The Machine Awakes (28 page)

Her mind raced. Was this real, or some kind of trick or bluff? But before she could ask, before she could say anything at all, Kodiak leaned over and unlocked Cait's manacles, then replaced the key in his pocket. He tapped his fingers on the table.

Cait rubbed her wrists. Her neck was aching. There was a prickle on her skin but it was so, so faint.

Then Kodiak stood. “Please don't make me regret this,” he said, and then he nodded at Braben and left the interview room.

Cait and Braben locked eyes. Seconds passed, Cait's heartbeat thumping out the time. Then Braben sniffed, grabbed his coffee cup, and followed his partner out.

The door closed. Cait was alone. Alone with her thoughts.

What the hell had just happened? They'd offered her a bargain—her cooperation for leniency. Her cooperation … for the return of her brother?

Perhaps she could get to Jupiter after all.

Perhaps they really would try and help her.

Perhaps they wanted to find out what the Fleet was doing as much as she did.

Good work, Ms. Smith. You're doing very well.

Cait jumped, glanced to her left. The room was still empty, reflected in the mirror of the observation window.

And in that mirror, the image of Glass stood right next to the table at which she sat. Her eyes flicked right. There was nobody there.

I'm still here. In your mind. Hitching a lift, so to speak. It's only temporary, but I find myself without a permanent abode at present, if you get my meaning.

Cait held her breath.

Get the fuck out of my mind, she screamed inside. Get. The. Fuck. Out.

I understand—

You understand nothing! Do you hear me? You and the others used me. Tricked me. Made me promises that were lies. Lies!

Your brother is alive. That isn't a lie.

You said the Fleet was keeping secrets. Keeping things hidden.

And they are—

Didn't you see what happened, jackass? They've offered me a bargain. They want to find out what happened to Tyler as much as I do. So tell me, how is the Fleet keeping secrets from itself, huh?

All I can do is ask for you to trust me.

Trust you?

Cait snickered and rolled her eyes. There was no doubt she was still being watched by someone through the two-way, but to any observer it would look like she was just considering what the two agents had offered her.

How the fuck can I trust you, she thought, willing the voice in her mind to be louder than war. After what you did to me—used me for your dirty work, tricked me into helping. Operated on me, against my will. You fucks deserve everything that is coming.

Do you want to find Tyler?

Cait took a breath.

Of course.

Then just know that things are proceeding according to plan.

Who the fuck are you?

That question does not have an easy answer, Ms. Smith. And I know this is very hard for you to understand, but I have your best interests at heart. I know that your trust doesn't come easily, but I'm doing all I can to get you and Tyler back together.

The reflection of Glass smiled.

Cait swore. Her head hurt. Her neck hurt. There was a tightness in her chest, a lump in her throat. She tried to ignore them.

She felt her eyes grow wet. Felt the tears on her cheeks. She tried to ignore those too.

Is Tyler on Jupiter?

Glass nodded.
Nearby.
He glanced at the ceiling in his reflected world, then nodded, perhaps to himself.
They're coming back. Good luck, Ms. Smith.

The interview room door opened. Agent Kodiak walked in, carrying a datapad. “Come with me. I need to take you to see my commander.”

Cait stood and massaged her wrists, and as she left she took one look behind her. In the mirrored two-way, the room was reflected back at her, and all she saw was her own image, looking back at her over one shoulder.

She stepped out into the corridor and followed Agent Kodiak.

 

28

The shuttle, U-Star
Cassilda,
was Fleet standard: small, utilitarian, fast. It could pop the quickspace highway that ran the length of the solar system and drop them in Jovian orbit in just a few hours.

Kodiak sat in the pilot's position, re-familiarizing himself with the systems with the aid of the ship's datapad. He was fully certified for flight, but it occurred to him that it had been quite some time since he'd actually been at the controls. Normally he would have let Braben take the pilot's seat, but Braben hadn't even stuck around to say goodbye and good luck.

Cait sat next to him, adjusting the straps of her harness over her flak jacket. As part of their prep for the Jupiter mission, Kodiak had taken her down to the uniform store and got her kitted out in the same field gear as he was wearing—she might have been a prisoner, but as far as the personnel at the JMC refinery were aware, she was a Bureau agent just like him. In a sense, that was true, given she'd been officially deputized by Commander Avalon. But the arrangement was purely temporary.

At least, he thought, he had some back-up. Behind the cockpit in the shuttle's small cargo hold were two dozen Bureau servitors, armed and ready, just waiting for Kodiak's commands. He didn't think Cait was going to do anything to jeopardize the mission—she wanted to know what was going on at the coordinates as much as he did—but her unique psi-ability played at the back of his own mind. She was powerful and dangerous. She also wanted to help, not just Kodiak and the investigation, but herself, and her brother.

But still. Twenty-four killer robots sitting in the hold gave Kodiak a little peace of mind.

Cait tightened a strap and then paused as Kodiak flicked a switch, frowned at the datapad, and flicked it back. “You sure you know how to fly this thing?” she asked.

Kodiak laughed. “Agent, my mother could fly this thing,” he said, and then his laugh choked off as he stared at the datapad again. “They've just updated a few things since the last time I sat in one of these.” He cleared his throat.

“Agent,” said Cait, more to herself than to him. She looked down at her chest, emblazoned with the words
FLEET BUREAU
in large white letters. “Today has been a strange day.”

Kodiak looked up to check the controls on the bulkhead above him. “Well, in theory, you're doing better than I am. I'm officially dead.” He punched a control and was rewarded with a green light.

“You're … what?”

Kodiak glanced sideways at his new partner. “Long story,” he said, and then the shuttle's comm chimed. Kodiak leaned forward and hit the channel. “Kodiak.”

“Avalon,” said the chief. “You're all cleared. JMC flight control will contact you when you clear quickspace. And remember, we're waiting to hear from you. Just say the word and we'll get you out.”

“Roger that,” said Kodiak. He looked at Cait. “Ready?”

Cait shrugged. “As I'll ever be.”

“Jupiter, here we come.”

Kodiak flicked the flight systems to manual and gently pulled back on the yoke, lifting the shuttle from the starport hangar. Ahead of them, the hangar doors opened, and bright daylight streamed in.

As he punched the engine and guided the shuttle out of the hangar and into the sky over New Orem, Kodiak really hoped he knew what he was doing.

*   *   *

In high Earth orbit,
in the shadow of one of the gravitational satellites that stabilized Earth's atmosphere and tides after the destruction of the moon, a pilot watched the screen of his own craft as the U-Star
Cassilda
shot through the flotilla of Fleet ships that crowded the planet. There was the vast destroyer
Ultramassive
and its companion frigates
Monolithic
and
Thor's Hammer,
behind which floated a dozen other of the Fleet's most powerful, most destructive vessels, as well as a plethora of smaller craft: patrol boats, cruisers, transports, individual shuttles and fighters, and a swarm of one-man hot seats that buzzed between them all. Within moments, the
Cassilda
was out of sight, following a trajectory that would take it to the quickspace jump point a light-second out from Earth, where it would be clear to punch through into that interstitial dimension and re-emerge at Jupiter.

The other shuttle rotated under the gravitational satellite, adjusting its position before moving forward, matching the engine pulse of the
Cassilda
and quickly falling into that shuttle's quantum wake. It was an old trick, but one that worked well, hiding the other shuttle's signature from the one it followed. Follow the wake close enough and when the first ship popped quickspace, the pursuing one could even get a tow, not needing to fire up its own Q-Gen coil—something that would show up on the sensors of any ship within a light-minute's radius.

In the darkened cockpit, the pilot squeezed the yoke with one hand as his other tapped in a command sequence on the shuttle's primary console. The computer confirmed the entry with a chime, and the pilot released the manual control, allowing the yoke to reseat itself in its alcove.

Both hands now free, the pilot used the opportunity to loosen his black tie and release the top button of his black shirt, before sweeping one hand down his front, flattening out any creases that might have gathered since he'd been sitting in the shuttle, waiting for the
Cassilda
to cruise past.

The shuttle rocked slightly as the automatics got a lock on the
Cassilda
's quantum wake. The pilot waited until the movement had abated, then turned on his chair to check the cargo.

Behind the two primary flight positions was an open space where the shuttle's passenger seats would normally be, the cockpit able to hold eight persons in addition to the pilot and co-pilot under normal configuration.

But in this shuttle, sitting behind the two remaining seats was an oblong container with a curved top. The object was black and shiny, and there was a control panel in the middle, the lights of which silently blinked in the dark cockpit. Above the control panel, at the far end of the object, was a dark window.

The pilot stood, straightened his jacket, and, apparently noticing he was still wearing it, unclipped the chrome Bureau badge from his lapel and tossed it onto the console behind him. He walked to the head of the object, cast an eye at the control panel, and reached down and touched a button.

The window was lit from within the object by a blue light. The pilot leaned over and peered inside. He smiled.

“Hang in there, sleeping beauty,” said Special Agent Braben, looking down at the sleeping form of Psi-Marine Tyler Smith inside the stasis pod. “Your next job is coming right up.”

 

INTO THE DARKEST NIGHT

A single turn to
the right and the door opened like he had been told it would. He wondered for a moment how that was going to be explained, what kind of cover they would concoct to account for how he'd gained access to the room and to the server within it. It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it would be good, he knew that much. It would have to be. This was the start of something big, something deep. Very,
very
deep.

The server room was a long gallery filled with monolithic computer cabinets, just like any other, except for the fact that it was the most secure room in the most secure part of the Bureau. It was entirely automated, and therefore entirely empty.

Von Kodiak stepped across the threshold, the door closing silently behind him. Although devoid of staff, the room was monitored closely. Cameras covered every part of it, and after an entry that required very particular authorization, the movements of anybody in the facility were closely watched.

Kodiak glanced up into the corner, where the first camera was pointed straight at the door—at
him.
He sucked in his cheeks and, unable to resist, gave it a wave, knowing that, for the next ten minutes, there was nobody watching, and there was no recording being made.

If his ability to enter the secure room was strange, the glitch in the security system that meant his presence went unrecorded was going to be a
real
mystery for the Bureau.

Again, it didn't matter. There would be an explanation. Heads would roll. He wouldn't get caught.

That was the plan.

Kodiak skipped across the gallery of server cabinets, counting them off until he reached the sixth row. For some reason, he felt the need to creep around, to not make any sound. Just in case. He told himself he was just getting into character; then he told himself not to be ridiculous and to stop wasting time. So at the sixth row he ran toward the other end, the fingers of one hand already pulling the data key out of his pocket.

The cabinets were white, featureless, entirely silent, entirely smooth—there was no sign of doors or access panels, handles, anything, not even any seams or sections. Up close, they looked like they were carved out of white stone, the surface smooth and cold as Kodiak placed one palm against it. He would leave fingerprints. That was also part of the plan. No doubt some poor agent would spend hours poring over the data, wondering why the rogue agent hadn't worn gloves.

Again, not his problem.

Kodiak held the data key up in his other hand. It was small and silver, the same size and shape as a stick of gum. There was a red light on the end.

He touched it against the surface of cabinet twenty, and the red light turned green. Then he let go, the data key sticking to the cabinet, allowing him—the
operator
—to get to work.

A moment later, the flat white surface of the cabinet faded away, replaced by a virtual control panel. There was a keyboard and a data screen in the middle, at just the right height for someone to work at, but the rest of the cabinets, from floor to ceiling, were rows of glowing blue rectangles, each separated by a row of small indicators in a variety of colors.