Severance (19 page)

Sergei lived close to the headquarters and was able to get
to the office quickly. Shortly after he arrived, another message told him to
report to a room on the sixth level where he was to wait for further
instructions. Now very confused, Sergei made his way to the elevator bank
within the headquarters and took it to the sixth floor. He rarely had cause to
go above street level, and it took him awhile to find the right room. The whole
level was far busier than he would have imagined, with a lot of similarly
confused people wandering around. Once he found the room, he entered to find a
dozen sets of bunk beds laid out in dormitory fashion in long rows. Sitting
down on a bunk at random, he waited and watched as for the next forty minutes
security men streamed in, all carrying bags full of whatever they considered
valuable. Sergei noticed with some interest that both current and off–rotation
security officers were amongst those arriving. Retired and off–duty officers
could always potentially be called into service again, but he had never known
them to be included in a drill before.

Around this point, the ship began the violent lurching which
marked the death of any notions that they were still involved in a drill.

The next few hours were filled with increasingly confused
speculation in the dormitory, not tempered in the slightest by the terse
messages from command telling them to hold their position. Eventually, Chief
Thorias himself arrived and ordered them back down to street level to muster in
the security headquarters. There Sergei got his first glimpse of the sealed bulkhead
doors.

After another few minutes had passed, by which point it
appeared that the entire security contingent was gathered in the streets
surrounding the headquarters, Thorias announced that terrorists had just
attempted to destroy the ship. All security officers were now on permanent
around–the–clock duty, their numbers supplemented by recalled off–duty
officers. All would be assigned to barricades securing the aft of the vessel or
to roving patrols to calm the public and hunt for the terrorists. Pistols and
commlinks — earpieces with integrated microphone, linked to the terminals —
were also distributed.

On Africa–1, the construction of the barricade had proceeded
remarkably smoothly. When the bulkhead doors had opened, only a handful of
curious civilians were on the other side. They were instructed to return to
their homes, and none put up any fuss. Over his commlink, he could hear that
things were not progressing as easily for the other units. There was a near
riot occurring on Europe. Shots fired.

Within a few minutes, Koller and some others had arrived
with temporary barricades of the flimsy plastic variety used for managing
parades. After directing where to set these up, Koller left, explaining that
more instructions would be forthcoming. Sergei snorted at that — a clear
euphemism for “we don’t really know what to do yet, so don’t do anything.”
Rumors quickly began circulating, based on overheard conversations, stray
commlink chatter, and, no doubt by now, amphetamines. The Mayor had been killed.
No, just injured. Thrown overboard. But he was definitely not in power anymore.
Unless he was faking all this to gain more power.

Sergei watched the small cluster of people that had gathered
a few blocks down Africa. They milled about without any clear purpose, but the
focus of their attention was clearly the security officers gathered behind
their flimsy plastic barricade. Thankfully, none of them approached. Maybe news
had spread that there had been shootings at Europe. The terminal chatter had
settled down a bit by this point, and it was clear that only a single civilian
had been stunned in the earlier fracas and not hurt badly. Still, Sergei kept a
nervous eye on the crowd. Even when keeping a distance, their presence was
worrisome. The crowd slowly increased in size.

A high–pitched noise pierced the air. Sergei looked around,
confused. A rumbling noise followed soon after, then silence. The sound of
voices murmuring in the background. Sergei reeled. He had no idea the ship even
had a public address system. Every terminal on the ship, and presumably every
desk and wall display, began playing the same message.

“Good morning. This is Captain James Edward Helot. This
morning, criminals attempted to destroy critical parts of the ship’s propulsion
system. This violent and senseless attack was the cause of the tremors felt
throughout the ship. Thankfully, these villains were unsuccessful in their goal
— the damage, though serious, could have been far worse.

“However, until these criminals are brought to justice, for
the protection of the public, enhanced security measures will be put in place
throughout the ship. No doubt some of you have already observed these measures.
I’ll explain them here clearly now and explain why there is no cause for panic.

“A security perimeter has been established along 9
^th
Avenue. No traffic will be allowed south of this perimeter except when
authorized by the ship’s security forces. Applications to cross this security
perimeter can be obtained from the security officers operating on Level 4 at
Europe and 9
^th
. They will begin accepting said applications at noon
today. Priority will be given to those separated from family members and those
separated from their homes. Please be patient with this process.

“The lawful government of this ship is still in power.
Government officials will experience some difficulty crossing the perimeter,
and we apologize for their displacement. However, I want to make perfectly
clear that these security measures are temporary. When the culprits behind this
attack are brought to justice, and the critical areas of the ship are repaired
and secured, the security perimeter will cease to exist. In the meantime, I
would ask everyone to please cooperate with all security officers you interact
with.

“Security forces are currently seeking two specific people
we believe to be responsible for this attack. Arrest warrants are currently
issued for Bruce Redenbach and Laura Stein, members of the ship’s maintenance
department. If you’ve had any contact with these individuals, please report it
to security at once. Additionally, please report any other unusual activity
that you think may be a threat to the ship’s security.

“With your help and support, I am confident that we will be
able to get through this, and I sincerely thank you for your patience.”

A soft click announced the end of the message. A few seconds
later, every data terminal on the ship beeped to indicate that the full text of
the captain’s statement had arrived in their inbox, along with still images of
Laura and her friend Bruce and a recording of Bruce sprinting through the
Bridge, gun in hand.

Sergei fought to control his reactions. He’d had contact
with the two most wanted criminals on board the Argos. In one case, quite a bit
of contact. He couldn’t imagine Laura getting involved in this. Well, he could
imagine it, but it took some flexibility. As for her friend Bruce — that seemed…really,
extremely plausible.

But what did this mean to him? He had never advertised it,
but his relationship — was that the word? — with Laura was no secret. And
Koller certainly knew about it. If they were looking for Laura, they would be
looking for him, as well.

Unsure of what to do, Sergei did nothing, fighting with the
saliva in his mouth. Even aside from the part about Laura, there were other
parts of this that weren’t making sense. Like the fact that the security
officers had been recalled before the attack occurred. And that dorm room they
were in beforehand — what did that have to do with a terrorist attack? It was
like Thorias had known this was coming. Despite Helot’s assurance that the
civilian government was still in power, Sergei saw precious little evidence to
suggest that that was the case. If it was, why hadn’t the mayor delivered the
message himself? That guy loved an excuse to talk.

§

In the control room, Helot looked at the gathered crowds on
the monitor screens.

“You think that worked?” Curts asked from behind him.

Helot didn’t spare a look for the tiresome man. “I don’t
know, Curts. Maybe we should look at these glowing rectangles and find out?” To
his credit, Curts chose to ignore the insult, a skill most cowards had. The
mousey engineer stayed mute, avoiding eye contact and watching the screens with
his head bowed. The crowds in the garden well and on the streets around the
bulkhead doors weren’t dissipating. But they weren’t growing, either. Close–ups
showed confused people, milling about without any real purpose. If they were
angry, they weren’t outwardly angry.

“Looks like you bought us some time,” Curts finally said.

Helot knew that was never in doubt. The question was,
How
much time?
Someone amongst the cattle would be able to figure out that the
bulkhead doors had closed
before
the ‘terrorist attack.’ And about the
two thousand naval and security personnel who had all migrated south at the
same time. Finally, there was the mayor, the oily wonder. Thorias had men
searching for him, but in the confusion, Kinsella had managed to disappear.
Helot wasn’t optimistic they would find him. The mayor had probably scuttled
somewhere well out of sight.

“Shouldn’t you be working on something?” he snapped at
Curts. That was unfair — the engineer could do much of his coordination from
this room — but Curts scurried away regardless. Helot watched the little
bastard’s retreat with disdain. It had been ten years since Curts had
approached him with the schematics to the ship and its disconnects, revealing
in a casual way that he knew what it was capable of. Shrewdly, he had come with
no threat of blackmail. Only an offer to help, to assist with the preparations
that Helot wouldn’t even confirm were taking place. The help was needed; it
would have been difficult for the naval personnel to complete their work
unnoticed without Curts running interference. But it was the cowardice the man
displayed that grated at Helot. He wasn’t doing it because he believed in what
Helot was doing. He hadn’t even asked why. He was just doing it to save
himself. Willing to betray and abandon his friends and coworkers and shipmates.
That wasn’t the kind of person Helot needed on Tau Prius. That wasn’t the kind
of person Helot wanted anywhere near him.

Curts’ two team members, the man and woman who had come so
close to stumbling upon the plan, were different. Helot was glad they were
around. They had fallen perfectly into his lap — the footage of the fat one
shooting his way out of the Bridge was almost too good to believe. He knew now
that he should have been planning something similar all along, had contingency
plans with fake scapegoats ready to go, so that he wouldn’t be scrambling now.
Even with the painstaking years of preparation, it was amateurish to think that
everything would have worked perfectly on the first try.

And now they had to try again. He felt his frustration start
to mount and ducked into his cabin, closing the door behind him, preparing for
a frustrated bellow.

The bellow never came, but swallowing it didn’t feel much
better. Dragging the process out like this was going to be awful. He would have
to keep thinking about
it
, thinking about his choice. A multitude of
opportunities to change his mind would present themselves, and each one would
require a new gut check. He sat down heavily behind his desk and pulled up the
math, the interlinked series of files and tables he had dwelled in for the past
twenty years.

He knew that separation was the right decision. He had run
the calculations a thousand times, tweaked every variable, agonized over every probability
and weighted value. More people would survive this way; he knew it. They had
left the decision to him, those old, dead bastards, not wanting to play the
villain in the story they had written. Well, he had made the decision. And
taken it seriously. Years spent alone in his office with his awful spreadsheet.

He had stopped crying about it at least, after spending the
first year of his captaincy hiding red, swollen eyes. And he would have to keep
holding it together, especially in front of his crew.
And doubly especially
in front of Thorias.
Helot didn’t want to show any blemishes in front of
the man, even if he knew the chief would ultimately follow orders. That was one
perk the old, dead bastards had left behind: a loyal staff.

He closed his calculations and brought up the navigational
display, scrolling it over to center on Tau Prius. 11.8 light–years from Earth,
one of almost two dozen habitable candidates within twenty light years of home.
Not the closest, nor the most attractive, but somehow the consensus favorite of
the various members of the Argos Development Consortium. None of them would
admit to it being their first choice, but because it wasn’t anyone’s adversary’s
first choice either, well, there you go. The system, working.

Helot zoomed in on Tau Prius III, his booby prize, a cold
and soggy orb on its best day, less pleasant in the winter. If anything, he was
doing these people a favor by not landing them on that dump. They’d hate it
there.

This was a good lie, and he told it to himself often.

They were watching him. When Harold returned home from work
the day after he had visited Kevin’s apartment, a misplaced hair told him the
book had been moved. They had seen him take it, wanted to know what was so
special about it, broken into his place, and stepped over his dirty laundry to
find out. He was surprised to find that he was comforted by this. Paranoia was
a lot easier to live with when it was justified.

Knowing he was being watched made everything that followed
proceed much slower. Harold spent the next few weeks going through the most mundane
routine possible, trying to bore even himself. Work, home, sleep. Work, home,
sleep. Work, sleep, home, sleep. By the time he found himself in the skating
rink, almost a month after Kevin’s death, he hoped that anyone watching him had
long since died of understimulation.