Unstable Prototypes (49 page)

"You're just burning through troops, aren't
you? You're going to run out of ships, at this rate," Karter said
conversationally.

"You're with me," she said to the second in
command before turning to the lead security guard. "You, take that
marker away from him, and wipe those figures off the walls."

"Please, no, don't," Karter said flatly as
the cell door was opened. "What ever will I do?"

The security guard gave him an elbow to the
chin and took the marker away, smearing away a swath of the writing
on the wall with his arm.

"Really, boss lady? You're just going to let
him do that?" Karter growled, spitting a glob of blood to the
floor.

"Soldier, if you ever hit him again... I want
to see a tooth on the floor," Purcell instructed.

"Nice. Excellent discipline you're teaching
these guys... Next time you ask for my help, I'm going to want an
apology," the scientist said, rubbing blood away from the corner of
his mouth.

Purcell walked crisply away, her second in
tow.

"Do we have any details about how it
happened?" she hissed.

"Nothing, Commander. The patrol chatter
doesn't even mention another ship in the area. Just a few stray
transmissions. All we know is that the ship had already taken
damage by the time the patrol had arrived, and most of the relay
cluster had been destroyed."

"He was chasing his target, correct?"

"Yes, commander."

"And there is no indication that this Trevor
Alexander was ever anything but a hoversled racer, a chauffeur, and
a delivery boy?"

"The only unusual thing we were able to turn
up was that there was a large-scale alteration of his records a few
months back, blanking out about two weeks of data in every civil,
military, and corporate database we have access to."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"How the hell does a non-military pilot even
evade
our men, let alone
damage
the most heavily
armed and fortified ship we've got!?"

"I do not know, Commander."

"Get me all of the video footage you can find
of him for the last two years. I'll review it myself. I want to see
this man for myself, how he carries himself."

"Yes, Commander."

The pair worked their way through the tight,
industrial passageways of the station until they reached
engineering. The more theoretical members of the team, those more
interested with the planning and testing phases than the actual
construction, were busily sifting through the batch of schematics
Karter had provided. Technical diagrams were displayed on large,
wall-mounted screens and small, hand-held devices simultaneously,
with hastily scrawled comments and notations coming from every
member of the team at once. The air was thick with post-graduate
level equations being figured out loud, while a dozen men and women
with nearly two centuries of combined technical expertize tried to
work out the deranged technological musings of Karter's twisted
mind.

"What have you got?" Purcell demanded of the
engineer nearest to the door.

He was a sleepy-eyed, harried wreck of a man,
hair thinning from sheer stress and sporting the stretched out and
skinny physique of a man who had spent a few too many hours in zero
gravity.

"Oh, uh. Commander. The, uh, the designs are
a little sketchy. Dr. Dee does
not
use very good design
practices," he stammered defensively. "All of his designs reference
other designs, so working out exactly how to build one of these, or
what it will do, is next to impossible without having the entire
historical context of-"

"Enough! Just tell me what he gave you that
you think we can use," she ordered.

"Right, right," he said quickly, fumbling
with his datapad and flipping through it. "Who's working the big
screen? Put up... Uh... Put up the kinetic boots, the charge
cannon, the signal manipulator, and the coil. The boots first,
though. No, not those boots, Jerry, the ones that we agreed
wouldn't set anything on fire. Right, right, those."

A technical drawing appeared on the big
screen. At the center was a recognizable piece of footwear, but
each individual piece of it was circled and blown up to reveal a
level of detail that was baffling to anyone who hadn't taken an
engineering graphics class.

"These are, well, these are the boots. He
doesn't really have a specific name for them. This part here is
called the kinetic capacitor mark 2, and this part is definitely
the filter matrix, but-"

"Give me the high level," Purcell said.

"Right, the high level. Well. Over here he
calls them double-jump boots, and that's a pretty accurate name. If
the descriptions he gave are accurate, they store up kinetic
energy, and based on the controls from this panel, which is
hand-held, the kinetic energy is released. The effects are varied,
but they could produce a second jump if they are activated in
midair, or store up energy during a fall to slow decent, or deliver
a kick with the force of five kicks, you name it, really."

"Interesting. What about the next
device?"

"The charge cannon is an add-on module for
energy weapons. It allows you to store up astounding amounts of
energy to be released in one blast. In theory it would allow you to
compress the destructive potential of an entire clip into a single
shot if you timed it right. The signal manipulator lets you alter
the echo, interference, and phase shift of almost any transmission
in order to disguise its origin. Not only that, it can allow you to
make the signal appear to have come from just about anywhere. It
will even produce secondary signals to confuse attempts at
triangulation. Finally, there's the yo-yo coil. It is basically
just a carefully designed node that amplifies the effect of a
tractor beam, but the notes suggest that if you don't bolt it to
anything, you can guide the coil through the air with virtually no
energy loss and at spectacular range. It could easily-"

"That's enough," Purcell said. "He mentioned
something about a shield."

"Err. Well, the other things all either
interact with a power source that we supply or based upon
controllable inputs... At least we think. What he calls the
'rebound shield' has an integrated generator. Karter could probably
pull some very destructive stunts with something like that. We
don't even know what the design uses for fuel. The schematics say,
'you have to guess.'"

"How can they say that? How can he expect you
to build and test one if he doesn't give you full designs?"

"He doesn't expect us to build it. He expects
us to use the fab lab. The lab computer's designs are complete, and
encrypted with a cypher we haven't even been able to put a dent
in."

Purcell tapped her boot in thought for a few
seconds. "Fabricate one of each. Disassemble and analyze them to be
sure they aren't part of some sort of escape attempt, then set up
testing parameters and see if they are functional. If they are, I
want recommendations on how to equip and deploy troops with the
best performing devices."

The engineers looked to her with concern.

"Listen. Remember our stance. We contend that
society must embrace the leading edge of technological development
in order to survive. I mean to prove that by example," she
instructed.

"But Commander, these are devices created by
a man who is openly hostile toward us."

"Such would be the case with any technology
captured from an enemy. This is a test. It is a test of ability,
adaptability, and resolve. I expect you all to pass it."

"Understood," the engineer said with a nod,
hurrying back to the lab equipment to get to work.

She watched as her team began to pick apart
the designs one final time before production, and slowly a smile
came to her face. This was what it was all about. This was why she
fought, why she took up the command. Karter had been attempting to
manipulate her, that much was almost certain, but it didn't matter.
He was right. He had the vision and skill to show the galaxy what
is possible if you never allow yourself to stop moving forward.
They would find a way to control him in time, and he would fuel the
technological revolution that had been building strength for so
long. It would be glorious.

#

In the Armistice, Ma's carefully plotted
course had taken them safely to their second money gathering
destination. By the time Silo had finished in the ship's 'shower,'
all aboard had wisely chosen to pretend as though the slapping
incident and the exchange that had prompted it had never happened,
at least until they landed. This was somewhat difficult for
Garotte, who had required three applications of ointment to heal
the bruise from the final slap. The last few minutes had been spent
getting Silo ready to take her first steps into public since her
incarceration. Her blond hair had been dyed brunette, and her green
eyes changed to brown to match. She was wearing a pair of large but
stylish sunglasses, blue jeans, and black jacket over a white tank
top. As a finishing touch, she'd even applied a dash of makeup. To
the average onlooker she may as well have been out running some
errands rather than on the run from terrorists and the
authorities.

Garotte straightened himself up and looked to
Silo, who was analyzing her new look in her slidepad's
reflection.

"I don't know about the brown hair," she said
with a frown, adjusting a few stray hairs.

"I'd suggested that you dye it red. I've
always rather fancied redheads."

"Maybe if it was longer... So, how do you
want to do this? Split up so that we can get through it
faster?"

"Seems sensible. Our helpful little computer
system has got your slidepad set up with a few of the accounts.
Visit a few gambling kiosks, keep your payouts below, say, a half
million, and meet back here in an hour."

"What's our story? Are we husband and
wife?"

"After that little domestic incident, I'm
thinking of getting a divorce," he said, rubbing his jaw.

Silo bit her lip, "Ooh. I'm sorry about that.
I let my temper get to me. You deserved a wallop, don't get me
wrong, but I might have overdone it."

"Water under the bridge, my dear," he said,
flashing a charming smile. "It is what happens when a pair of
soldiers quarrel. And besides, you are my darling Dora Gillespie,
wife of six years and mother of our two beautiful children Dennis
and Rochelle."

"Not Rochelle. I like Marie better."

"Dennis and Marie then. And I am your beloved
husband, Peter. We are, oh, let's say public relations
representatives on our way back from a trade show for composite
flooring."

Silo smirked. "You really enjoy this a bit
too much."

He pulled her hand to his lips and gave it a
kiss. "Impossible. Shall we go?"

"Please. I'm ready for something larger than
a jail cell or a space ship."

The pair opened the side door of the ship and
marched out, allowing it to shut behind them without a second
glance... and leaving Ma to watch them go. The AI flicked an ear
and considered the mix of sensations and notions drifting about in
her head. In the strictest sense, they hadn't wronged her in any
way with their actions. They had all of the information necessary
to perform the task at hand, and it had already been established
that her presence would greatly increase the likelihood of their
group being noticed and remembered. There was thus no reason for
them to address her before leaving. Nevertheless, she was
experiencing a pair of emotions that she, upon consulting the data
available to her, believed could be positively identified as
abandonment and resentment. They had not even said goodbye,
something that neither would forget to do when departing one
another. She grappled with the puzzle of whether these emotions
were called for, and why they seemed to have asserted themselves so
powerfully, when her slidepad finally managed to connect to the
supply station's communication network and deliver the messages
she'd missed during their journey. One message, from Lex.

She eagerly tapped and reviewed the message.
As she did, she took careful note of what appeared to be a
disproportionate enthusiasm for news from the pilot who, by rights,
was no longer of concern for the current mission. He had been
attacked, but was now safe, prompting what she felt certain was
concern and relief in roughly equal measure. Prolonged usage of an
organic brain was providing her with a marvelous amount of valuable
data about the human condition, or at least what she was reasonably
confident was a representative approximation of the human
condition. She glanced at the time on the message and decided it
was probable that he would be in communication range at this time.
The appropriate menu was pulled down and a call was connected.

"Ma?" Lex said, his face sliding into view on
the screen of the device. He looked anxious, and seemed to have
ducked behind a piece of machinery.

"Lex. What is your location?" she asked,
routing the device's text-to-speech through the connection.

"I'm at some planned community planet, CZ
something or other. The SOB took some damage when..." he glanced
left and right. "Well, you know when it happened. So I stopped here
to see what I could do to fix it."

"You are showing strong stress
indicators."

"Yeah, I'd say I'm pretty damn stressed,
Ma."

"Your coarse language is not called for, Mr.
Garotte."

"I'm sorry but I... wait, Mr. Garotte?"

"I apologize. It was the most accurate
prepared statement available. How may I help you, Mr.
Alexander?"

"Remember how I didn't want to get too
involved? Because I was afraid I was going to have to do something
I didn't want to do?"

"Yes."

"Well... I'm pretty sure these guys just
forced my hand. I mean... Well, you got my message, right?"