Gary Gibson - Stealing Light

Bourdain stood up and went to kneel next to Dakota’s chair, laying one hand on her thigh in an almost paternal gesture.

‘Let’s get it straight exactly how much shit you’re in right now, Dakota.’ His hand slid up closer to her crotch and she tried to jerk away, but it was impossible with Moss holding her so tightly. ‘If you’re legitimate, you walk away. That’s the truth. If I’m anything, I’m fair. But if you’re lying’-he looked up, nodding at each of the headless monstrosities on either side of them-‘this is what Hugh’s going to do to you, too. That right, Hugh?’

A breathy sound from behind her, like air escaping from a flatulent corpse. It was too easy to picture those greasy yellow teeth bared expectantly.

‘So I think you’ll agree, Dakota, that doing what I want you to is really going to be in your best interests.’ He stood and looked down at her with what appeared to be real sorrow. ‘I hate this kind of situation because it’s so distasteful, you know? But that’s business.’

‘I haven’t done anything!’ she screamed. ‘And, besides, the cargo is still in my ship, Bourdain. You can’t get hold of it without my say-so, you understand me? If you go near it-’

Bourdain shook his head sadly, cutting her off. ‘I own you, Miss Merrick, same as I own Quill. We know that someone or something probed your ship, and also probed the control systems for the cargo. Maybe you knew about it, maybe you didn’t. If you didn’t, I’m sorry, but I just can’t afford to take any chances. Hugh, let her speak to her ship for a second, then…’ He waved a hand towards her. ‘Then find out what you can. Just make sure you clean the place up before I get back.’

Moss nodded as Bourdain walked out of the room, before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

‘My dear Dakota, it’s so good to be alone together at last. I can’t tell you how much I’m going to enjoy you, after I remove your head.’

‹Dakota?›

Piri!

Panic-stricken relief swept through her. She probably only had a few moments before Moss managed to close the connection again.

I need you to get me out of here.

‹I am afraid to inform you that as you are no longer the registered owner of the Piri Reis, I am obliged to refuse you command as of seventy-five seconds ago.›

What? Override that, Piri.

‹Only the appropriate personnel can permit overrides. ›

Dakota twisted around to face Moss, seeing the look of triumph on his face. It was the same look she’d seen on Quill’s face once she’d agreed to take this job. Who else would have been able to supply Bourdain with the necessary overrides?

What ‘appropriate personnel’?

‹Mr Alexander Bourdain is the registered majority shareholder in Quill Shippings

Dakota closed her eyes, opened them again. Moss chuckled quietly.

‘You and I are now going to have a long talk, Miss Merrick.’ He deliberately drawled the word long.

Emergency systems override, Piri.

‹Emergency systems overrides can only be facilitated by the appropriate registered senior personnel. Please note that-›

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, she subvocalized, rattling the words together in her panic.

‹I am registering a stage-one intrusion alert.›

Remember me to one who lives there, she continued.

Somewhere inside the Piri, carefully hidden higher-level systems were coming alive as Dakota spoke her own secret code phrases.

‹Second-stage intrusion alert: I am alerting the appropriate registered senior personnel. Further intrusions on higher-level autonomous functions will be severely-›

She once was a true love of mine, Dakota finished in a blur as Moss leaned in towards her ear.

‘Your connection’s cut,’ he said. ‘Now it’s just you and me.’

‹Hello, Dakota.›

Dakota’s heart skipped a beat.

Create a distraction, Piri. Anything.

One of Moss’s fingers stroked her ear, and she winced at the stench of his breath. Then he suddenly stood bolt upright, but kept one hand resting on her shoulder.

‘Sir?’

Dakota twisted around further and saw Moss seemed to be talking to the air, one finger to an earlobe. She guessed he was speaking to Bourdain.

‘I just received an automatic alert, sir. Comms report receiving warning of a terrorist threat through a secure police channel.’

Moss nodded to the empty air. Dakota could almost hear the sound of her heart trying to bludgeon its way through her ribcage, her hands gripping the chair.

‘It’s a secure channel routed through the Consortium Outer System Patrol offices,’ Moss continued, for the benefit of his invisible employer. ‘They’re claiming an unmanned helium dredge has been programmed to alter course and hit the Rock within the hour. No details beyond that, at the moment. And given the number of guests we now have in the Great Hall…’

‹Dakota, I have generated a false police warning and routed it through the Rock’s alert systems.›

Piri, I love you.

‹You’re welcome. Does that mean you would like me to fuck you on your return?›

Please.

Bourdain reappeared a moment later, so clearly he hadn’t gone far.

‘It’s still only an automated alert,’ Bourdain snapped. ‘I need someone human to tell me what’s going on.’ He reached up and tapped his earlobe, looking over Dakota’s shoulder. His eyes gradually unfocused, and she guessed he was seeing and hearing someone on his technical staff as if they were standing next to him.

‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he suddenly demanded of the empty air. His expression got grimmer. After a moment, Bourdain shook his head, clearly unhappy.

He appeared to suddenly notice her, as if he’d forgotten what had only just taken place in his office. ‘This isn’t over,’ he told her, venom in his voice. ‘Hugh, come with me.’

She heard Moss shift away from behind her. ‘Stay here,’ he warned her. ‘Don’t make it any worse for yourself than it already is.’

They left, closing the door as they exited.

She was on her own.

Almost.

The bead-zombies remained standing on either side of her, like frighteningly detailed statues. Dakota realized, with a start, that neither Moss nor Bourdain had yet given them any orders, and without directions they were about as dangerous as a pair of well-muscled vegetables. She sat there frozen for a couple of seconds more, filled with sick fascination at the steady rise and fall of the zombies’ chests as they hovered beside her. As they would wait, for ever, or until instructed to go elsewhere.

Dakota stood up carefully, ready to bolt if either of them so much as twitched a non-sentient muscle in her direction. A wave of nausea swept over her and she leaned against the back of her chair just in time to stop herself from collapsing.

‹Systems indicate,› the Piri Reis informed her, ‹that you might require medical attention.›

The bead-zombies remained as impassive as ever.

Thank you, Piri. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You saved my life.

‹Comment noted.›

Can you please, please get me out of here?

‹It may take several seconds. The local security systems have a high level of encryptions

Somewhere inside Bourdain’s Rock, the Piri’s offensive routines were subordinating the systems that ran the asteroid’s primary computer networks, forcing them to channel erroneous information to Bourdain’s technical staff.

Even so, it wouldn’t take Bourdain long to realize that Dakota was the cause of it all.

She went to the door and tugged at it experimentally, unsurprised to find it locked. Come on, Piri.