The Machine Awakes (29 page)

The contents of the Bureau evidence servers were at his fingertips. He had a whole seven minutes remaining.

Recalling the memorized sequence, Kodiak followed his instructions, spoofing a series of evidence database searches until he entered the right terms, and—

There it was. At waist height, the set of small lights above one of the long blue bars changed in sequence, and a green indicator began to flash.

Kodiak's eyes moved across the data screen as he read the inventory listing for the evidence server. Then his eyes widened, and he whistled.

There was a
lot
of money being held in the server, the proceeds of crime confiscated by the Bureau.

Four minutes remaining.

Kodiak thought for a moment about what he could do with the money, and realized the answer was a simple one: anything. That much money would be a temptation for anyone. Even a respected Fleet Bureau of Investigation Special Agent, even one with an immaculate record.

A Special Agent like him.

Three minutes.

Kodiak reached up and squeezed the data key between his finger and thumb, then watched as the credits were transferred to it from the server. Oh, the things you could do with that kind of money.

You could do anything.
Anything.

Like bring down one of the biggest crime syndicates in Fleetspace.

Transaction complete, Kodiak pulled the stick off the cabinet, slipped it snuggly into his breast pocket, and left the server room at a run.

It was time to disappear.

 

PART TWO

JUPITER

 

29

Kodiak looked up at
the crystal ceiling as they walked, the corners of his mouth downturned in quiet appreciation. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cait glance here and there too. It was impossible not to. Kodiak had expected the gas refinery of the Jovian Mining Corporation to be functional, bland, not too far distant from the kind of aesthetically uninteresting designs the Fleet used. He couldn't have been more wrong. The parts of the refinery he had seen so far were positively luxurious, all polished white ceramic and magenta-tinted crystal. It was stark and minimal, but beautiful—rivaling Helprin's Gambit in apparent expense but with an opulence not in the fittings or decoration, of which there were none that he had seen, but in the structure itself. The refinery was clearly designed to impress by a company for which funds were not an issue.

Ahead of them was a representative of the JMC who had met them off the shuttle at the landing pad and, with merely a curt nod, had set off into the complex, apparently expecting the two guests to follow. He was clad in a dark maroon uniform that looked maybe just a little too military, complete with officer's cap, and had still not spoken a word.

“Quite a place you've got here.”

Cait narrowed her eyes as she looked at the back of the JMC officer's head. “I don't think our guide is interested in small talk,” she said.

Kodiak shrugged. “Just trying to be friendly.”

“I don't think our guide is programmed for that either.”

Kodiak raised an eyebrow and nearly missed a step before he returned his attention to their guide.

Programmed?

“Ah, excuse me,” he said. The officer showed no sign of hearing him. He was young, maybe early twenties. Blond hair under the cap. He had his fingers curled over his palms as he walked. He looked human.

Then again, so had Glass.

“See?” asked Cait. She was smiling, like she'd got one up on her new partner.

“Or he's just been told not to talk to us,” said Kodiak. He raised his voice a little. “I know how it goes. Sometimes private enterprises don't like the authorities snooping around, right?”

“No,” said Cait. “It's not that. I can't sense any neural activity. Even people who aren't psi-abled emit a low-level field of—”

Kodiak raised his hand. “Yes, I know, thanks. So our friend here is a servitor?”

“Yes. Like Glass was.”

The pair shared a look and walked on in silence awhile.

The corridors all seemed to be different, the way the walls swept up and down, the polished white surfaces and purplish panels mixing in unique ways. He assumed they were going to meet the refinery manager, but so far the only contact they'd had with anyone at the facility was their silent guide, and he was a robot who didn't feel like talking.

They hadn't even heard anything on their approach, although that was apparently standard procedure, given the conditions in the Jovian system. As soon as their shuttle had popped quickspace a million klicks out from Jupiter, the ship's sensors registered a huge electromagnetic spike as they were licked by the gas giant's magnetosphere. Then the sensors had automatically shut down. Thinking they were in a whole lot of trouble, Kodiak had been relieved when, moments later, the shuttle's navcom had auto-locked onto a series of old-fashioned guidance beacons forming a path from high planetary orbit right down to the refinery, the line of small geostationary satellites plunging right into the upper atmosphere of Jupiter. Clearly sensor overload was a common problem, likewise comms fritzed by the interference. He knew enough about Jupiter to realize that magnetic storms must be a regular occurrence, so leaving the shuttle to fly itself, he sat back and enjoyed the view.

The shuttle slipped into the planet's exosphere, the viewscreen nothing but a haze of yellow and orange, which cleared at a depth of two hundred kilometers until a clear cloud system was visible. Here, it was peaceful, even picturesque, a perpetual sunset of rich orange and reds. And then they saw the JMC refinery.

The refinery was as impressive from the outside as it was from within. It looked like a small space station, a floating structure the size of a city. It formed a squat, upside-down pyramid, the apex pointed down toward the non-existent surface of the planet. The side of the pyramidal structure they approached was in shadow, but its dark surface was a crosshatch of lights and windows. The flat top of the refinery looked more industrial. There were several low-level structures like city buildings studded across it, with a complex of them at the very center, but most of the refinery roof was occupied by landing pads of varying sizes and a complex network of pipes and holding tanks—filled, no doubt, with the precious gases mined from Jupiter's dense atmosphere.

As the shuttle came in to land, guided now by beacons on the refinery itself, and they passed through a force field encompassing the otherwise open landing area, the outside view shimmered and darkened. A few minutes later, Kodiak and Cait were both surprised to see the JMC rep standing on the pad outside the shuttle, patiently waiting for them to disembark. Outside, it was warm, the air still; looking up as they made their way from the shuttle to the nearest of the buildings, they saw the clouds above swirled like colored ink.

As with the interior architecture, the design of the landing pad and the way they had to walk across the apparently open space was intended to impress.

The corridor curved and, as the JMC officer took them down a left junction, the solid wall became a long, continuous observation window. Beside him, Cait gasped as they both looked out at the Jovian stratosphere, Kodiak realizing that the interior color scheme of the refinery complemented the natural hues of the gaseous world outside.

“It's beautiful,” said Cait, slowing to take in the view through the window.

“Seen one gas giant, seen them all.”

Cait looked at him. “Were you born a cynic, or was that something they taught you at the Bureau?”

Kodiak frowned. “Let's just say I'd like this place a lot more if there were actually any people here.”

Cait's forehead creased. “Yeah. It's a big place. They should have hundreds—
thousands
—of staff.”

“Or hundreds of machines like our friendly guide.”

“This place can't be entirely automatic, can it?”

Kodiak frowned again. He skipped forward a step to tap their guide on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy,” he said. At this, the JMC officer finally slowed and turned around. He—
it
—was wearing a bland expression, like it was vaguely bemused at the interruption. Kodiak's frown deepened.

“Okay, so, you're a servitor. And maybe your boss is watching and listening. But we have a few questions we'd like to have answered, like where the hell is everyone?”

The servitor looked between the two of them.

“What's the matter, someone turned your voice off?” asked Cait.

The servitor smiled. “The Jovian Mining Corporation is the largest private contractor in Fleetspace and the second largest employer outside of the Fleet itself,” it said, with the calm tones of a prepared speech.

“They all at lunch, then?” asked Kodiak.

The servitor smiled again. “Follow me, please,” it said, and, turning on its heel, it marched away. Kodiak and Cait looked at each other, then stepped in line behind it.

*   *   *

They had been walking
for a long time, Kodiak and Cait falling into a disgruntled silence as the JMC officer led them through another passageway, the elliptical observation windows in this section eliciting no interest from the frustrated agents. Just ahead, the corridor opened out into a large, high-ceilinged atrium. The servitor went to the far wall and called for an elevator.

Kodiak folded his arms as they waited. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated. They were supposed to be meeting with the refinery controller, their cover that they were two Bureau agents here to carry out a check on JMC security protocols—all part of the private company's contract with the Fleet. In a way, it wasn't even a cover: Kodiak fully planned on asking about the Jupiter transmission and getting the JMC's own team to help track the source. The coordinates—eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno—were somewhere in the Jovian system, the entirety of which was JMC property. Getting the company's assistance was going to be vital to the investigation.

Kodiak looked at the back of the servitor's head. “I assume this is taking us to whoever is in charge of this facility.”

The servitor nodded. “Confirmed, sir.”

Kodiak looked at Cait, but she just shrugged. Kodiak sighed. The elevator doors hadn't opened and they were just standing there, waiting. Kodiak folded his arms, rolled his neck, willing himself to have the patience he needed to deal with a giant corporation like the JMC.

After a couple of minutes, the elevator arrived.

Kodiak dropped his arms. “About time,” he muttered under his breath. He went to take a step forward toward the doors.

That was when the servitor spun around, the infuriatingly vacant smile frozen on its face and a familiar silver and translucent weapon in its hand.

Kodiak took a step backwards, bumping into Cait, his eyes on the staser the servitor had trained on him.

“Hey, look, buddy.”

“Please remain still and follow my directions. Any attempt to deviate from my instructions will be met with terminal force.”

Kodiak glanced at Cait. Wide-eyed, she raised her hands.

The elevator door slid open. Two men emerged, wearing not the smart magenta uniforms of the JMC, but black combat gear and flak jackets, their heads covered with featureless flat masks with inset goggles. They were armed with short plasma rifles, both of which were pointed at Kodiak and Cait.

Kodiak felt something then, like a pressure on his eardrums. He turned to Cait, watched as she lowered her arms, her eyes half-closed.

She was doing it again.

Then one of the men in black swung his gun toward her and fired. There was a blue-white flash, and Cait telescoped down onto the floor.

Kodiak moved to help, but the servitor gestured with its staser for him to stay still. He took a step back as the man who had shot Cait swung his weapon onto his back, then bent down and lifted Cait over his shoulders.

The servitor gestured at Kodiak with its staser again. “After you, sir.”

Kodiak sighed and stepped into the elevator, the servitor and two men, one carrying Cait, right behind him.

 

30

The lower levels of
the JMC refinery were far less salubrious than those above. Gone was the elegant crystalline and ceramic architecture, the exquisite workmanship giving way to something far more functional. The corridors here were all steel and plastic, lined with pipes and conduits, lit by the standard white ceiling tiles.

Kodiak followed the servitor in front, his boots clanking heavily on the grilled flooring. Behind him was the first armed man and, bringing up the rear, the other, still carrying Cait.

They'd disarmed him, but they'd left the comm on Kodiak's collar. And all he had to do was squeeze the comm and call for help from the shuttle, and the servitors would come to the rescue, homing in on his signal.

He couldn't do it now, not without being seen. But maybe he'd get the opportunity later. Maybe. Because while the thought of back-up being so close made Kodiak feel better, he also knew that calling in the cavalry had to be a last resort. There was a lot of refinery between him and the shuttle, and who knew what kind of defenses the JMC would be able to roll out to stop Kodiak's servitors. More important, any attack by the servitors was likely to get them both killed, long before their rescue.

No, the only option was to wait, and watch.

As they marched toward an unknown destination, somewhere in the bowels of the refinery, Kodiak considered the situation. The JMC was involved—that much was clear. They owned the Jovian system, a system conveniently cut off from most communications thanks to the eccentricities of the planet's magnetosphere. Here they were, in the heart of the home system, their entire operation effectively hidden behind a vast sensor shield. On the one hand, Kodiak was amazed that the Fleet had allowed this to happen, but on the other, what was there to worry about? The JMC was a private enterprise, and they supplied the Fleet with vital supplies, allowing the Fleet to get on with the war. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Free market economics, right?