Unstable Prototypes (32 page)

Garotte lost his grip, but before his arm was
completely clear of the manipulator arm's gripper, it snapped shut
around his wrist. The intention had been to gently clutch at his
arm, but "gentle" has an entirely different meaning to a cargo
loading arm. Thus, while it didn't quite pulverize the bone, it
came awfully close. Garotte's forearm made an unpleasant creaking
sound, and his scream of panic turned to a scream of pain. Now with
no more fear of him falling, Ma retracted the arm more quickly
before awkwardly banking the ship and angling it skyward. When the
door sealed, the gripper released and Garotte tumbled to the floor.
A moment later the inertial dampeners took the edge off of the
acceleration and Silo managed to help him to a seat while he
cradled his arm.

"Are you okay? How's your arm?" Silo asked
with concern.

"I suppose it could be worse," Garotte
replied. He attempted to wiggle his fingers, and to his great
relief discovered that he was able to do so.

"Please secure yourselves, the experimental
ship is set to detonate in twenty-three seconds," Ma began. Before
she finished, a distant flash of light lit up the interior of the
ship, followed by a thumping explosion that pitched the Armistice
nearly sideways, spilling Ma off of the dash. The ship's autopilot
corrected, allowing her to gather her pad, scramble back to the
dash, and swipe out, "I apologize. It took some time to prepare
that warning. Stand by while I set course, and please await oxygen
levels to reach optimum values before removing your oxygen masks.
Thank you."

With that, Ma turned back to the controls,
leaving Silo and Garotte to slowly recover from their ordeal.

#

Shortly afterward, in Purcell's space
station, the commander was in her quarters, sitting in darkness.
This operation was going poorly, and until she received new
information, there was little to do but consider the current
operations and create contingency plans. That required deep
thought, and she'd always found that she did her best thinking in
isolation. When on a planet, she would seek out the wilderness. On
a space station, her darkened quarters were the best she could
manage.

A soft beep and a dim flicker from her
datapad interrupted her contemplation. She tapped the screen to be
greeted by the face of the perpetually nervous Crewman Marx.

"There is new information regarding the
surveillance squad assigned to Millbrook," he said.

"Report. Have they neutralized the
situation?"

"Negative. After they caused the
communications blackout, we were unable to establish direct
contact, as expected. However, the communication has just been
restored, and we still have not received a report. The modified
transponder we've been using to track the ship doesn't even seem to
be transmitting."

"Then we must assume the ship was destroyed
or captured," Purcell reasoned angrily.

"That is likely. Emergency band radio chatter
from the prison following the restoration of communications
indicates there was a massive explosion visible in the direction of
the ship's last known trajectory along the surface. A pursuit ship
found wreckage. The prison guards seem to have captured both of our
internal agents as well."

Purcell released a hissing breath. "Any
additional information?"

"... The prison officials also report
recovering the remains of all eight members of the surveillance
squad. Witnesses indicate that the squad was killed by the escaped
inmate and her accomplice. The escapees were last seen piloting the
squad's ship prior to its destruction."

"Were the targets still piloting the ship
when it was destroyed?"

"The report from the prison officials states
that their investigation of the wreckage is ongoing, but
inconclusive. However, shortly before the detonation, the pursuit
ship reported a sensor signature of an unidentified ship. It left
monitored space shortly after leaving Manticore's atmosphere."

"... We have to assume that they escaped.
Rally any field agents in the vicinity of the remaining
surveillance teams as backup. And get a message to the assault
team. Give them the strike order. I want that alloy, now..."

In the meantime, things on Tessera had been
considerably less exciting, at least as far as threat to life and
limb were concerned. After a night spent almost entirely in bed but
doing very little sleeping, Lex was given a VIP tour of the
hurricane that was Michella's daily convention routine. He was
introduced to at least two hundred people whose names he had
already forgotten. Michella was reluctantly coaxed into sitting in
on a panel about science coverage, though it rapidly became clear
that as much as she excelled at investigation and communication,
once academic matters dominated the conversation she became
conspicuously quiet, absorbing information and nodding
appreciatively. After that was a few hours of walking the floor,
during which Lex became acutely aware of the disproportionate
number of males among her devotees. He liked to think that he
wasn't the jealous type. That said, any men foolish enough to ask
him to snap a picture would later discover that Lex's finger had a
strange tendency to sneak into the shot.

This was the first time Lex had been given
such a close up look at celebrity from the outside, and he wasn't
terribly pleased with the memories it was bringing back. Lex had
loved being a celebrity. He'd loved everything about it. There were
never any introductions when you were famous; people already knew
your name. Granted, he'd never been hugely famous on a galactic
level, but back on Golana he was top of the heap, and word had been
getting around. Now, of the hundreds of people he'd met and shook
hands with, only three actually remembered him and even then it was
only for the coverage they had done on his downfall. He'd always
known that the media had a short memory, but until now he had been
able to fool himself that there were at least some people out there
who remembered the pair of speed records he'd set, and the
unmatched speed at which he'd ascended the hover sled rankings.
This little experience had been the final nail in the coffin of
that particular notion. More disturbing than his realization of
just how far from fame he had fallen was the realization of just
how much he missed it. The irony of the fact that his role in the
Bypass Gemini Incident would be a surefire, albeit suicidal, route
to galactic celebrity was not lost on him, either.

Following a few hours on the show floor, and
with considerable nudging from Lex, Michella was finally able to
convince herself that she had fulfilled her convention duties for
the day. They excused themselves to the Pavilion, seeking out the
nearest place to eat that wasn't completely overflowing with
convention patrons. It turned out to be the juice bar outside the
fitness center. Michella found a semi-private table while Lex
fetched two glasses of juice composed of guava, kiwi, papaya,
pomegranate, and at least three other fruits that, as far as he
knew, existed exclusively in juice form. He also picked up a few
pastries labeled "high energy, low calorie, health cookies,"
evidently invented by someone seeking to set the world record for
most inherent contradictions in a single product.

"So, tomorrow
you've got that keynote, then you're heading home, right?" Lex
asked, handing Michella her paradoxical cookie and beverage.

"That's the plan," she said.

"I don't suppose you're open to hitching a
ride with me in the trusty SOB?"

"Much as I'd love to spend a few days in a
cramped cockpit, trying to figure out how to use that... receptacle
without making a mess, washing with napkins, and eating food out of
a tube –"

"Hey! This time it's granola bars."

"Oh, well, that changes everything."

"Come, on. It'd be fun."

"I've already got the reservations for the
return flight, babe. Sorry."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, that excuse is only
going to work so many times. Mark my words, you and I will take a
long ride in the Son of Betsy one of these days."

"Sure we will, honey," she said, with the
same tone of voice one might use to promise one's daughter a pony
for her birthday. "Why are you so insistent?"

Lex took a long sip of his juice and listened
to his conversation with Ma echo through his thoughts. "... Well,
to be honest, there's been something on my mind lately. Things are
busy here. Lots of distractions. I was hoping we could talk a few
things out without any phone calls or photo shoots or
groupies."

"
You
wanted to talk?" she said in
disbelief. Suddenly her eyes widened and she began to dig through
her purse.

"Yeah. I mean, when's the last time we spent
more than a day or two together?"

"Last month we... no, no I had that interview
with the Prime Minister's attendant. But a couple of weeks before
that we were supposed to do something, weren't we?"

"Yeah, but a delivery ran long and I was
stuck on Earth's moon waiting for payment."

"That's right. Well, it can't have been
too
long before that," she said, before muttering, "Where is
it?"

"Don't you think a couple shouldn't have to
check their calendars to know when their last date was?"

"We've both been busy, that's all. Things
will calm down."

"Will they?" he asked, staring intently at
his cookie, rather than look her in the eye, "I mean, you've been
doing great, and business is pretty steady for me, too. It seems
like it is going to get worse before it gets better. Something's
gotta give, right? Things can't keep going like they've been going.
One of us is going to have to ... Michella?"

"Ah HA!" she proclaimed, looking up. "I'm
sorry, what were you saying?"

"… Never mind. It's stupid. We'll talk about
it later. What were you digging for, anyway... oh."

She triumphantly removed a small steno pad
and a ballpoint pen.

"It's that time, is it?" Lex asked.

"That it is," she said, clicking out the
pen's nib and flipping to a clean page.

Michella was a thoroughly modern girl in most
ways, but when it came to matters she thought were really
important, or extremely confidential, she always reverted to old
fashioned pen and paper. It was actually something she had in
common with Karter, who did all of his thinking on paper as well.
Lex genuinely hoped it was the only thing that they had in
common.

"So do you want to start? Or do you want the
full interview experience?"

"I'll start, I guess..." he said, knowing all
too well that there would be no shifting her back to the prior
conversation. To be frank, he was rather relieved to be setting the
subject of their relationship aside for now. Discussing
relationship troubles didn't come easily to those with a Y
chromosome. "Let's see... Well, remember Squee?"

"That fancy dog? Oh, Trevor, don't tell me
you got that little cutie involved."

"As a matter of fact, she got
me
involved."

Michella scratched something down, then
nodded for him to continue. "You said an old friend had dropped her
off. Is he involved?"

"Yeah. Basically he... in a roundabout way,
he sent her to get me."

"That requires a bit more explanation."

"... I'm kind of in a tough spot here."

"How so?"

"Because I know you won't settle for anything
but the truth, but you also won't settle for anything but a
plausible explanation, and I can't give you both."

"You don't think the truth is plausible?"

"Not to a sane person."

"Well, let's try the truth and see how sane I
am."

"If you say so. Squee is a genetic experiment
made by that mad scientist who helped me out with that little
incident a few months ago. She has had her brain formatted as
temporary storage for the scientist's AI. She – the AI, not Squee,
though they are sort of the same thing at the moment – she came to
get me to help her to spring a criminal, who also worked with the
scientist, out of jail. That guy, who never told me his name, was
going to get together a few other members of the scientist's old
cronies and rescue him from the folks who took him. Oh, and they
took him so they could have him build them a weapon that could nuke
the power grid of a whole star system at once. And he'll probably
do it, because he's an absolute sociopath."

Michella finished taking down the notes. She
then looked over the words, as though searching for holes. "How did
you help to free this criminal?"

"She got him on a transport ship, got me on
that ship, and then caused it to fail. She had the SOB waiting at
the transfer station it stopped at, unlocked his restraints, and
much running resulted."

She nodded and took down the additional
information.

"And do you have any further role in
this?"

"I was supposed to, but they had me in a more
overtly violent role than I'd felt comfortable playing."

Once she was through taking notes, she sucked
her teeth and pursed her lips.

"I think you're right. I might be too sane
for this story."

"Told you."

"Look at me," she said, placing her pen down
on her book and leaning forward.

With a sigh, he leaned forward until his nose
was almost touching hers. As he stared into her gorgeous blue eyes,
they peered back, studying and measuring.

"This is my favorite part of the whole lie
detector routine, you know," Lex said.

Michella was one of those people who believed
that all you ever needed to do to determine if someone was lying
was give them a good hard look in the eye. Lex was of the opinion
that this was a ridiculous old wives' tale and couldn't possibly be
true. For the most part, he was right. A quick eye exam hadn't
really been sufficient to get to the bottom of any of her major
stories and investigations. It did, however, have an almost perfect
success rate against Lex. So much so, in fact, that he seldom even
tried to put one over on her anymore. Honesty was the best policy,
but in his case he told the truth mostly because it was easier, and
because lying only ever managed to get her to dig her teeth in,
which seldom ended well. When her brow furrowed, he grinned and
kissed her on the nose.