Vigilante (29 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

Tags: #Science Fiction

BOOK: Vigilante
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“Ugh.” He collapsed into a sitting position and he put his hand to the
floor to support himself, only to discover it felt like mucous. When he jerked his hand up, it
wasn’t wet or slimy. He fingered his dry jumpsuit, face, and hands. Hadn’t he just come through
liquid?
He looked up, then around. He was in a seamless and, excepting the
rounded corners, square room. It was approximately three meters in every direction, with no
openings, not even above him. Shuddering, he felt around a perimeter of semitransparent green
flesh covered with slime. Nothing, however, stuck to his hands. He sniffed. Either he’d become
immune to the putrid smells, or the ship itself had a milder, peaty smell than the muck through
which he’d recently floundered.
Most important, he was
alone
.
“Hey, where’s David Ray?” he asked loudly. When there was no response,
he ramped up the volume. “Anybody listening?”
He looked up again, trying to see how he entered this space. Was that
dark blotch big enough to be a person? Then he remembered some of what David Ray blabbered
about titles.
“I am the owner of Aether Exploration.” He tried to speak calmly. “I
need to know where the other—where all rescued-persons are held.”
Silence.
He tried, “I wish to know the location of the Pilgrimage general
counsel, because he is wounded.”
“Welcome, Owner of Aether Exploration.”
The answer came so fast that he started and the hairs rose on his neck
as he tried to find the source of the voice. Where was the node? Cam-eyes, on their own, were
almost impossible to spot, but he could usually see where nodes were installed. Provided, of
course, that the Minoans used mesh-network technology.
“Pilgrimage General Counsel should be here with me. He needs medical
care.” Matt directed his words to the ceiling.
There was a long pause while Matt paced back and forth. Every time he
thought of saying something, however, he bit it back.
“Pilgrimage General Counsel is delayed because of damage. Systemic
cleansing must occur.”
“What?” Matt pictured David Ray drowning in a vat of caustic cleaning
solution. “What are you doing to him?”
As if in answer, one of the walls sighed and a slit appeared. At its
bottom, David Ray came through with a slurping sound, making Matt wince, and slid to a stop on
the floor. He appeared to be sleeping. Matt knelt beside him and suddenly David Ray’s eyes
opened.
“Well, well.” David Ray’s voice was dreamy. “I do feel better.”
“How’s the leg?” Matt stared at what should have been a ragged,
flechette-torn, bloody upper thigh. Instead, David Ray’s suit, more formal than Matt’s
coveralls, was perfectly clean and pristine. Matt looked down at his clothes, for the first
time noting they looked like they’d come from the steamer. They’d been his oldest coveralls
with his business logo, but the frayed collar and cuffs now looked new. The fabric was flame
and rip resistant; he’d previously punctured the knee in a small triangular tear, but that was
repaired also.
“There’s no bandage and it’s tender, but it doesn’t feel infected.”
David Ray poked his thigh. He unsealed the seam on the inner thigh and pulled the fabric
aside.
Silently they looked at the patched wounds, covered with something that
looked like plastiskin, but better. All signs of infection were gone. Matt wondered if the
Minoans could tell them whether the flechettes were poisoned. Before David Ray sealed his
trousers, he fingered the “healed” fabric thoughtfully.
“Why’d they fix our clothes?” Matt asked.
“Perhaps they think our garments are extensions of ourselves,” David Ray
said quietly, frowning. “Our clothes represent our personalities by displaying patterns,
colors, or text. Garments can perform computations and store our data, but in the end, they
aren’t part of our selves. It might be different for them.”
“You think the Minoan attire is part of their bodies?”
David Ray didn’t have a chance to reply. Another sigh sounded, and an
elongated slit appeared in the opposite wall.
With that same slurping sound that made Matt shudder, a “guardian”
entered. This was the name net-think gave the armed escorts that protected Minoan emissaries.
Matt thought it was amazing that the guardian, with its headdress of short, sharp horns set in
a whirled gold and silver cap, slipped easily through the slit without even turning. Clothed in
flowing black, it carried a baton, and stood head and shoulders taller than Matt, which was
tall
. Even though its garments flowed about to obscure its form, it
looked bulkier than Sergeant Joyce—and Joyce had a frighten ingly muscular physique. Matt faced
the guardian, closer than he’d ever been to a real Minoan, and fought the urge to step
back.
David Ray clutched at Matt’s leg to stand up. “These don’t talk,” he
whispered as Matt bent to help him.
Once standing, David Ray tested his leg and nodded approvingly. Then he
faced the tall black figure standing in front of the slit, which was still open. Its black
garments, if that’s what they were, drifted about on a nonexistent breeze.
“Do we follow you?” David Ray asked.
Very slowly, the guardian nodded—once. The movement was agonizingly slow
for Matt, who gritted his teeth and raised himself on his toes. He knew he was both impatient
and impulsive—at least that’s what Ari told him.
Now he vibrated with tension.
If the Minoans are
here, they’re going to chase these assholes back to their solar system!
He was also
worried: The Minoan directed-energy weapons had legendary accuracy, but perhaps this was more
fable than fact. How much collateral damage could result from Minoan justice?
“We’re not armed.” Matt hoped to move the guardian more quickly. He
wanted to meet the decision maker on this ship.
“They know that,” David Ray said quietly.
“Right.”
They have scanners way beyond our own
tech.
The guardian nodded again and turned back to the slit. David Ray
appeared to easily follow through the slit, but Matt gritted his teeth before stepping forward.
He expected resistance, like trying to squeeze through a membrane. He met none, and almost
stumbled with the suddenness of stepping through to the other side. He heard a sigh behind him;
whirling, he saw no evidence of the slit.
The guardian’s measured gait led David Ray beyond a curve and Matt
hurried to catch up. The tunnel through which they traveled reminded him of a huge intestine
and he stepped carefully on the floor because it disturbed him. It looked like shiny wet mucous
and felt viscous to his booted feet. It sounded like liquid and made a faint sucking sound when
he pulled his boot away, but when he stooped to touch it, his fingers came away dry. It just
seemed
wrong
.
The guardian stopped and turned to the wall, although Matt didn’t know
how it could tell where it was going—perhaps those splotches were signposts? It lifted a gloved
appendage and placed it on the wall. It appeared to have a five-fingered human hand, but only
Gaia knew what was under the glove.
A slit appeared with that same sighing sound, an audible breath of
relief. The guardian stepped through. David Ray and Matt followed, stepping into an oval-shaped
room. Matt guessed this was either a control or observation deck, but he didn’t see any
displays or physical controls. An emissary-type Minoan in red robes stood on a raised central
area, with another black guardian behind and to the side.
This
was the type of Minoan featured on
net-think and simulated in v-plays. Its curved, graceful horns were longer and more impressive
than those of a guardian. The tips were capped in worked metal, probably precious, with strings
of jewels cascading from each tip in loose loops down to an ornate medallion and collar. Some
of the jewel strings disappeared under the red robes near the neck, perhaps hooking into the
back of the horned headdress. As with the guardian, the face area was dark and features were
distinguishable as shadows, unless the emissary turned and displayed its generic
profile.
Matt almost gasped; he’d never seen that many jeweled strings on a
Minoan before. He noted that the emissary’s graceful gloved hands were holding two strings
each, with particular jewels carefully held between slim fingers.
We’re
targeted with a weapon.
Matt noted the guardian had stepped carefully away from them; he
glanced at David Ray, who was watching the emissary’s hands.
“Please explain the explosive devices about the buoy, Pilgrimage General
Counsel.” The emissary’s voice was pleasant, but sounded neither male nor female. It lacked
vibrancy, yet analyses of Minoan voices indicated they were probably made by organs similar to
human lungs, diaphragms, and vocal cords.
Since the Minoan had dispensed with pleasantries, Matt was relieved to
let David Ray do the talking. The emissary had focused on him anyway, since he was Pilgrimage
and had the responsibility for setting up the time buoy.
“Nonuniformed persons, whom I shall name
Criminal
Isolationists
, have boarded the
Pilgrimage Three
. Through
violent use of flechette weapons, these Criminal Isolationists have taken over the command and
control centers.” David Ray explained how they ended up in a free module while Matt looked at
the strings of jewels on the emissary. Net-think suggested that the jewel combinations were
controls. Matt couldn’t count the jewels, separated by metal ferrules, pouring from this
emissary’s horns. This Minoan had a plethora of equipment at its command.
David Ray’s synopsis impressed Matt. Of course, one didn’t become
general counsel on a generational ship without having legal-debate experience, and David Ray
was a language maestro. He stayed away from personal and informal names, for the benefit of his
Minoan listener, as well as highlighting every violation of the Phaistos Protocol that he’d
observed. He meticulously emphasized the party at fault, ensuring there’d be no confusing Matt
or himself with the perpetrators.
“We were nearly out of oxygen when we noted that several of the
criminally planted mines were exploding.” David Ray finished in a flat voice, without even the
hint of a question.
Yes, representative of the Great Bull—are you going
to explain your invisible ship, which you’ve never shown to mundanes before?
Matt
narrowly watched the emissary. Having grown up as Journey Generational Line, he didn’t view
these beings as gods, but he wasn’t immune to in timidation; the technological level of the
Minoans was so high that, for some mundanes, it was indiscernible from magic.
There was a long pause. It passed, by far, being pregnant or awkward.
Matt silently prayed for patience.
The dark-gloved hands relaxed. Matt and David Ray relaxed. One hand
reached for another string, unerringly picked a brilliant ruby, and twirled it slowly between
the second and third finger.
“I am called to this system as contractor adviser. This is our current
dilemma.” With its free hand, the emissary gestured toward its right. Even though the red robes
didn’t show the structure of its arm, the movement didn’t feel human. This made Matt
shiver.
A holographic display beside the emissary appeared and showed the
organic outline of the Minoan ship, marred by a sharp square wart on one side.
Nice display, and there’s our module
. Matt was surprised by the number of red
points that clustered about the ship in a regular grid pattern. Both the Minoan ship and
Pilgrimage module had drifted and were now surrounded by mines. David Ray looked at Matt, who
winced. He’d told David Ray that they’d be kilometers away from the mines, but he was guessing
about the mine locations, since he couldn’t see them.
“Knossos-ship is damaged,” Contractor Adviser said.
“What about weapons?” Matt’s heart was sinking.
“As Contractor Adviser, I have some offensive weapons at my disposal,
but they cannot be used because of damage to Knossos-ship.”
Of course
.
Why
isn’t
anything
going right?
Matt clenched his fists.
 
As the hours passed, Floros’s snide comment about absurdity would replay
in Oleander’s head.
Even if we get into the system, we’re absurdly
hobbled,
Floros had said,
We need three-point insertion and
assault.
After making another plea to Colonel Edones, Floros threw her hands up and
apparently accepted the conditions imposed by Pilgrimage Headquarters.
Once the crew of the Terran frigate arrived, Oleander sat with eleven
other junior officers as Captain Floros did what the Directorate of Intelligence did best,
which was provide information on the opposing threat. The briefing was thorough; Floros tried
to identify every ship that might exist inside G-145.
“Since a range of advanced surveillance equipment and telebots is
available at G-145 for the explorers and arche ologists, we should expect to encounter both
standoff and close-support jamming. If so, ship-to-ship comm and weapons targeting may be
affected, but our worst enemy will be real-time data.”

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