Transformation Protocol Page 10

  "Do you want Sullivan to look in on you?" Aurore said.

  "Hell, no. I'm suffering enough already."

  I slid out of my chair and headed for the exit before the drive kicked in. Every part of me was raw, and my neck felt like I'd been bench testing a guillotine.

  *

  I'd been in bed for fourteen hours, which was a record for me—at least asleep. I felt better. The NanoBiotics worked their magic on my wounds even while I was unconscious. I stumbled to the control room, but it was empty.

  After verifying our position and status, I opened the comm. "I know I'm an acquired taste, but did everybody abandon ship while I was asleep?"

  The console beeped a few seconds later, and Logan yawned over the speakers. "It's the middle of the night for most people. See you in three hours."

  I realized he was right. My internal clock was messed up from the extra sleep, and after a few minutes of mental thumb-twiddling, I headed to the ship's modest fabrication shop to work on my secret project that I'd whimsically named Project RoboPony.

  The shop had a large screen that I could use in private, a definite advantage in the design phase. My testing had uncovered some glitches that I wanted to iron out before we reached Mars. Plus, my original simulation was put together using abstract components, with no thought for actual packaging, and I needed to get it as close to a finished deal as I could for the patent application.

  I was engrossed in the project when someone knocked on the door. Instinctively, I closed down the design screen then opened the door to find Logan holding several coffee tubes and breakfast pastries.

  "Beware engineers bearing gifts." He thrust one of each into my hands. "What's got you hiding away in here, my friend?"

  "I'm working on a top-secret project aimed at easing tensions for lonely spacemen."

  "Hate to tell you this, but they came up with that one a few thousand years back."

  I squeezed the nipple on the tube of coffee and sucked the warm liquid into my mouth, then tried the "pastry." It tasted like a vanilla-flavored block of congealed grease and sugar, which likely wasn't too far from the truth. "Mmmmm... got to love high-density carbs first thing in the morning."

  Logan took a bite and grimaced. "Limited supplies and simple storage."

  I washed away the taste with another gulp of coffee. "Sometimes you're too damn logical."

  "One of us has to be." Logan gestured at the large screen. "Want to tell me about it?"

  "Gift shopping. Wouldn't want to spoil your birthday surprise, would you?"

  "I'm well-stocked up on knitted socks." He smiled. "Okay, whenever you're ready. But if you're feeling up to it, we could use some help putting together the SMPTs. We might need them at Deimos. Somehow I can't see the 'Tollers helping us out much, despite their promises."

  I threw on a set of light coveralls and gracelessly clambered after Logan as we made our way down to the large payload bay on the underbelly of the Shokasta. It was the only area big enough to build the SMPTs in, and it was where they'd launch from anyway. Hernandez and his team were waiting with an assortment of crates, the strip lights running the edge of the external doors casting gloomy shadows in all directions.

  "Aurore having a lie in?" I said as Logan clambered down the handholds on the large doors.

  "When does that ever happen? She's analyzing our aerobatics performance. She could kill the propulsion if you like."

  I should have thought of that. Building these things would be a lot easier in ZeeGee—at least for me and Logan. Hernandez's team would be gophers, passing us what we needed. They were soldiers, not construction people, and we'd work faster without them. The stumbling block? I was the only one authorized to pilot the ship.

  "Sorry, I'm not prepared to hand over control just yet."

  Logan had his hand near a comm panel and lowered it. "You can't go on like this, Joe. At some point you need to trust someone."

  "Yeah... look where that's got me." I was thinking about Dollie more than the ship.

  Logan clapped his hand on my shoulder. "How about some construction?"

  "Back in a few," I said.

  I clambered back upstairs and killed the thrust. Aurore was deep into her figures and only looked up momentarily to say hi. Minutes later, the gravity bled away, leaving us weightless, and I returned to the payload bay.

  I floated into the middle of the room to talk to Hernandez. "If your guys unpack the components and pass them to us, we'll handle the assembly."

  Logan drifted over, holding out a tool belt for me. He'd already strapped one on and was ready to go.

  "Thanks." I snapped the belt around my waist, spinning slowly. "I should have grabbed one myself."

  "Don't worry about it. I've got you covered."

  I knew Logan would always be there for me, no matter the circumstances. And I was grateful, but at the same time I resented it. Partly because I didn't like feeling so stupid, but also because I knew I wasn't at the top of my game.

  I was slipping on a lot of things. Nothing big or obvious to anyone else, perhaps, but I recognized them, and my brain took note. Each additional clumsiness, each moment of forgetfulness, and every instance where my mind wobbled unsure of what to do next was silently recorded and weighed.

  I grabbed the first part to move it into position. Was I losing it? I was probably too young for normal dementia, but maybe all the years in space were starting to hit me. And then there's the booze, a voice I didn't want to hear whispered inside my head.

  The first job was building the SMPT's spine. This was a wide tube that would eventually contain the propellant and air tanks. With Logan's help, we put it together in short order, leaving us with something that resembled a white composite torpedo.

  "Let's string it." I floated to the wall.

  Logan moved to the front of the cylinder and attached a temporary fitting to it, then pushed himself toward the wall playing out a thin cord behind him.

  I did the same at the other end and tied it off to one of the lifting rings dotted around the bay. After we'd attached a few more lines, the tank assembly was anchored in place, making it easier to bolt on the other parts.

  "Looks good, Joe," Logan said. "Let's get the rest done."

  Most of the parts were flat-packed for easy transport. Giotto and Hernandez pulled several hull panels from their shipping boxes and pushed one into my hands. Now we were working, I seemed to function okay. I'd even been the one to suggest tethering the assembly to make it easier. That made me feel better, but in the dark recesses of my brain, I clung to the fear that I was starting to break down.

  I pushed the panel into place and squirmed around to engage the clips that locked it into position, followed up by tightening the bolts that held it in place. Then it was time for the next one. By the time we'd finished, we had something that resembled an origami pufferfish—ugly would have been a compliment.

  The second unit went together faster now that we'd been through the process once. And ninety minutes later, we had the two SMPTs floating in the bay. After that, all we had to do was attach the cradle assemblies to the roof so the pair of unlikely looking craft could be secured.

  I looked around. Everyone looked flushed—ZeeGee was always hard work. "Time to open a few cold ones, I'd say."

  "I wish." Sullivan wiped his forehead then dried his hand on his coveralls. "We should have packed a few cases of Dogrut Dark."

  Dogrut looked like a blend of blood and dog piss, and from what I'd heard had a taste to match. At twenty percent alcohol by volume, it wasn't the strongest beer around, but powerful enough—and rough enough—to make you feel like you'd been rutted by a large dog.

  "You'd need to put a few hairs on your chest before drinking that." Grant flashed a grin.

  "Dogrut would melt the hairs off your chest." Hernandez paused then spoke again in a more serious tone. "Besides, on a long op like this, you could find yourself being plied with liquor and wake up with Giotto taking advantage of you. Then it would be
my fault."

  "Neck off, Sarge." Giotto skewered Hernandez with a look that could have killed and buried the corpse afterward, but she was obviously holding back her own laughter.

  "Grab hold, everyone." I left to switch the drive back on.

  Gravity settled back on us like a cloak, and by the time I returned, the levity had vanished. The construction of the SMPTs was a victory, but everyone knew the real job had barely begun.

  Chapter Nine

  The remaining journey to Mars was thankfully routine, and as soon as the planet was in range, I displayed the image on screens throughout the ship. While we weren't heading for Mars itself, Deimos was only twenty-four thousand kilometers away—essentially the same route until we closed enough to set up an approach to the station.

  The original base had been destroyed by the Atolls almost five years ago. The new one was smaller and more automated—Atollers didn't like to get their hands dirty if they could help it. It had the water tanks we needed, though, along with a skeleton crew to watch over operations and traffic. I was back in the shop adding the final touches to my plans when the comm opened up.

  It was Aurore. "We've got an incoming message from Deimos Station."

  I thumbed the comm button. "Logan is in charge, not me."

  "He's seen it." She sighed. "Stop pretending you're the last great hermit, and drag yourself up here."

  "I like you too."

  I didn't know what message could be that important, but Aurore was right—I wouldn't find out hiding in the shop. I secured the console and met Hernandez climbing up the corridor as I left.

  "You on the hook too?" I said. "Must be big if Logan wants us both there."

  "Let's hope it's not World War Three."

  When we got there Logan and Aurore both looked unhappy. Without a word, Logan brought up a recording, and the screen filled with the face of a junior ADF officer.

  "Earth-ship Shokasta. This is Atoll Station Deimos. You are directed not to approach this facility."

  "What?" I spoke at the same time as Hernandez.

  "We have permiss—"

  The recording continued, interrupting Hernandez. "You will set a course for the Fardosh-Baird Atoll. Any approach to this facility will be considered a hostile act, and steps will be taken to prevent any such attempt. Repeat. Make no attempt to approach Atoll Station Deimos.

  "You may contact your Earth superiors to confirm the change in directions, but you will find they are fully aware of the situation. A prisoner is being held for your collection at the Atoll. Message ends."

  No one spoke for several minutes. Finally, I took a heavy breath to break the silence.

  "Is it genuine?" I said.

  "I've sent a confirmation request to Earth." Logan shifted in his seat. "But it'll be at least fifteen minutes until we get a response. Something tells me that it is, though."

  "Who could they be holding?" Aurore was sitting close to Logan, almost touching him. "All the way out here?"

  "Atolls aren't big on prisoner exchanges," Hernandez said.

  If they wanted to exchange a hostage, the High-Rig or the PAC Bengkulu elevator would be easier places. To do it out here had to have some significance. Perhaps they were handing over someone they didn't want their own people to know about.

  "Paek?" I whispered.

  "No way." Logan stared at me as if I were insane. "He's not an Atoller anymore. They'd be declaring war on the Corporates if they took him prisoner now."

  "Think about it." I swallowed hard. "They know we want him. They can't hand him over openly, but maybe he's here visiting family or whatever a good little Atoller does. They grab him and lock him up for us."

  Logan came over and patted my shoulder. "I know how much you want to get your hands on him, Joe, and I understand. But they wouldn't give him up before, so why would they now? Even if they could."

  I felt their collective stares pressing in on me. "There's only one way to find out."

  Eventually Aurore spoke. "What are we going to do if it is him?"

  My arms and shoulders tightened painfully, and I struggled to breathe. "I'm—"

  I stopped, not quite sure what to say. My instinct was to throw him through the nearest airlock. Aurore wouldn't like it—she was a gentle soul. And Hernandez would undoubtedly object. His duty would be to get Paek to the proper authorities. I was unsure about Logan. As much as he disliked the Atolls, I couldn't imagine him being okay with a summary execution. But I suspected he wouldn't try and stop me if I decided that's what I had to do.

  The intensity of my feelings surprised and scared me. Was I a psychopath? Fixated on destroying another human being because of some crazy mixed-up notion of revenge? I rolled my head to loosen the knots in my neck. I needed to get away from their stares, far enough to give me time to think.

  "I'm going to get coffee. Anybody want anything?"

  "I'll help." Aurore jumped up.

  "I... No, thanks. I'll be back in ten minutes." I headed for the door and clambered down the passage, bloodless hands tight on the handholds.

  Giotto was in the wardroom when I arrived. She was wearing a close-fitting bodysuit, and beads of perspiration glistened on her flushed skin. For a few seconds, I couldn't help but admire her lean form, then I forced my brain back to the subject of the prisoner.

  "Hey, Ballen. What's happening?" Giotto pulled out a tube of water, the plastic surface misting as the moisture in the air condensed on its cold surface. "Drink?"

  "I'll have a whiskey. Neat."

  She grinned. "Me too. But back in the real world, what'll it be?"

  "Coffee."

  "BRUCE can sure give you a hard workout." She tossed me a tube and wiped her head with the towel she had around her neck. She laughed. "But you know that already, huh?"

  "Even the memory hurts."

  She nodded, a hint of sadness flitting across her face. "They often do."

  I heated the tube and gave her a half-assed salute. "Thanks for the coffee."

  "What's your story, Ballen? Why are you such a mess?"

  I'd started to leave but turned back. "I thought I was fairly buff."

  Giotto snorted, almost coughing up the water she was drinking. "Not even close. You look like you'd fall down and break something if someone sneezed next to you."

  I knew she was right. Sitting behind a desk all day isn't conducive to staying in shape. And my off-the-job habits didn't help.

  "I saw your report. Said you broke up with your wife. Is that it? Shit happens. You need to move on."

  "It's a long and not very interesting story."

  Her eyes were a bright blue, contrasting with her olive skin. "I have time."

  I thought about staying. It was a long time since I'd sat down and talked conversationally with anyone other than Logan. But I needed to get back upstairs. She was right about my general health, though.

  "Can that robot do more than beat the crap out of people?" I said.

  "It can run you through a whole calisthenics program if you want."

  "Could you set me up a timetable?"

  She thought for a few moments. "I'd need to adjust the settings to make it suitable for non-Geneered."

  "I can program the changes."

  "Uh huh... I think I better take care of that." Giotto's eyebrows lifted. "When do we start?"

  "No point delaying the pain," I said. "Give me an hour."

  Giotto was looking at me strangely, as though she couldn't figure me out. That wasn't too surprising—I often had the same problem.

  When I returned, Logan and the others were still at their stations.

  "We received confirmation from SecOps Central on the prisoner pick-up," he said.

  Hernandez shrugged. "Guess we got company coming for dinner."

  "Does Central know who it is?" I sipped my coffee.

  Logan opened his hands wide. "No idea. And what are we going to do with them, if it's someone who needs to be secured?"

  That was a good point. "Are we supposed
to take them back to Earth before we leave?"

  Hernandez drummed his fingers on the console next to him. "The communication said return isn't a priority."

  "Then it can't be Paek, surely?" Aurore looked around. "They wouldn't have us pick him up and give him a guided space tour for the next few months."

  "Not likely." Logan looked at me. "Joe?"

  "It doesn't matter what I think." I moved to the main pilot's chair and sat at the controls. "Time for a course correction."

  I brought up the orbital characteristics for the Fardosh-Baird Atoll. It was sitting in a synchronous orbit seventeen-thousand kilometers above the surface of Mars making approach a relatively easy task. The navigation system returned several options, and I selected the most direct. There seemed little point hanging around.

  "Crew, stand by for course correction in one minute," I said into the comm then looked around. "Has anyone ever been to an Atoll?"

  Aurore and Hernandez shook their heads.

  "Other than a few high-ranking diplomats, I don't think anybody has in the last sixty years," Logan said.

  The maneuvering thrusters kicked in, turning us onto the right course. "Slick back your hair and polish your buttons. We've got an impression to make."

  *

  It took us five hours to hit the Fardosh-Baird outer navigation limit, at which point they demanded we hand over control of the Shokasta to their traffic control for berthing. None of us were happy doing that, but we either went along with them or lost the chance to replenish the CASTOR system.

  I'd spent an hour in the MilSec training room working on an exercise program. It had been relatively lightweight but enough of a strain to feel it in muscles I'd rather not have remembered. Giotto was surprisingly patient, and I'd enjoyed chatting with her. Every conversation I'd had with Dollie for the last year had ended up in shouting and tears, so for me it was a minor achievement to converse with a woman on a somewhat normal level. After we'd finished, we set up an overall plan that would bring me back to what should have been my baseline healthy fitness level and scheduled so it didn't interfere with the team's training.

  "I'm gonna hit the shower," I said. "Thanks for the sweat session."