Elizabeth Bear - Worldwired

“I know. I can't reach Richard either.” The worldwire might as well be gone. Just gone. Which isn't reassuring at all.

“Michel,” Riel says, and at first I have no idea who she's talking about. “My bodyguard.”

Her eyes darken when I shake my head. That's all his blood we're lying in, except maybe a pint or so of Fred's. “I don't believe they're shooting up the UN to get you, Connie. The United Nations. That's some amazing shit. Congrats.”

“Did anybody get a look at who was shooting?” She's trying to inch forward and peer under the privacy panel. I squish her against the floor as another three-shot burst splinters wood over our heads.

“Xiong.” Valens scrunches under the table. “Did you see how the UN security went down? Like somebody cut their strings.”

“Lie the hell still, Fred, before the rest of your guts ooze out between your fingers.”

He doesn't laugh, which is good, because laughing would hurt him like a son of a bitch right about now, and he stops paddling his heels against the carpet and trying to crawl on his shoulder blades. Patty squeaks, though, and I wince at my own brutal choice of words. Sorry, kid.

Ah, hell. She might as well get used to it now.

Riel starts to say something, but it's cut off by a string of liquid syllables from Min-xue. He swears sharply in a language I don't recognize — I know it's swearing by the tone — and then shakes his head, black hair sweeping his forehead like a rattled curtain. “Not Xiong,” he says.

“It was Xiong's bodyguards that had the guns.” Riel, proving her powers of observation.

Valens, wheezing. “Is she dead?”

“Janet? She took at least two in the chest.”

“Quel domage,” Riel mutters, and Fred gags on a noise that's got to be flavored with blood. “If they hadn't decided to take Janet out first, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“They didn't take her out fast enough to keep her from spilling the beans on Hardy,” Fred mutters. I wish he'd stop talking. It hurts to listen to him.

“If only she'd gotten to whatever she had to say about the Americans and the Chinese.” The blood is cold by the time it seeps through my pants legs, sticking the cloth to my knees. I wish I could say it's the most disgusting thing I've ever felt. “There's still four people out there with guns and security is lying on the floor, looking like their hearts stopped. How the hell do the Chinese plan to explain away Xiong's involvement?”

“That's just it,” Riel begins, and Min-xue says at the same time. “Did anybody see the minister of war before the shooting?”

General silence, which Riel takes for general agreement. Typical. Bitch. “He came in with Xiong and the PanChinese. He got up and left when Janet took the stand.”

“I believe Premier Xiong is intended to be a casualty as well,” Min-xue murmurs, still shuddering like a racehorse in the gate although his tone is level — as if his brain were utterly divorced from the demands of his body. He brushes a strand of hair out of Patty's eyes with the back of one white-gloved hand.

Yeah, I think I'm a fucking tough girl. Balls of sterling plated brass. Bullshit, baby: look at that kid. “A casualty?”

“Or a… how do you say—”

“Scapegoat.”

“Thank you, Patricia.” He shakes his head. “We must rescue Premier Xiong as well, if we can. If he is not already dead.”

“Not possible—”

“Casey.” Riel's breath cools my cheek. “It's got to happen.”

“Bien sûr.” I sigh. “I won't leave you unprotected, ma'am.”

“Miss Valens and I will make a run for it while you and Pilot Xie distract the Chinese assassins and attempt to rescue Premier Xiong. Much as I hate to suggest it, if you get a chance, check Janet for a pulse as well.”

The sorely tried resignation in her voice makes me chuckle, despite the clotting iron reek of blood filling my sinuses. All right then. I catch Patty's eye, and Patty nods. I nod back and turn to Valens. “Fred, if Patty and Constance break for the door and get lost in the mob while Min-xue and I go for Xiong—”

“That leaves me bleeding under a table. Follow orders, Jen.”

Patty doesn't make a sound. She nods, and so does Min-xue.

Damn Fred Valens. Damn him to hell.

“There's one more thing,” said Riel, and how I've come to hate her calm, level voice in just a few short moments.

“What's that?”

“The Chinese assassins? If my intelligence is good, they're probably wired as fast as Min-xue.”

Fuck me raw. I'm impressed with myself that I don't say it out loud. I glance at Min-xue again; we can hear the footsteps coming closer, over the panicked-cattle noise of the mob by the doors. Patty and Connie might get trampled instead of shot.

I reach out and squeeze Fred's hand. The hand he doesn't have fisted into his leaking belly, the squeeze delivered with my metal one. “You know what they say…”

Blood stains his mouth. I wish I hadn't seen that. “Yeah. When in doubt, empty the magazine.”

“That might be comforting if I had a fucking weapon, sir.” I lift my weight off Connie; she reaches up to assist with two hands on my shoulders. “When Min and I go over the top, you ladies run like bunnies. Hop hop hop.”

“Don't worry, Casey. You don't need to tell me twice.”

Dammit, Dick, I think, fretfully, and get ready to run.

Once Dr. Fitzpatrick had been raised and the XO had reported, Wainwright ordered the klaxon killed on the bridge. She still heard it echoing through the hatchcover, however, as she settled herself in her chair. The nanonetwork might be down and her ship uncontrolled, drifting in orbit without the access to propulsion or attitude jets, but she was far from isolated.

The problem was, there was nothing to do but sit tight. Nothing to do right now, except think. She stared at the screen array on the far wall. The Montreal, the shiptree, and Piper Orbital Platform, currently, but she could have any view in the solar system, subject to light-speed lag.

How quickly she'd gotten used to immediate communication, instantaneous advice. She's started relying on Richard far more than she should have. And not just Richard; Richard's ability to poll a handful of others and give her a quick consensus view.

Well, she didn't have that now. And she didn't have a 3-D starship captain's gadget of the week with the sponsor's logo prominently displayed on the barrel, ready to be deployed in time to save the world by the commercial break. What she had was a disabled ship drifting in an orbit that would begin to decay uncomfortably soon if she didn't regain control — although they could use shuttlecraft as tugs if it came down to it, or send an EVA team out to angle the solar sails manually. Her crew on the shiptree was probably safer there than here, even if Fitzpatrick couldn't raise Charlie on the suit radio. Unless something had happened to Charlie, of course. Unless something had happened to Dr. Tjakamarra and Casey and Patricia Valens, as well, the crew members who were on the worldwire, when the worldwire went down. Genie Castaign had been fine — dazed, a little confused. But Genie's nanosurgery had been corrective only. And it was complete, unlike the pilots, who were being reconstructed as fast as their amped-up bodies could damage themselves.

Oh. A chill settled between Wainwright's shoulder blades; she raised her eyes to the monitors again. The worldwire going down might not hurt Genie. It wouldn't even hurt the Montreal, in the long run, once the vast ship could be rewired and the fiberoptic and carbon cables that Richard had disassembled replaced. It might not even do any damage to the Feynman AI, she told herself, as she called up a thermal image of the Calgary crash site to assure that the reactors were still live.