Authors: Jasper Scott
The nearest one was a corvette, probably shadow class
—
based on the shiny, black armor and sleek sensor-defeating lines. Beside it was the boxy rectangle of a Wayfarer Transport, and beside that was a Seraphim Yacht. Kieran aimed for the two empty airlocks on the other side of the yacht. He considered it strange that there weren't some smaller, fast response ships. Everything docked to the station was over 50 micró-astroms in length, with space for up to a dozen crewers each.
Since the station's automatic docking procedures had obviously been disabled to allow him to dock, Kieran maneuvered into place manually. He stopped in front of the nearest empty airlock, turned his ship 180° and then began slowly reversing toward the airlock. He watched on his rear display, using his navcomp and sensors to line up the station's airlock with his flitter’s. When he was just half a micró-astrom away, he engaged his ship's magnetic docking clamps. With a heavy, bone-jarring
thunk
his ship shot backward, colliding with the station’s corresponding clamps. He heard a hiss of air that was his ship forming a hermetic seal with the station.
Unlocking his seat restraints, Kieran spun his chair around, stood up, and cycled the airlock controls just behind his chair. The airlock doors slid open, revealing a poorly lit corridor with flashing red lights and a distantly droning alarm
—
Blaat blaat blaat blaat
.
.
.
There was no one to welcome him. Kieran stepped through his airlock with a heavy frown. From the flashing red lights and the droning alarm, it was easy to see that something was amiss. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder to the already-closing doors of his flitter. Maybe there had been an outbreak of some virulent disease. He might need a hazard suit.
But surely, if there were such a problem, station control would have warned him away, rather than asking him to dock. Kieran strode quickly down the docking tube to the station. He emerged in a wider hallway, equally dark, with the same flashing, red lights. The alarms were much louder here.
Kieran turned first one way, and then the other, trying to decide which side of the hallway to go down first. That was when he noticed his welcoming committee. One man, standing a dozen micró-astroms away.
“What's going on here?” Kieran asked, hurrying toward the man. He stopped a few paces away. The man was smiling broadly
—
disconcertingly.
“Don't be afraid.”
“I'm not
—
I'm confused.”
“That too.”
Kieran's eyes narrowed. The man standing in front of him was short, bald, and skinny. He wore a rumpled, dark blue uniform
—
colored maroon by the lighting
—
with the gold trim and rank insignia of an UBER officer
—
a captain.
“You haven't answered my question. Are you in some kind of lockdown here?”
The bald UBER officer cocked his head to one side, and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, as if he didn't understand the question. After a moment, he said: “It's a lockdown.”
“Okay, but what's it about? And why don't you deal with it?”
The UBER officer took a few steps forward and tilted his head back to better look Kieran in the eye. The man's proximity was almost as disconcerting as his persistent smile.
The smile abruptly vanished. “I am making you nervous.”
“A little,” Kieran admitted.
“I will stop.”
“Okay
.
.
.
”
“I haven't been answering your questions. This
.
.
.
lockdown
.
.
.
I cannot figure out how to shut it off.”
Kieran was instantly leery. “Shouldn't you
know
how to turn it off?” Something wasn't adding up.
“Yes. Probably. I have forgotten the code. I don't suppose you know it?”
“You forgot?” Kieran was frowning heavily. Under the guise of looking behind him, he took a step backward from the officer.
“I suffered
.
.
.
memory loss.”
“Did you hit your head or something?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so why don't you ask someone else to disable the lockdown?”
“There is no one else. I am the only one here. And now you.”
Kieran shook his head. “How can that be? There are other ships docked to the station.”
“Oh, yes, those. They were left here.”
“So where are the crews?”
“They went through the eye.”
“The eye? You mean the TLS gate.”
“Yes. I'm sorry, as I said, I suffered memory loss.”
“I can see that.”
“Can you help me turn off the lockdown?”
“Well, no, I can't.”
The short man studied him carefully, his smile slowly fading, as if he were childishly disappointed. “You can't? Or you won't? I can give you something for your help.”
“You mean pay me?”
The officer looked momentarily uncertain. “Yes.”
“You don't sound very sure about that. How much would you be willing to pay me?” Kieran winced as his head began throbbing.
Maledicted alarm. What am I doing here? Talking to this deranged officer? And why doesn't he just call the Bureau for the codes to shut off the lockdown?
“How much
.
.
.
would you like?”
Kieran grinned widely. “Enough to
—
”
“Buy your own ship. You can have my ship.”
“What?” Kieran blinked.
How did he know what I was going to say?
“You're joking.”
“No. But only if you succeed, will you receive payment.”
Kieran spent a long moment staring at the UBER officer. There was no way. No way at all that this situation made any sense. “Why don't you call headquarters for the lockdown codes?”
The officer blinked, visibly hesitating. “The
.
.
.
lockdown prevents me from doing so.”
“Why would the lockdown shut you out of communications? That's the stupidest protocol I've ever heard of.”
“I do not understand it myself. Will you help me?”
Kieran considered the ludicrous proposal. Every instinct was telling him to run back to his ship
—
to get
out
. No one would offer an entire ship in exchange for hacking a computer system.
Especially since that ship likely belongs to the Bureau, not this officer personally.
Assuming the man wasn't lying, that he really was locked out of the communications systems, he could still use one of the ships which were docked to the station to communicate with headquarters and get the lockdown codes. Or he could go to headquarters in person.
No, the more likely situation is that he can't call headquarters because he's not really an UBER officer
.
.
.
.
Which means he may well have no compunctions about giving me one of those ships
.
.
.
.
“I could probably find someone to do it. If you give me a few hours. But first I need some answers to a few questions: what caused the lockdown?”
The little man frowned. “I do not remember.”
Kieran opened his mouth to object to the explanation which wasn't an explanation, but he was cut off before he could say a thing.
“Do not waste my time with more questions. Will you help me or not?”
Kieran hesitated. He was desperate, and the chance to earn an entire ship
—
especially one as expensive as the corvette or the yacht (even the transport would be more than worth the effort of finding a code slicer who could shut off the lockdown)
—
was a dream come true. Something wasn't adding up, though. The only thing that made sense was that this man wasn't really an UBER officer. That was why he couldn't call for help
—
not because he had a head injury. That was also why the station was in lockdown.
This man is probably part of an assault team trying to take control of the station
—
meaning he probably isn't alone, he just had to pretend to be in order to justify his flimsy story: a head injury caused me to forget the codes, and there’s no one else to help me shut off the lockdown.
But who would want to take control of a secret Union facility? A simple TLS gate no less?
Outlaws. Terrorists.
That left the question of
why
they would want control of a secret TLS gate. Kieran shook his head to clear it.
Maybe I'm thinking too much.
What do I care if terrorists take control of a secret Union facility?
So long as they actually give me one of those ships.
Unless Kieran missed his guess, the lockdown meant that reinforcements would be on the way
—
and
soon.
He definitely couldn't afford to be around when they did.
But the nearest patroller station is pretty far from here
.
.
.
.
Kieran needed some idea of when he could expect them to arrive.
“Will anyone else be coming to help you? Has anyone managed to call for
.
.
.
help?” Kieran tried to phrase his questions in a nonthreatening way, so that the terrorist wouldn't know that his ruse had been discovered.
The short terrorist smiled. “No one called for help.”
Kieran offered a thin, half-smile in return.
You're the worst actor I've ever met.
“So I will have a few hours to go get a friend who can help you with your problem?”
“Yes.”
Kieran sighed. “This act of yours is getting ridiculous. You're not an UBER officer.”
The little man's grin faded and he took a step forward. “What makes you think this? Have I acted strangely? You can see that I look like I belong here.”
“Anyone can don a uniform
—
that doesn't make you who you say you are. But listen, I don't care who you are, as long as I get my payment. It's none of my business, okay?”
“Okay.”
Kieran pressed his lips into a thin line. “I'll be back in a few hours with someone who can help you, but you'd better not be thinking of double-crossing me once the lockdown has been disabled.”
“I will await your return.”
Kieran turned to leave, then thought better of it and backed away slowly instead. “Count on it.”
* * *
The distant sound of Kieran’s airlock doors swishing shut was shortly followed by the sound of another door sliding open inside the corridor where Karen had been talking to the alleged officer. A tall, broad man with a long, angular face and short-cropped black hair emerged wearing a neat blue uniform with the red and black pant stripes of a flight leader. His clothes were intermittently tinted red by the flashing emergency lights. He came up behind the short, bald man, who was staring absently at the entrance of the docking tube where Kieran had disappeared.
“Will he help us?”
—
The taller man said nothing, but the short, bald man could hear the words clearly in his head.
“Yes,”
the bald man replied, his lips not moving.
“Are you certain?”
“There was no deception in his thoughts.”
“Does he suspect what we are?”
“No, he thinks we are criminals.”
“Do you think he
can
help us?”
“Yes. He will bring a friend who can. He was very confident in a successful outcome, but concerned that we might not pay him. ”
The bald man turned and began walking down the corridor, seemingly unperturbed by the blaring alarms and flashing red lights.
The tall man walked alongside.
“Will you change him when he is finished?”
“If he does not force me to kill him first.”
“You are worried about the friend he will bring to end the
.
.
.
lockdown.”
The taller man's thoughts hesitated on the word “lockdown,” as if it was unfamiliar to him.
“Don't worry, if he doesn't want to help us, we will make him.”