2.49 Clock's Ticking

49 – Clock’s Ticking

“Windows,” Balus said, and two of his suite’s walls became transparent, displaying a view of the dark, starlit Martian landscape. They weren’t really transparent, but the walls were finished with a smart material that could mimic crystal-glass in its perfect clarity. It irked him that the room was silent, that he only had command of a few simple functions; the ship’s AI was still putting up a fight.

He walked over to the captain’s desk—an elegant, live-edge piece of hardwood from Earth held aloft by a hidden, transparent support so it appeared to be floating. The wood matched the other furnishings in the suite—a couch, a table and chairs, a pair of bookcases, and several illuminated curio cabinets. Of course, none of Gladia’s belongings were on those shelves; they were bare, awaiting Balus’s replacements.

He smiled at the thought. Some shopping at Sojourn Station after all this business was complete would be nice, though there were some choice pieces he wanted to collect from his estate on Luna, too. At the thought of the domed city on Earth’s moon, he clenched one fist and glanced at the black lacquer case on the desk.

Balus both dreaded and yearned for his audience with the Senate. He’d have quite the report—once his people finished subduing the ship’s AI—and he’d doubtless earn some accolades, but it was always nerve-wracking to stand in that chamber.

May all the devils restrain the Lautrecs from attending. May the damned Emperor be otherwise occupied!

He’d been in the Emperor’s presence only one time, and that had been enough. The weight of the man’s aura had been oppressive in the extreme. It had been all Balus could do to keep his bodily functions in check. In truth, he could remember little else from that meeting—only the sound of Damian Lautrec’s voice. It existed in his memory like a constant background hum, a droning undulation that made him feel queasy when he tried to recall the words he’d spoken.

He gave in to his impulse and opened the box, revealing the silver-inlaid autoinjector and six cartridges, snug in their black velvet-lined sleeves. The injector was loaded, so he pressed it to his wrist, mottled with the tiny marks of his last injection, and squeezed the trigger.

His eyes glossed over and he sighed with relief as the microneedles delivered a dose of Melancholy—a drug designed by his personal chemist to reduce his anxiety and his “irrational” fits of rage. A soft whine of pleasure escaped him as a warm wave of bliss tingled through his skull. That feeling only lasted a few seconds, rapidly chased away by the delicately balanced, introspective sadness for which the drug was named.

He walked over to one of the faux windows and looked out over the twilit desert. There were trees out there—clumps of grass and wiry shrubs, too. He wondered about the wildlife. Were there coyotes on Mars? He could ask his AI, of course, but something about his mood—about the way the drug made him feel—made not knowing more enjoyable.

He might have stood there for an hour or three; he wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t be bothered to check. When his AUI chimed, though, he looked up to see a notification that someone named Stinson was at his door. It took him several long seconds to recall that Stinson was one of his House Guard lieutenants—the one he had running the crew at the rift. The realization jarred him out of his introspection, and he blinked rapidly, trying to banish the effects of the Melancholy.

Clearing his throat, he tucked a loose shirttail into his trousers and smoothed a hand over his buttons, ensuring all were in order. Satisfied, he strode out of the office portion of his suite, past the long meeting table and to the door. When he touched the panel and it slid open, he was relieved to recognize the man’s face more readily than he’d recalled his name. “Stinson.”

“Milord Ventress,” Stinson said, offering a sharp salute. The man’s House Ventress uniform was impeccable; he’d taken the time to freshen up before coming.

Balus nodded. “You have a report?”

“As promised, sir, I’ve completed my initial evaluation of the rift survivors.”

“Do they still deny that the traitor lives?”

“Well, sir, they deny knowledge of his fate. It seems they’ve been through hell and—”

“I’m not interested in your interpretation just yet, Stinson. I’ll have the facts.” Balus stepped back and gestured to his table. “Sit.”

“Right, of course.” Stinson reached up to his collar and ran two fingers between the fabric and his skin.

Not used to the dress uniform. I must have promoted him for field performance. Balus was tempted to ask his AI for the record, but he’d struggled with a bit of early-onset dementia in his last corpus vivum, and he was determined to exercise his gray matter more thoroughly this time around. No, he’d mull it over and try to recall what Stinson had done to earn his rank. He watched as the man walked stiffly to the table and pulled out a chair.

“Thirsty, Stinson?”

“Um, no, sir. I’ve still got a long night ahead of me—back to the rift for more debriefing.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, sir. House Lictor Lux is scheduled to send through an update in just an hour or so.”

Balus nodded, pacing toward the bar, debating with himself if he’d have a drink. It wasn’t that he cared what Stinson thought—whether he joined him or not—it was more a matter of self-control; he was wont to descend into spirals of self-destruction if he indulged too much. How long ago was that Melancholy dose? An hour? Two?

“We’re anticipating a report on the emergency beacon, sir. House Lictor Lux should have reached it by now, so—”

“Excellent.” Balus spoke over him, his patience rapidly fading as he silently debated a visit to the liquor cabinet. “Hopefully, he’ll have some definitive news. Now, before you give me the survivors’ stories, update me on their disposition.”

“They’re still at the base, sir. My men are prepping them for transport in the morning. I believe your technician is expecting them for a, um, memory retrieval at 0700.”

Balus nodded, the words sparking his own memory—a recent interrogation of a minor crime boss named Grando Scrim. Did I ever get the report on his download? Now that was an interesting twist! Against his personal rule, he queried his AI, Tolstoy, whose smooth, calming voice echoed through his audio implants:

//Yes, the report is in your inbox, Lord Balus. You glanced at it earlier, but were busy with the local Imperial Guard tribune and put it aside.//

Ah, that’s right!

Suddenly eager to be alone again, he turned back to Stinson. “Well? Do me the favor of saving me a bit of precious time, Stinson. Is there anything alarming in the testimony? Is there anything you think needs immediate attention, or will it all wait until we perform the memory downloads in the morning?”

Stinson frowned, perhaps thrown off by Balus’s sudden change of tone. “Well, no, sir. Nothing immediately alarming. I honestly think House Lictor L—”

“Just Lux will suffice.”

“Right. Apologies, sir. I think Lux’s report will shed more light on the situation than—”

“Excellent. Off you go, then—back to your post. I’ll leave it to you to compare the survivors’ testimony to their memory downloads. If there is a lack of consistency, then you may schedule another meeting with me.”

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Stinson nodded, hastily standing. He strode to the door, about-faced, and saluted. “Until our next meeting, milord!”

Balus watched him exit, then he focused on his AUI, looking for the AI-curated report on Grando Scrim’s memory download.

###

//*Command codes accepted. Hello, sir. I am Maidensong, though please refer to me as Mae if it pleases you. Has something befallen Gladia Ventress?*//

No, I’m working with her to remove the invaders. Hector thought his reply, trusting Evie to transmit the message to the ship’s AI. Local wireless communications within the ship still worked perfectly; the powerful jamming field cut off anything beyond the hull.

//*Ah, excellent! In that case, how may I be of assistance? I’m afraid I’ve been locked out of many critical systems, but not all. For instance, I’ve managed to deny access to the engineering section of the vessel, and I’ve taken navigation and propulsion offline.*//

Any camera access?

//*Some! I will transfer access to your personal AI.*//

What about the netjacker? Do you have a location? I imagine you’d like that thorn removed.

//*Excellent suggestion! I don’t have access to the camera within, but I know he’s accessing the network via port 56-A, which is in Vehicle Bay 3.*//

What about alarms? Can you keep word from getting out if I get noticed?

//*I’m afraid not. I’m also not in control of the jamming field; they’ve infiltrated 74% of the communications control system. If you halt the efforts of the netjacker, I believe I can begin regaining some ground*.//

Hector glanced at the corpse behind the desk—the tech who’d been using the access point. Squatting, he put his hand on the man’s chest and triggered his system to draw the potentia in.

//5 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 1,185.//

It’s going to be a bloody night.

Evie didn’t transmit the thought, so Mae remained silent. Hector checked that his aura pool was full, then he moved to the door, glancing at his AUI; Evie was displaying the hallway camera feed in the corner of his vision. The hallway was empty, so he saved his aura and slipped through the door.

He entered the command code that would lock the door to anyone but him, and, following the map Evie was creating for him—more detailed now, thanks to Mae’s input—he silently padded toward the main corridor, which would lead him to the garage bays. He shook his head at the sign at the corner—PORT-SIDE ACCESS. What determines port and starboard on an egg-shaped vessel? He supposed it was just a design decision to make internal navigation easier.

His video feed changed to reflect the upcoming passage, and he saw two techs walking in his direction. With a thought, aura flowed through him, briefly flared around him in a crimson glow, and then he faded into shadow and faintly blurred light. He sped his steps, rounded the corner and jogged ahead of the techs toward the row of doors labeled VEHICLE BAYS 1-4. He stopped before the third door and then glanced left and right before touching the panel and slipping through.

“Someone’s coming,” a masculine voice said right away.

“Maybe it’s Levitz,” another man replied.

“Nah, too early.”

A pallet of blue plastic barrels blocked Hector’s view of the speakers, but he heard steps approaching from the left, so he drifted to the right, edging around the pallet to get a better view of what he was up against. Most of the space was occupied by a high-end transport vehicle, but tool bins and storage racks lined the sides. In front of the vehicle, just behind the pallet of blue containers, was the object of his hunt: the netjacker’s immersion rig.

It looked like a high-tech coffin on a wheeled cart, with a thick black cable plugged into an access panel on the floor. A security officer sat in a folding chair beside it, and Hector could hear his partner activating the door panel, no doubt wondering why nobody was there when he’d heard it open.

“Nobody’s here.”

“Probably someone opened the wrong door,” the guard by the rig said, stifling a yawn. “This duty blows.”

Hector silently stalked around the far side of the immersion rig, passing just centimeters from the vehicle. To his dismay, lights along the vehicle’s underside flicked on, illuminating the surrounding decking—an automated response to a potential passenger approaching. The first guard, just returning from his inspection of the door, gave the vehicle a double take, and the other guard stood up from his chair.

Hector didn’t hesitate. His Shadow Stalk faded as hot red aura bloomed over his shoulders, flaring as it surged into his hand, taking the form of his crimson, glass-like blade. Meanwhile, he poured five aura into a Speed Boost and launched himself at the two security officers. The guard who’d been seated was closest and was still opening his mouth to speak when Hector’s blade found his throat, neatly decapitating him.

As blood fountained and the body fell, the other guard stumbled back. He managed one step before Hector was on him. He clutched the man’s tactical vest as he drove the length of his blade through his skull. The guards were both dead within the span of two seconds, and for a moment, Hector thought he’d been quick enough, but then the bright lights in the garage flickered and began to pulse, alternating red and white as a distant klaxon sounded.

Somehow, likely thanks to an alert personal AI, one of the guards had set off an alarm. Scowling, Hector turned to the immersion rig and the netjacker ensconced within. Lifting his steaming Aura Blade, he stalked toward it. He didn’t bother opening the lid; he just drove his blade into the center. A gasping scream escaped the rig, but it cut off as Hector, in a shower of sparks and steam, dragged his blade half a meter through the machine’s innards.

For good measure, he pulled out the blade and sliced through the thick data cable. “How long?”

Evie knew what he meant and responded immediately: //It will take time for a messenger to cross over to the rift world. After Lux receives the message, he’ll have to return to the rift and pass through, and then he’ll have to fly here. Worst-case scenario, I’d say ten minutes, but maybe as much as an hour if he and his team are far from the rift on the other side.//

Hector had already done similar math for himself, but he wanted to hear Evie confirm it. He was angry, of course, that he’d been discovered so quickly, but he knew better than to stand around berating himself for it; he had a job to do.

Mae, the netjacker’s down. Can you direct me to wherever Balus is?

//*Make your way to the central elevator. I’ll have control by the time you get there. Only two officers are on the bridge, so I’d imagine that Balus would be in the captain’s quarters. I’ll confirm as soon as I have control of my internal sensors.*//

As a new route appeared on his mini-map, Hector hurried to the door and slipped through, glancing left and right. Like a bit-locker dropped in a crowded room, he could feel the potentia he was leaving behind. It didn’t matter, though—every second was critical. Besides, if he finished the job, there’d be time to collect potentia later. If he failed, then it wouldn’t matter.

He could hear some kind of commotion back toward the main loading bay, but his path led in the opposite direction, so he saved his aura and remained visible as he silently stalked into the depths of the ship.

He was approaching a corner when his comms lit up, and Flint’s voice came through, “Looks like you were made; they dropped the jammer.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Flint’s voice was resigned. “C’mon, it was a long shot that you’d make it all the way to Balus without any kind of alarm. Just finish the job. If Lux comes, I’ll hold him.”

“Count on it,” Hector replied, and then he clicked off comms. His mini-map said that after the next corner, the main elevator would be directly ahead. Security will be there.

//Most likely.//

Sprinting, he rounded the corner, his momentum sending his shoulder into the far wall. Sure enough, straight ahead twenty meters, he saw four security personnel gathered. Like the two he’d already killed, they wore House Ventress uniforms under their tactical gear, but Evie confirmed they weren’t Gladia’s people before Hector had taken three strides toward them.

They were spreading out around the elevator, glancing between their AUI displays and the branching corridors, apparently unable to determine where the alarm had originated. One of them looked Hector’s way, but by then it was too late. He disappeared in a burst of red steam, and then his Aura Blade appeared, gliding through the air as Hector, on the other side of the veil, closed the distance.

One of the security personnel was on the ball and started shooting, but his bullets were useless; purely physical projectiles couldn’t touch a Ghost Reaver. Meanwhile, the crimson blade, steaming and hissing, took them apart—the shooter’s hands and half his gun fell to the deck, and, as he started to scream, Hector stabbed another officer in the heart. He ripped his blade out and cut another’s throat. By then his ability faded and he returned to the physical world, but it didn’t matter; there was only one guard still in the fight and she was running.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Hector crossed the rapidly expanding pool of blood to step inside. “Let’s go, Mae. Get me to Balus.”

The elevator doors closed, silencing the dismembered guard’s screams, and the ship’s AI spoke to him through the speaker overhead, “I’m rapidly gaining ground with the netjacker offline. I’ve confirmed Balus’s presence in his suite, and though you’ve bypassed much of his security detail, I am detecting another presence outside the captain’s quarters: an officer by the name of Stinson.”

Hector glanced at his aura pool: 14/56.

“Is he any good?”

“Gladia’s intelligence dossier on the man suggests that he’s a competent aura user with Legion experience. He earned commendations from House Ventress for defending Balus during a riot in Brasilia three years ago.”

The elevator came to a stop, and Hector clenched his fist until his knuckles popped. The doors opened, and he stepped out, just as the irritating klaxon faded.

//*I’ve silenced the alarm.*//

Hector looked down the suddenly silent, dimly lit corridor. Nothing moved, but according to his mini-map, the captain’s quarters were just ahead and to the left at the next junction. He thought of Flint outside the ship, waiting for Lux, knowing he would probably die that night.

Nodding, he inhaled, squared his shoulders, and started walking. “Clock’s ticking.”