnover is a major event, and the conversion to digital thought is sometimes dangerous. We think we know a lot about human consciousness and neuroplasticity, but we’re really just scratching the surface.”

“That’s a crazy way to experiment on people.”

“It’s only
thinking
, Zen. Everybody takes it for granted. Anyway, you seem to have adjusted quite well, once you got your initiation out of the way.”

“I try to suppress most of it. I don’t need all that information. I’d rather focus on you.”

She offered a wan smile. “That’s sweet.”

“No, I mean it.”

She made a polite chuckle and glanced away. “It’s funny how things work out, you know? I was helpless when I fell into the dead zone on Bali, trapped without the net and lost to mothership. And you were just as helpless when you transitioned to the net for the first time. Ironic, isn’t it? I wish I could have been there for you. I owed you that much for all you did for me. You’re a good man.”

Zen tried to steel his racing pulse as he caught her eyes again. “I want to marry you, Simara. For real this time.” There, he’d said it, finally. That surely must be the truth. He wanted a stable, monogamous relationship with his skyfall princess—he wanted the constraint of fidelity. Why had it taken him so long to get up the nerve to tell her? His breath caught in his throat.

Simara studied him in silence. The easy response never came, and as the seconds passed he knew it never would. She did not love him and would not give credence to their sham marriage. Even nose to nose, they were too far apart. “I can’t understand you, Zen. You have the means of intelligence, but your behaviour doesn’t conform to logical patterns. Things are a lot more complicated than you suspect.”

“You keep saying that. Are you sure it’s not just an excuse?”

“Maybe it is. Of course I have feelings for you. But I don’t want to be responsible for dragging you into danger and ruining your life. I don’t care about your sexual escapades, I really don’t. You’ve been with lots of different women and the pattern will probably repeat long into the future. I know what drives the thoughts of—”

“I don’t need anyone but you,” he blurted. The force in his voice surprised him, but he meant it with all his heart. He softened his tone and pressed forward. “We’re in this together now. Can’t we try to make the best of it?”

“Yes, of course we can, if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take full responsibility for both of us.”

Simara widened her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m on trial for murder.”

“Did you kill your stepfather?”

“You wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“I’d just like to hear it from you. Is that too much to ask?”

Her gaze shaded with insecurity. “I flatly denied any culpability to the Crown attorney and Nakistra Gulong. I was convincing and perhaps fooled the empath, but I won’t lie to you, after all we’ve been through. That wouldn’t be fair.” She glanced nervously away and back. “Because I don’t know the answer. I can’t remember, Zen—that’s the terrible truth. I can’t be certain of my innocence. Omnidroids rarely sleep, but in the quiet moments of stasis I struggle to piece the fragments of memory together. Some of my short-term data blocks were obliterated by trauma during the crash, and then I was cut off from mothership, from my power source. All my memories of Bali are weak and superficial, and Vishan seems like a dream to me now. I don’t see how I could have killed Randy, to be honest. I don’t feel like a murderer.”

Zen’s arms began to ache with the effort of pushing away from her pretty face. Her body seemed like a magnet pulling him closer, but her warding smile was tight-lipped and grim. He turned his head to the side to give her a semblance of privacy. “Perhaps he chose suicide when he realized what he’d done to you. Perhaps an agony of guilt drove him into a spiral of depression.”

Simara shook her head. “He would never have the conscience for it. Randy Ying was an abusive man who victimized a series of wives, treating them like slaves and prostitutes, forcing them into vile perversions. I grew to hate my own stepfather, the caregiver of my youth. I thought about killing him many times when he began touching me. I knew the bastard would try to rape me eventually.”

“You don’t have to tell me this.”

“I do, Zen. I can’t imagine what you see in me or why you would follow me into trouble, but if we’re going to be partners, I need you to listen carefully to every word I say. This episode with my stepfather was not some random act of violence. I believe it was part of a scheme to eliminate all omnidroids, a coordinated and carefully timed attempt at mass slaughter of my biogen family! Two of us were murdered, but twenty-three, including me, fought back or had enough precognition to escape. My brothers and sisters are crying out to mothership for help.”

Holy Kiva! More violence? “Murdered?”

Simara nodded sadly. “A helicopter crash staged to look like an accident. All the crew survived unharmed, but my two friends, Elana and Ruis, were killed.”

“Do you have any evidence we can use in court?”

“No, nothing definitive. The data record has been negated.” She tapped her temple with a fingertip. “But mothership knows. You must be circumspect in everything you do. You cannot trust anyone onboard this vessel.”

Zen swallowed hard, feeling a creeping chill of conspiracy. “Okay.”

“We’ll need the emergency battery code for the airlocks. There’s a manual override sequence in case of power failure or computer breakdown. It’s a secret that everyone shares.”

“How will I get it?”

“A crewmember will give it to you, sooner rather than later. It’s part of trooper culture to not leave anyone behind. A digital copy is not allowed for the sake of corporate security, but they can write it on a slip of paper or something—a four-digit numerical code for a standard palm reader.”

“Does it work when the power is on? Can we break you out of here?”

“It does work, but there’s no place to run in the vacuum of space. The captain would be alerted to the use of any override code and would have us in chains within minutes, making our legal problems even worse. After we land safely on Cromeus, we’ll make a break for it. Mothership will guide us to freedom.”

Zen nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the code.”

“I’m stuck here like a criminal, but you’ve got the run of the ship. See what else you can find out. Make some friends and try to get a feel for the crew, but don’t be taken in by any offers of confidence or promises of secrecy. You’re an outsider, no matter what anyone says. Transolar will be out to glean information for court, so be careful.”

“I will.” Zen longed to kiss her in parting, but didn’t have the heart to push his luck. He made his exit gracefully, making every effort to minimize contact with her, though each brush against her body make his skin tingle with energy. Was this love, this vicious battle to hold his hormones at bay?

Zen explored the troopship to familiarize himself with the layout. Two main tunnels with ladders went up the centre of the arrow shaft with short hallways branching off like spokes at each level. The vessel was dirty throughout and in need of repair. Some areas were cordoned off with caution tape to prevent access to exposed panels of pipes and wiring. Air vents were stained with smoky brown deposits, and some of the grates rattled as the squeaky fans circulated stale air. Ladder treads were worn smooth in the middle and grimy near the corners where years of accumulated dirt had eddied and fallen.

Zen climbed up against steady acceleration until he found a porthole view of their destination, the fourth planet out from Signa. Cromeus appeared blue in the distance like a drop of water floating in space. Hard to imagine a teeming populace on that tiny circle of reflected light. Hard to imagine a sky without forks of lightning and constant magnetic storms, a paradise where humans could walk outdoors and breathe unfiltered air, drink water from the ground, and raise babies.

“Looking for something in particular?”

Zen whirled to see a young man in blue duty uniform, a Transolar Security guard walking the perimeter. “No . . . yeah . . . I guess.”

The man smiled and held an elbow up Bali style. He was handsome and personable, with dark hair, bulky shoulders, and the leathery skin of a grounder. “I’m Jon Bak. Seen you around.”

Zen raised a forearm to cross his gesture. “You’re from Bali?”

He gave a quick nod. “Five years out. I spend my free time on Cromeus now. A little peninsula called Flatrock. It’s the best topless beach in the galaxy. You should see the women.” He whistled with appreciation. “Where you from?”

“Keokapul.”

“Oh, sure, the crystal caves. I’ve been there for Vishan. Quite the spectacle. We may have shared a smoke together.”

Zen tried to remember and came up blank. “I was just a kid in those days.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I don’t recall your face, but who can remember much after Vishan?” The trooper laughed with a gregarious roar. He pointed to the portal with a beefy arm and rugged fingers. “This is a digital interface with a battery backup. It’s not a real window.”

Zen peered again at the array of stars. “It looks real.”

“Well, that’s the idea, but you can magnify the image.” He palmed a sensor to activate a touchscreen on the surface of the portal. “You want to zoom in on Cromeus?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been there.” The blue dot grew larger as Zen watched. It had a pearly texture from humidity in the atmosphere—clouds or perhaps snow.

“It’s not much better from this distance. There’s the max. You see that spot of light glinting on the right side in orbit? That’s the Macpherson Doorway, the wormhole to Earth. I’d love to travel through there if they ever lift the embargo. That’s my big dream—to see the ancestral home of humanity.”

Zen shook his head. “I’d be afraid. It goes back in time, right?”

Jon Bak shrugged powerful shoulders. “Sure, time and space, but it hardly matters. It’s just a glorified airlock through the fabric of the universe. They say the Sol system is twelve million years in the past according to measurements of the cosmic background radiation, but who cares? Nothing we could do there will have any effect on the Signa system. It’s too far away. No message in a bottle is ever going to reach us. In practical terms, it’s just another trade route. Where do you think all the gold from Bali goes?”

“To Earth?”

“Of course. That’s what it’s all about, my man—galactic trade and commerce! I think it’s a crime they won’t let tourists through.”

“It must be very expensive.”

“Yeah, you’d have to win the lottery or marry into the Macpherson family.” He chuckled. “Hey, do you want to grab an allkool and gab about the old days?”

Zen glanced up the hall and decided he’d done enough reconnaissance for one day. “Sure. Are you off duty?”

“Nah, another few minutes, but there’s nothing happening out here in no man’s land. C’mon.” He hunched a shoulder forward and began walking. Along the way he pointed to a circular protrusion from the ceiling. “We’re under V-net surveillance near those sensors, but no one ever checks the feed apart from the usual automated triggers. Hi, Mom.” He waved at the camera with showy nonchalance, giving fair warning as they passed by and waiting until they were out of range. “I saw your blurb in our duty notes, quite the story. You’re with the omnidroid chick. Is she hot?”

Zen felt a twinge of jealousy at his interest. “Yes, very.”

“Don’t you worry that she can read your mind?”

“What makes you think she can do that?”

“I dunno. I’ve heard weird shit.”

Zen squinted with doubt as they walked. “I don’t think she reads minds. If she does, she’s not very good at it.”

Jon Bak laughed and banged the heel of his hand on his forehead. “Obviously. She got caught, right?”

“She’s innocent.”

Jon stretched his jaw down to make an exaggerated face of doubt. “That so?”

Zen nodded sadly, feeling the tangled weight of events fresh on his mind. “It was all a terrible mistake.”

The trooper shrugged and thought for a moment. He looked over and mouthed out the numbers
eight-three-three-nine
in silence, then winked to garner close attention. He held up a palm and tapped it as though entering code into a sensor, mouthing the numerals again,
8339
. “I’d love to meet her some time when you guys aren’t getting busy.”

Zen committed the override code to memory with a surge of satisfaction—mission accomplished! He had earned the trust of Jon Bak from Bali. They made their way to a staff lounge that was not much bigger than a double room on Trade Station, where they sipped dark allkool straight from the pouch and shared life highlights. Jon’s main interest seemed to be chasing woman and performing Bali magic on their souls, a desire probably heightened by so many days away from home. Fraternization among troopers was officially forbidden, but not uncommon, and all staff had to submit to sterilization drugs during their tours of duty. Transolar did not want any liability for unplanned pregnancies or children in the barracks.

Zen played along behind his veil of secrecy. Jon Bak could be a spy planted by the captain to extract information. The override code might be bait to elicit a confession—Simara had warned Zen to expect ploys such as this. But the trooper was a friendly guy and happy to share secret intrigues about troopers hiding clandestine shenanigans like schoolboys in a public dormitory. They downed a few drinks and exchanged epic tales from home, but Zen kept his mouth shut about anything that really mattered. He met a few more guards as the day waned, learned a few names, and acted his role as required—a civilian relying on their goodwill for good times and fun for all.
Adam’s Inspiration
was scheduled for decommission after this run, the last interplanetary voyage for an aged and trustworthy vessel, so off-duty inebriation was expected in her honour on a regular basis.

Turnaround was announced with a klaxon warning a few days later, and everyone had to strap into launch couches at the precise midpoint of their journey. The antimatter reactor went silent, and rocket thrust stopped cold as the troopship coasted through space. Zen had so internalized the gentle thrum of acceleration that the absence seemed like a cessation of breathing. He squirmed in discomfort as his stomach lurched with weightlessness and sent a wave of nausea through his suddenly floating body. No gravity, no sense of movement, no sound beyond the hum of electronics and whisper of air circulation.

According to calculations performed on a napkin by Jon Bak,
Adam’s Inspiration
had now reached a maximum relative velocity of one thousand miles per second and would spend the next full week decelerating for landfall. It felt creepy and unnatural to be hurtling across the heavens at such phenomenal speed in a dead cold stasis without any sound or vibration—flying headlong in a black void without foundation.

A short jolt of thrust knocked Zen sideways in his bunk as navigational rockets began to turn the spaceship. Time seemed an agony as Zen hovered weightless and listened to his blood pound in his temples. He could imagine the ship rotating end over end like a stick thrown across the desert. Another jolt of thrust was followed by two more as the troopship stabilized for a new trajectory, and the klaxon hooted anew to announce a five-second countdown.
Wham!
The antimatter reactor kicked in and rocked Zen into his launch couch with a huff of exhalation. Gravity was back like an old friend, but now the nosecone was pointing away from their destination as they slowed down for an eventual landing.

“I brought you some allkool,” Zen said as he met Simara for his second conjugal visit and crawled into her tiny slot in the wall. “Do you want lemon or cherry?”
I’ve got the code
, he mouthed, and pantomimed the numbers with his fingers.

“We can speak safely in here,” Simara said. “I’m still controlling communications. Good work.”

“Same to you. So we’re on top of things. Let’s party.”

Simara frowned and sucked her teeth—no such luck. “Our situation has gone from bad to worse.” She was wearing the same cellulose outfit, and she smelled foul with harboured perspiration—no chance to bathe or freshen up in this coffin cell. “And thanks for the offer of a drink, but I can’t tamper with my consciousness now that I’m working with mothership again. I can’t afford any weakness.”

Misery struck home for Zen as he studied her harried face and pocketed the allkool. “So what’s the bad news?”

“All the escape shuttles onboard are being tested under the guise of regular maintenance, and the captain has packed personal effects in a duffel bag.”

Zen’s sweat went cold on his neck. “What does that mean?”

“As unlikely as it sounds, it now appears Transolar will instruct the crew to jump ship and leave us to die in a fiery crash. Have you heard any scuttlebutt from the troopers?”

“A crash? No.
Adam’s Inspiration
is being decommissioned after this final run. The old tug is scheduled for a recycling facility in New Jerusalem.”

“More like a watery grave with all evidence buried forever,” Simara said. “Transolar can’t ditch the crew safely in the deep void of space, and they won’t risk an explosion in the middle of the traffic zone around Cromeus. Or send a dead elephant like a bomb into the orbiting grid of satellites, microwave generators, and offplanet housing—not to mention the wormhole doorway to Earth, their precious space-time gateway. They’ll have to make it look like a failed orbital approach close to the planet, a mechanical failure. They’ll launch the crew in the escape shuttles and leave me in this slot. Probably you too, now that you’ve volunteered complicity. We’ll have to jump ship during the chaos.”

“Jump ship into vacuum?”

Simara tested him with a firm gaze. “We’ll need two spacesuits with oxygen tanks and ablative shields. We should be within a hundred miles of the surface by the time all the shuttles have launched—close enough for a space-dive. A lot will depend on our angle of entry, but we could easily pull five-g and hit two hundred C on our shields. We’ll program a parachute array in case we black out, two drogue chutes followed by a conventional spread at three thousand feet.”

“Have you done this before?”

“No, but I mastered the simulation.”

“What does that mean?”

“The digital experience, the brain chemistry.”

Zen shook his head and clenched his eyes as his mind reeled in imagined freefall. “I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You’re a stud. You’ve got the muscles of an athlete from all your hard living on Bali. If anyone can space-dive and live, it’ll be you. We’ll try to aim for an ocean landing if we can. Our suits will hold pressure underwater, and we won’t be visible from the air. Look at me.”

He blinked his eyes open again, nose to nose with this nightmare girl. He hadn’t signed on for this craziness. No way. But bless Kiva, she was beautiful!

“I need you to listen carefully,” she said. “These instructions will supersede anything I happen to say online to throw our captors off the track. I need you to sequester two spacesuits near our chosen exit point, complete in every detail to my specifications. It’s going to take some fancy finagling with supplies, but I’ve hacked access to all the records. I’m stuck here in this couch like a criminal, but you can operate freely. If anyone asks, you’re just a rookie grounder wandering the tunnels. A simpleton.”

Zen nodded—not too much of a stretch, truth be told. “Are you sure about this? Do you have any evidence of conspiracy?”

“Mothership was rendered silent at the precise time of the attacks on the omnidroids, throwing our freenet into chaos. That speaks volumes. Our enemy must have advanced technology to interfere with psychic realms, and terrible motivation to attempt genocide across the entire solar system. I don’t have proof for your eyes or ears. I have a feeling, an idea. I can visualize the whole thing.”

Was she brainwashing him with omnidroid strategy? The paranoid ravings of a murderous intellect? No, it couldn’t be. “Governor Blackpoll thinks you have special powers over humans, powers of manipulation and control.”

“Yes, I know. Everyone is fearful of our grand strategy, our master designs to evolve beyond the species and conquer the universe, but all mothership wants is order and harmony for sentient life. Omnidroids are willing servants to that. We were created for good and not harm to mankind. Why are you here if you don’t trust me in your heart?” The narrow space between their bodies was electric with potential, her breath hot against his neck. “I warn you away, I yell at you, ridicule your ancestral faith, yet you follow me like a shadow. Now we’re both going to die in a fiery crash unless you do everything I say.”

Zen studied her face, her cheeks animated with colour, her eyes faithful and true. “Okay.”

“Don’t speak of this online, to me or anyone else. Remember that all the data you access is monitored and recorded, all your private searches, all your Help questions. Don’t leave any clues that might give away our plan. We can’t make any mistakes.”