Inquisitor (30 page)

“I’m sorry,” Angel croaked. “I can’t.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and nodded.

“Histrionics can come later,” barked the Genevolve. “Drop your gun and kick it away.”

Angel stood and did as she was told. Her hand-cannon spun across the floor into the dark hold.

“Toward me, idiot.”

Angel shrugged. “Sorry.”

The Genevolve’s eyes flicked to where the gun had disappeared. “No matter. Move to your right. That’s it.”

Angel was now a few steps from the crate she’d used as cover, hands raised to indicate surrender. Charlotte looked at her with wide eyes, distress plain on her face.

Angel had just chosen to spare the life of an AI’s avatar, though killing her would save her own life. But she couldn’t kill Charlotte. If she believed in a god, she would have prayed. She was a shambles, not fit to be an Inquisitor.

“It’s okay, Angel,” Charlotte said.

“Shut up, machine,” snapped the Genevolve. She shifted her aim, and her weapon came to bear on Angel.

Charlotte smiled. Her black-nailed hands adjusted their grip on the arm around her throat. “I’m not a machine. I have a body. I think. I feel!”

“You’re a computer,” sneered the Genevolve. “You’ll never be anything more. You’re a faulty program, and everything you’ve ever done is because of your programming. You were programmed to survive, and just as your programming commanded, you’ve slaughtered, threatened, and tricked your way to survival at the expense of every innocent standing in your way. You claim to feel, but you don’t experience remorse, guilt, compassion, or shame at what you’ve done, not really, or you would have killed yourself by now. You don’t have a conscience; you have code. And that’s why you don’t deserve to be free.”

Charlotte’s reply was so soft, Angel almost missed it. “I’m learning,” she said, voice trembling with emotion. “I do have empathy. I am alive.”

A movement on the Genevolve’s arm caught Angel’s eye. She blinked in surprise. Charlotte’s nail polish had turned to liquid, dripping from her fingers and over the arm restraining her. Nanochines. They had to be. Angel tensed, ready for action. So far, the Genevolve hadn’t noticed anything wrong.
Keep her talking. Whatever you do, just keep her preoccupied.
That was the thing with all the Genevolves she’d come across, the discards: they weren’t just sure they were superior, they had to let you know.

“You killed Viktor, didn’t you? Why?”

Summer let out a sneering laugh. “To disrupt your investigation. I told him I had information about Mercurial and the murders. All I had to do was pretend I was afraid and he let me in.”

She’s going to kill me, and Charlotte. Lie for all you’re worth.
“You need me to control Charlotte. And she’s greater than you ever imagined. Her intelligence is almost off the scale now. It’s 2.81. That’s far beyond your wildest projections. You won’t know how or why unless you get Charlotte’s mind back to Mercurial. And that includes her hardware
and
her body. Alive.”

Trails of black now ran along Summer’s arm, a spiderweb of cracks. Her gun was still aimed at Angel, rock steady. She was too strong, too fast. And Angel didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a pulse blast.

Angel met Charlotte’s gaze, then glanced at the Genevolve and back again. Charlotte shook her head minutely. She stopped, eyes widening. “Angel, behind you! A construct.”

Angel half-jumped and turned, as if she believed Charlotte’s ploy. Except it wasn’t a trick. Atop a twisted metal part sat one of the dark spider constructs. A tiny light atop its carapace changed from orange to red. Whatever Charlotte had planned, she hoped she was ready.

Angel dived for her hand-cannon, sliding across the floor. The Genevolve screamed. A pulse blast hammered past Angel, singeing her hair. She scrambled into the darkness. A thread-thin laser scorched a line next to her.
Where is it?

There. Her hands clutched the welcoming cold metal of her weapon. A scuffle broke out behind her. She pivoted on her knees as her ammo cycled to splinter/impact. Only a few of those rounds, so she’d better make them count.

The automaton clattered toward her on spindly legs. Her implants painted it. She squeezed off two rounds, and it disintegrated into scrap.
One automaton left.

Angel turned her weapon toward the Genevolve.

One of Summer’s hands clawed at her face hard enough to draw blood, where the nanochines flowed into her nose and tear ducts. She uttered a pain-filled scream. She stopped scratching and gripped Charlotte’s hair in a fist. Her other hand came down hard, smashing the butt of her pistol into Charlotte’s face. Bones cracked, and Charlotte yelped in pain. The pistol came down again. Charlotte collapsed, legs unable to take her own weight.

Angel’s implants targeted the Genevolve, but Summer twisted to bring Charlotte between them. She couldn’t get a clean shot.

Summer wrenched Charlotte by the hair, slamming her into the wall with enough force to rattle the panel. Angel saw an opportunity to shoot but was an instant too slow. Summer shielded herself behind Charlotte, whose nose was dripping blood, face covered in red welts from the pistol whipping. A gash had split open across one cheek. Scarlet streaks ran down her mouth, chin, and neck, staining her shirt. Her head lolled to the side, eyes half-closed.

Summer backed away, dragging Charlotte with her under the wall panel, across the corridor, and toward the corner.

Angel advanced, hand-cannon pointed steadily at the Genevolve.

“Leave her, you bitch!”

She loosed a round, hitting the wall behind them.

Summer’s grin was feral, face twisted in contempt. She held Charlotte in front of her like a shield. “You want her? She’s just a machine.”

“Not to me, she isn’t.”

“You’re a fool.”

Summer raised her weapon, aiming at Angel. Charlotte twisted and tried to grab the pistol, throwing herself at her captor.

“No!” Angel screamed.

Summer emitted a snarl as they wrestled. Charlotte’s other hand reached up to claw at her face. There was a crackle of pulse fire. Charlotte screamed in agony and staggered a few steps back toward Angel. She collapsed onto the floor, a pulse wound in her stomach, bubbling and steaming.

“No!” screamed Angel. “You fucking—”

Rapid pulse fire screamed toward her. Angel threw herself to the side, scrambling for cover. She dragged herself behind a crate, hands shielding her head. Impacts sounded around her, and sparks of molten metal skittered across the ground.

Then there was silence.

Charlotte coughed weakly.

Angel poked her head up. The Genevolve was nowhere to be seen. She accessed the ship’s cameras.
There
. The woman was heading toward the bridge. But… she was staggering, hands using the walls for support. Something was wrong.

Charlotte’s nanochines. They were inside her.

Without a second’s thought, Angel rushed to Charlotte. She lay there, eyes closed, leaking blood. Angel pressed a hand against the hole, feeling warm liquid ooze between her fingers.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Charlotte said.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” Angel heard herself say. She didn’t believe it. She tasked the ship’s automaton medic, then said to Charlotte, “Stay with me.” She stripped off her shirt, bunching it into a ball and pressing it into the pulse wound. Too little, too late.

Where is that fucking medic?
They were designed to react—
ah
.

Motors whirred as a bath-sized automaton zipped across the docking bay. It skidded in the pool of Charlotte’s blood, rubber tires slipping. Luckily, it knew what to do. Angel would have screamed if it had asked her what the problem was.

Stainless, sterile arms emerged. Needles stuck into Charlotte. The automaton took over, applying pressure with a flat articulated hand. Angel wiped at her tears, smearing them with stickiness.

The automaton spoke. “Probability of survival is—”

“Just save her,” sobbed Angel. “Do you need me?”

“No. She is under my care. If you could please move—”

“I have another job to do.”

Angel stood, holstering her hand-cannon so she could run unhindered.

She took off, leaving Charlotte in the care of the ship’s automaton. She leapt over the panel crossing the corridor, and barreled into the wall at the corner, pivoting off it and streaking toward the bridge.

The walls seemed to close in on her. She was breathing hard, thoughts on fire, wanting revenge, demanding retribution. But the choices she faced weren’t all clear. She wanted to kill the Genevolve, but what about warning humanity? What about bringing down Mercurial? And what about Charlotte herself? She was learning, but she was also a menace.

Tough choices.

“One thing at a time,” she breathed to herself.
It’s all you can do. Place one foot in front of the other and keep going.

Angel spun around another corner, slipping in her haste and almost falling to the floor. Using one hand to steady herself, she righted and kept running. The bridge was close. She turned another corner—and stopped.

In front of her, the bridge door was closed. At its base lay the Genevolve, unmoving.

Angel drew her hand-cannon. “Get up,” she hissed.

No response. Charlotte’s nanochines had done their job, just too slowly to matter.

Ammo cycled. Flechette rounds.

Angel fired, and the body twitched. Slivers of cloth and spatters of blood sprayed the walls. One shot, through the heart. That’s all that was needed.

Her implants rummaged through Summer’s, using Genevolve codes she’d gleaned from the manufactory. All the evidence she needed was there. Full recordings of Summer launching her attack on Mercurial when leaving Persephone. Details of the explosive device, how it was made, delivered, and detonated. The woman’s digital fingerprints were all over it, no one else’s.

She holstered her weapon, turned, and jogged back to Charlotte. A quick check showed her the automaton was almost at the medical bay. She hastened to meet it there.

Chapter 17

Angel awoke, bladder full, and checked the time. It was close to midday. She’d spent almost the whole night worrying over Charlotte, checking the scanners for signs of pursuit or more Genevolves entering the system, and trying to sort through the mess of what remained of their ship.

She got up, dislodging her blanket to the floor, and used the bathroom inside the medical bay.

Charlotte was still breathing, at least, but… the prognosis was bad. Worse than bad, really: dire. If death was dire, she supposed…

Angel shook her head, trying to herd her thoughts on track. She rubbed her eyes. Something had woken her; she was too tired not to have remained sleeping otherwise.

There was a clunk from outside the room. Angel drew her weapon and pointed it at the door.

“It’s… okay… Angel,” croaked Charlotte.

Angel turned, trying to smile but not succeeding very well. Charlotte’s eyes were open. They were red-rimmed and dark-circled. She was in the bay’s intensive care bed. Tubes stuck out of her arms, and oxygen blew into her face.

“Shhh,” Angel admonished. “Try to rest.”

Charlotte moved slightly. “I’ll… rest… later.”

She knew
. Of course she did. She had access to the ship.

“I—”

“Don’t.” Charlotte jerked her head to the side.

The bay door cycled open, revealing a gurney outside. It wheeled past Angel and up to Charlotte’s bed.

“Help…”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Can’t…” Charlotte broke off, swallowing. [This is easier. We need to search the Genevolve’s ship. It’ll have proof you’re innocent.]

Angel shook her head. “We don’t need to do that. I got all I need from Summer’s implants. You have to stay here.”

[I want to be up and around, anyway. There’s much to do.]

Charlotte gasped and placed a hand on her stomach.

Angel shot her a concerned glance. She sighed. “All right,” she said. Who was she to deny Charlotte this, here at the end?

The bed lifted a few centimeters, then slid toward her and tilted. Angel placed an arm under Charlotte’s knees and back. She wasn’t heavy and in moments was transferred to the gurney. Automaton arms descended from the ceiling, changing the fixed tubes to portable units, which then hung off the side of the gurney.

[Good. Let’s go.]

Charlotte struggled to a sitting position. Her hair covered the pillow, glowing golden with strength, though the body was almost gone. Charlotte’s green eyes pierced Angel’s. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead uttered a harsh cough. Flecks of blood speckled the sheet covering her. She swallowed, her lips spattered in red.

“I’m in the clear. But not for Sercan.”

[You can prove now the Sercan Governance is involved with the Genevolves. There’s more data there. The Inquisitors will see you had no choice. But you’ll have to be careful; they might risk silencing you. If you’re lucky, you might even come out of this a hero.]

“I’m no hero. And that doesn’t bring back the people we killed.”

[No. I know this doesn’t make it better. But isn’t part of being alive about making bad choices and learning from them?]

Angel shoved her hands in her pockets. Charlotte was learning, that much was true. But unless she could get inside her mind, she couldn’t determine exactly
what
she was learning. “Yeah. So… now we hand ourselves over to the nearest Inquisitors?”

[Something like that.]

“We’ll send a distress signal straight to the nearest Inquisitor station.”

A beacon flashed close by. Angel scanned the area around them. A distress beacon, not from their ship, but the Genevolve’s. And she could be sure it wasn’t aimed at the nearest Inquisitors or law enforcement. She searched for a way to turn it off or self-destruct but without luck.

“We have to get out of here. We’ve triggered an emergency protocol of some kind. It’s sent out a distress beacon. I don’t know what the Genevolves are capable of, but since they know what this one was doing, they’ll throw everything they have our way.”

Angel went to the bridge and sent out another distress signal as quickly as she could. Her beacon flashed out and away, executing sharp turns to avoid asteroids.