Spinward Fringe Broadcast 7: Framework (51 page)

“What’s wrong?” Oz asked.

“Nothing, just turning over stones in my
head, finding extra information.” Ayan shook her head and stepped
towards him. “You have to leave this ship, and the Triton has to
hide.”

“This could be a trick,” Oz said. “How do
you know that Hampon, or the Order, or whoever, isn’t trying to
lead us into the open?”

“It was Roman,” Ayan said. “Roman was the
Victory Machine’s oracle.”

“From Mount Elbrus? I thought he was killed
when the explosion hit.”

“No, the Victory Machine can make high
powered wormholes called crush gates. That’s how it deals with
accumulated temporal radiation. Roman’s last conscious act was to
pass on important visions and information. One key part of that was
the need to defend our corner of Port Rush, and you have to be
there. The attack starts tomorrow morning. A colonization ship
called the Leviathan will be here, and the Carthans will have their
hands full. There will be a ground battle, and we can’t afford to
lose.”

“I believe her,” a calm male voice said from
Oz’s comm unit. “There are records of the Leviathan, and it is more
than a colony ship. It’s an invasion platform.”

“So you’re saying that I’ll survive if I
follow you down to the planet, and start setting up a defence?” Oz
said.

“Who’s that?” Ayan asked.

“Oh, that’s the Triton,” Oz said. “Triton,
this is Ayan. Ayan, this is Triton.”

“Hello,” Ayan said.

“Good to meet you,” the Triton said.

“To answer your question,” Ayan continued,
“the Victory Machine said that your death was certain if you stayed
here, and I think the destruction of the Triton is a sure thing,
too. If you come back down with me, neither are certain. Right now
the Triton is a liability.” Ayan looked to Oz’s comm unit and said,
“Sorry.”

“No, I agree,” the Triton responded. “I’d
rather not, but it’s true. I can’t fight, and I’m barely
mobile.”

“I can’t leave,” Oz said. “You don’t
understand what it’s like. I know what the Triton’s existence is
like, how being this disabled feels.”

“You must leave,” the Triton said. “I have a
record of the Victory Machine, it was made on Earth, and while the
records aren’t detailed, Sol Defence warns that direct, short term
predictions are rarely wrong. I don’t want to watch my captain die,
Oz.”

“You can’t cloak, and someone has to be
aboard in case something goes wrong,” Oz retorted.

“I can pilot myself. It’s tedious, but I’m
capable, and there are large mining facilities in the Jensen Belt,
on the edge of the solar system. I can hide amongst the stations
there; their mass and shapes will mask my hull profile. If that
doesn’t work, I’ll hide in a tunnelled-out asteroid. With my
systems powered down, this ship will look like an old hulk. That’s
if they can find me at all.”

“What else does your database tell you about
the Victory Machine?” Oz asked. “Why are you having such an easy
time believing everything she’s saying?”

“I’ve been listening to her, performing my
own calculations, and everything Commander Rice is saying is highly
likely. Prudence demands you follow her orders,” Triton
replied.

Oz thought for a moment, leaning on the
console. Ayan had never seen him look so weary, but as he paused it
seemed he gained twenty years before her eyes in mannerism alone.
“I want to take non-essential supplies, and a few things we left
aboard that I didn’t know about before.”

“Whatever you like,” Ayan replied.

“Take everything you need to keep your
people alive, Oz,” replied Triton. “I don’t need combat suits,
weaponry, or anything else made to serve humanoids. I’ll be in
hiding until you need me.”

“Get people and ships up here,” Oz told
Ayan. “Anyone who can load cargo and anything that can carry it
back to Tamber. There’s a reserve armoury and emergency survival
equipment aboard that we didn’t know about because it was hidden in
the Botanical Gallery. We’re going to need it.”

“Oz, I wish I came with better news,” Ayan
said.

“I know, it’s fine. We’ll do what we have to
until this is over,” he replied. “Just give me a minute alone
here.”

“All right,” Ayan said. “I’ll take the first trip
back with supplies and bring people back.”

Within half an hour it seemed everyone who
could operate a loader suit was fitting everything they could into
shuttles. Ayan only assisted for the first two hours until Oz
relieved her. “I should have been easier to convince,” he told her
as they watched a line of loader suits running high-impact crates
filled with emergency survival supplies across the main hangar.
Paula was in her glory, shrilly and urgently guiding landing craft
and deck crews.

“I understand,” Ayan said. “Your report said
the Triton’s computer is telepathic at close range.” She was
careful not to call the creature at the heart of the ship anything
other than a computer. Oz suggested as much to protect it. “I can’t
imagine what it’s like to connect to something like that.”

“I think you’re one of the few people who
can,” Oz said. “I know you’re different from the Ayan I knew, and
I’ll be honest, I like you more. Putting that aside for a moment,
you have a whole set of memories that are second hand, and you can
recall what it was like to be the other Ayan. What the Triton
shared with me was so detailed, so intimate, that I feel like I
know him just as well. I was connected to Ashley too, but not in
the same way, and we don’t have the same…” Oz trailed off,
searching for the right word.

“Chemistry?” Ayan answered.

“That’s not the word I would have chosen,
but it’ll do,” Oz said. “I’m going to miss him every minute I’m
gone. I’m sure you go through the same thing with Jake.”

Ayan sighed and looked away. “I don’t know
what’s wrong with me,” she said. “But no, it’s not the same. Since
he came out of hiding it’s been hard. Not just because of Wheeler’s
android, it’s not that at all. It’s like I can’t fit with him like
we did before. He’s changed, or I’ve changed, and we’ve gone
through this cycle where we fight, I end it by going too far, then
I apologize or something and we start over.”

“How many times since he’s come back?” Oz
asked.

“Twice,” Ayan said. “It’s been less than a
week, and it’s happened twice.”

“I’ve seen that before, don’t think it
applies here though,” Oz said.

“Why don’t you tell me about it, just in
case you’re spot on?” Ayan replied.

Oz punched new directions into his comm
unit, showing the loading teams to the hidden armoury in the
Botanical Gallery. “Well, Triton says moving the stuff from the
armoury into a shuttle is child’s play, so I’ve got a minute.”

“Oh, how kind of you, making time for little
ol’ me,” Ayan said with a wink.

“You know what I mean,” Oz said. “I was in a
long distance relationship while I was out patrolling, and Jack
kept on doing the same thing to me. The Roi du Ciel would get close
enough to get live messaging going with Freeground and every one of
our conversations would end in a fight. Sure, they started with
apologies, but for weeks it was the same. Turns out, he started
something at home but didn’t have the balls to let me go. You
haven’t gotten together with anyone since the Samson crew went into
hiding though, so I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

Ayan’s thoughts were filled with memories of
Liam Grady getting close, offering comfort, advice, and most of
all, she remembered countless hours of easy company with him. They
were just talking, but she had trouble remembering who else was
around when they were involved in conversation. “No, I like my
social life simple,” she said.

Oz observed her until she pushed him away
playfully. “There’s someone,” he concluded.

“You’re way off,” she replied.

“An affair of the heart still counts,” Oz
whispered. “And no one would blame you, or even be surprised. Jake
hasn’t exactly been around.”

“Bloody hell, if there’s anything we don’t
have time for, it’s that,” Ayan said, laughing nervously. “You
bugger, I didn’t realize there was anything-” her comm unit buzzed,
sending an alert up the sleeve of her black vacsuit that told her
that it was urgent.

“This is Alaka at the gate intake in Port
Rush,” Alaka said.

“Yes, what’s going on?” Ayan replied.

“We have two proposed new hires from
Freeground, they say that they were dropped off by the Sunspire. I
thought you’d like to know right away.”

Ayan looked at Oz, who looked just as
curious and surprised. “Who are they?” a small hologram of Remmy
Sands, a mischievous looking, short, thin fellow saluting with a
flourish appeared above her comm unit. Vivaldi’s uplifting ‘Spring’
piece was playing through the repeating animation and she couldn’t
help but smile. “Remmy Sands, a former field intelligence officer
for Freeground Fleet,” Ayan read aloud. She read the rest silently
as it went into quick detail about his discharge from the military
for breaking restricted information laws by viewing and sharing
censored data. A look into the background of the file revealed a
short, ancient black and white animation of a gangster drawing a
gun on another man who wore a long canvass coat and hat, who raised
his hands and shouted, “It’s all wrong, see? That private dick
didn’t get the whole story straight!”

“Oh, he’s a character,” Oz said.

“This other one seems a little more
conventional,” Ayan said as she looked at the profile for Trent
Davi, a former Lieutenant for Freeground Fleet, specializing in
boarding and ground missions. “His record is incredible, he led one
of the teams that retook the Sunspire after it was taken over by
the Holocaust Virus.”

“We need these people, especially since the
conditions of their discharges look political,” Oz said. “Davi was
tossed for gross civil disobedience resulting in broad
demoralization. That’s no charge I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m going to head down and see what I can
find out about the Sunspire,” Ayan said. “If she’s in the area,
it’ll be massive.”

“I’ll see you down there in about three
hours. We’ll have this wrapped up and Triton sent off by then.”

“Leave some time to get some sleep,” Ayan
said. “I think we’ll need it.”

“Aye, Commander, you too,” Oz replied. “Oh,
and, if you have time, follow your instincts. With whoever that
other person in your life is,” he added. “I’m not good at giving
love advice, but I know that’s the right thing to do in times like
these.”

Clark Patterson walked along on Eve’s left,
while Lucius Wheeler was on her right, and all three of them
followed the Child Prophet into the large inner sanctum of Lister
Hampon. A thick silence hung between Wheeler and Patterson, and Eve
could only assume it had something to do with how Wheeler had
convinced him to come to the meeting, a meeting Hampon delayed for
hours without explanation.

The knowledge Eve had gathered about the
framework technology’s early days, combined with what Clark had
given her when he transferred Alice’s memories into a new body,
were enough to offer Hampon a proper solution to his deterioration.
The question was, who would give it to him? With Patterson there,
she didn’t have to use the treatment patch tucked under the sleeve
of her dress.

Eve didn’t have much control over the
situation, but she had enough. The Overlord II moved into a
wormhole, making it impossible for her to contact her Eden Fleet,
but she wasn’t the only person in the room that sought to remain
free of Hampon’s control. She wouldn’t call them allies, but they
had similar desires, and that made for more of an advantage than
Eve had had in a long time.

The memories she’d lived thanks to Alice had
done something, too. It seemed like she’d seen more of the galaxy,
felt more adult emotions, and gone on a journey. It felt true even
if she couldn’t remember it the way she could before; most of the
experiences faded like an old dream. The result seemed the same.
The sensation that she was no longer a hapless victim in her own
life was powerful.

The broad, white circular floor around
Hampon’s grisly throne was as pristine as ever. The black seat in
the centre was facing away. People stopped what they were doing on
the balconies overlooking the tall chamber as they entered.

The throne turned slowly, revealing the
corpulent figure trapped in it. Two small medical droids worked to
maintain tubes, patches, grafts, and supports as though a moment’s
pause would lead to the failure of a part of Hampon’s body. His
lower jaw had been completely removed, and a healing strap held up
his tongue and head by his upper teeth. Expressive eyes looked at
them from grisly sockets.

“Pardon me for not getting up,” said
Hampon’s voice from somewhere in the room. The words were most
certainly not spoken physically. But Eve couldn’t help but pity the
man as she watched his adam’s apple twitch, as if trying to fight
the tubes in his throat for a moment. She had never pitied him
before. “I see you have aligned with new companions, Eve. Good, I’m
glad you won’t be alone if you deny me what I paid for.”

“We’re not asking for much,” Wheeler said.
“Freedoms, a little cash, and we have what you want.”

Eve couldn’t help but notice that the
scraping sounds of Clark’s armour increased in volume and frequency
as he began breathing faster. It was difficult to call him the
Beast, after knowing his thoughts and some of his history, but then
she only had to look at him to understand why he’d accepted the
moniker.

“You offer a chance at a new life,
immortality,” Hampon said. “What is your price? Be specific.”

“Leave the issyrians alone,” Clark said.
“Stop destroying their habitats and let them live in their own
territory.”

“Expensive,” Hampon replied. “I know you,
Clark Patterson. There are hundreds of reports about the Beast of
Uumen, champion of issyrian outcasts. If I grant you this, then you
promise not to raise an army in defence of any other race. Not
humans, not nafali, or any other race.”