Марта Уэллс - Network Effect

I said, “Is that the truth or is that the story you’re going with?”

“It’s the truth,” Ras managed. “We don’t know what happened to them.”

“We really don’t,” Eletra added, urgent enough to be convincing. “We haven’t seen anyone else since we were brought aboard. Just… those people.”

I let Ras up and he scrambled away from me, over to Eletra on the far side of the room. His expression was frightened, incredulous.

“Stop being so mean,” Amena hissed at me.

I lowered my voice and I sounded absolutely normal and not like I was upset at all. “I am trying to keep you alive.”

“I appreciate that, but—” She squinted up at me. “You look really bad. Are you sure you’re all right? That drone hit you really hard.”

Yeah, well, I can’t do anything about that right now. I said, “You need to take care of your leg. But do not activate the MedSystem. It was controlled by…” For nearly ten seconds, I’d forgotten. “By the bot pilot. It was compromised before it was… destroyed or it would have killed the intruders itself. Something is still running the ship, taking us through the wormhole, and whatever it is may have control of the MedSystem.”

Amena threw a worried look at the silent medical platform. So did Ras and Eletra. Amena said, “I didn’t know bot pilots could kill people.”

“They’re almost as dangerous as humans.” I know, of every argument I could try to start right now, that one is in the top five most stupidly pointless.

Amena gave me a baffled glare, but said, “Right, so no MedSystem. There’s got to be some manual med supplies here somewhere.”

“Use one of the emergency kits in that locker. I need to finish clearing this section.” I hit our private relay and added, I’ll leave you some drones . I cut a squad of eight out of my cloud and told them to stay with her.

Her eyes widened and she hesitated. For three seconds I didn’t understand why. She hadn’t been afraid when I’d grabbed Ras; her expression had been more annoyed than anything else. Then I realized she didn’t want to separate. She took a sharp breath and said, “All right.” On the feed relay, she added, Good, drones. That’s what I’ve always wanted.

I could have said “Don’t say I never gave you anything” and we could have had reassuring sarcastic banter, like one of my shows. But I was walking around in ART’s corpse and nothing felt reassuring. I just said, I’ll stay in contact .

I walked out, headed for the quarters section. Scout Two in the control area foyer was still watching a confused/agitated conversation among the Targets. Wait, something was different again about their helmets. I ran back the video and spotted it: the color had changed from a dull blue-gray to the same patterned stealth material as the targetDrones. The Targets noticed when it happened, pointing at each other and commenting on it, but they didn’t seem to find it surprising or unusual.

Another security update by targetControlSystem. That’s all I fucking need. My drone targeting would be completely thrown off. Fortunately the update hadn’t been—or more probably couldn’t be—loaded to the rest of their body armor. But killer drone strikes might be completely off the table now.

I wondered why the Targets had been pounding on the hatch. If Targets One and Three could come back from the dead, Scout One hadn’t recorded any sign of it.

Huh. Depending on how targetControlSystem collected data from the targetDrones, how they recorded and transmitted video, the three remaining Targets might actually have very little idea of what had happened to Targets One, Two, and Three. They knew Amena and I had been brought aboard, they had to. But they seemed focused on the sealed control area. They hadn’t gone to the lounge where Target Two’s body still was. Maybe, despite the targetDrones and targetControlSystem’s updates, they didn’t have access to surveillance data? TargetControlSystem obviously knew physical impacts had killed the Targets or it wouldn’t have coded the updates—was it not sharing that information with the Targets?

It was a strange idea, I know. And if correct, it was more proof for the theory that the Targets had little to no access to most of ART’s onboard systems, even though targetControlSystem was running helm and presumably weapons. Though ART didn’t have feed-accessible security cams like a normal transport.

ART.

I pulled together a simple code for penetration testing and started to run it in the background, on all the channels where I thought there might be targetDrone activity.

I was going to break into targetControlSystem and do terrible things to it.

And if the Targets were that confused about what had happened and where we were, I could use that. I started another process to pull recorded audio out of my archive. (If I had a plan at the moment, which I did not, it would involve stalling a lot. We were in the wormhole and whatever our destination was, it would take several day-cycles at least, probably more, possibly a lot more, to get anywhere. I had to seize control of the ship (ART) before then.)

In the medical suite, my drones watched Eletra pull an emergency kit out of the locker. Amena sat down heavily on a bench as Eletra got the kit open.

Ras glanced warily up at my drones, which were in a circulating formation in the upper part of the compartment. He said, “That… your SecUnit is really going to protect us?”

“Sure,” Amena said, distracted as Eletra handed her a wound pack.

Eletra opened a container of medication tabs with a groan of relief. “My back is killing me. They let us have ration bars from an emergency supply pack, but no meds, nothing else.”

Ras persisted, “You said your family owns it?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Amena wrapped the wound pack around her injured leg. Then she almost fell over as it shot drugs for shock and pain right through her torn pants.

I told her, Tell them I’m under contract to the Preservation Survey .

“It’s under contract to the Preservation Survey.” Amena shoved herself upright again. That’s true, so why are you telling me to say it like it’s a lie?

Because “under contract” means something completely different to them . In the Preservation Alliance, it meant I’d agreed to work for the survey for a specifically limited amount of time in return for compensation. In the Corporation Rim, it would have meant the survey had rented me from an owner, the same way you’d rent your habitat or your terrain vehicle, except humans usually had warm feelings toward their habitats and terrain vehicles.

Ras seemed confused by Amena’s answer, but he just said, “We need something that will take out those drones.” He started to search through the emergency kit, and pulled out a container of fire suppressant. “This might work.”

Eletra slid down to sit on the floor. She offered Amena the medication container. “I don’t think I’ve heard of the Preservation Survey. Is that a subsidiary of another corporation or…?”

While Amena explained the concept of a non-corporate polity to Eletra (and how many polities did actually have surveys and stations and cities and so on and weren’t just people in loincloths screaming at each other), I reached the quarters and started a quick search. Some cabins were clearly unused, mostly the ones with multiple bunks that were meant for students. The beds were still folded up in the walls and there were no personal possessions in sight, just like the last time I had been here. Other cabins showed recent habitation: beds and furniture deployed, bedding in place but disarrayed, clothing and personal objects and hygiene items lying around. Like the crew had just been here, had just stepped away right before I looked in. It was creepy, with no movement except the air system making the fabric tassels of a wall decoration flutter.