chapter seven
Argus Station
SysGov, 2981 CE
“Are you sure?” Jonas Shigeki asked, the words like ashes in his mouth.
“As certain as I can be,” Vassal replied. “The telegraph from Providence Station was brief but clear. Director-General Shigeki has been killed by an explosive device of unknown origin, and though Gordian Division personnel managed to extract his connectome, he is still legally dead. You’re now the acting head of the DTI, and your presence is urgently requested on the station.”
Jonas’ mind reeled within a maelstrom of emotions. His father was dead? Dead, but not quite dead? And he was in charge now? What should he even feel at a time like this? Grief? Shock?
Rage?
What he felt was numb, he realized. Just . . . numb, his mind unable to process everything contained within that simple message.
“Sir?” Agent Susan Cantrell asked quietly, sitting forward.
Jonas met her eyes and read the genuine concern in them. She didn’t know yet; Vassal had delivered the news privately to his virtual senses.
Someone tried to kill my father, he thought as he gazed at her, his emotional compass swinging at last toward anger, filling him with an oddly cold heat. A low simmer of emotions that he dared not let reach a boil.
No, he corrected. Someone did kill him, but they failed to do so permanently thanks to our allies.
Either way, there’s a murderer on Providence Station.
“Someone tried to kill my father,” he heard himself say.
She sucked in a quick, startled breath.
Jonas climbed to his feet, his body sluggish, his limbs heavier than ever before.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice both clear and dead at the same time. “We have work to do.”
He left his office, not bothering to check if she followed, merely sensing her shadowing him through Argus Station. His feet carried him through the Admin sector to a counter-grav tube, which whisked them upward into the heart of the station.
His feet brought him before Vesna Tyrel’s office, and he palmed the buzzer.
The door split open after a brief delay, and he stepped in.
“Yes, Director?” Tyrel asked, speaking formally in the company of their subordinates. She would have used his given name had they been alone.
Detective Isaac Cho twisted around in his seat, and his eyes passed over Jonas, and then fell on Susan. He must have noticed something, perhaps in his partner’s demeanor, because he became infinitely more alert in an instant.
“Is something wrong?” Tyrel asked.
“I’m afraid so.” He pointed to Isaac. “I need to take him off your hands.”
“But I’m not—”
“Director Shigeki has been killed in a bomb explosion.”
Tyrel’s lips parted ever so slightly, and she sat back. Isaac, no stranger to cases of death and murder, waited patiently for Jonas to continue, the detective’s eyes sharp and focused.
“More specifically, he was rendered temporarily deceased.” The words shocked him with how smoothly they flowed, how not a single syllable stuttered. “I’m now in command of the DTI, and, as Acting Director-General, I formally request Cho and Cantrell depart with me for Providence Station.”
“A murderer,” Tyrel murmured, tapping slender fingers on her desktop. “A murderer loose on Providence.”
“The station is essentially one giant construction site with modest crews from Gordian and the DTI. They’re mostly technical support with a smattering of command staff, which means no one over there knows the first thing about tracking down a killer.”
“Naturally.” Tyrel nodded. “And even if they did, we still have the problem of jurisdictions.”
“These two are the logical choice to lead the investigation.”
“Agreed.” Tyrel sat forward and knitted her fingers. “Well, Detective. Looks like we’re shipping you out to the transverse.”
“If that’s where you need us, Commissioner,” Isaac declared simply, “then that’s where we go.”
“Same here, ma’am,” Susan added. “You can count on us.”
“I’ll need to reactivate your status as a DTI investigator,” Jonas told Isaac.
“I figured as much.” Isaac turned back to Tyrel. “Is there any Themis presence on the station?”
“Not yet. Not while the station is being built.”
“Then it would make sense for us to head over with forensic backup.”
“I’ll check to see who’s available.” She opened a new screen. “Director, will you be heading out on Pathfinder-Prime?”
“As soon as we’re ready.”
“Then go. I’ll have the specialist meet you in the hangar.”
“And I’ll stop by Logistics and pick up a LENS for Cephalie.” Isaac rose from his seat. “Susan, you need anything while I’m there?”
“Just the usual.”
“Your usual?” Tyrel asked, fingers hovering beside a personnel list.
“A PA5 anti-synthoid hand cannon,” Isaac said dryly.
“Can’t be too careful,” Susan added. “Also, I’ll need my combat frame transferred over to the chronoport.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Jonas said. “You two close out any last-minute business, then meet me in the hangar.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said, and Isaac joined her as they headed out the door together.
“Wouldn’t want to leave home without your combat frame’s flamethrower,” he commented quietly.
“It has come in handy.”
“I never said otherwise.”
The door closed behind them.
Jonas let out a long, tired sigh and rubbed his forehead.
“Thanks, Vesna. Sorry I ambushed you like this, but . . . ”
“It’s all right. I understand. More than you might realize. Someday, when this has all calmed down, I’ll share the story of how I ended up in this body. The short version is, it wasn’t planned.”
“I’ll have to take you up on that.” Jonas crashed into the seat Isaac had been using and rested his head in his hand.
“You want to talk about it?” she offered.
“Not really.” Jonas gave her a brief, joyless smile. “I want to act.”
“Then go out there and do just that.” She tapped the commit key on a fresh personnel transfer. “Just remember to look before you leap.”
* * *
Jonas waited at the foot of Pathfinder-Prime’s loading ramp.
At ninety meters in length, the Pioneer-class chronoport was smaller than the standard TTV design. Its design consisted of a thick delta wing that led back to the long spike of its impeller, giving the observer the vague impression of a manta ray. Twin fusion thrusters and modular weapon systems hung beneath the delta wing, featuring a mix of box missile launchers and laser pods.
Outwardly, Jonas appeared calm and in control. Inwardly, he struggled to contain his nerves. He wanted to leave now, to fly out to Providence Station and speak with his father. The urge filled him with a potent sense of immediacy, but he shoved it down and waited.
He yearned for some sense of reassurance. To not only see for himself that his father lived, but that he remained the same person after his extraction.
Connectome copying wasn’t a new technology to the Admin—both STAND and the Department of Incarceration used it frequently—but that was about it. Synthoids were either former criminals, released with the stigma of intentionally feeble bodies, or STANDs, who served the Admin as the honed edge of Peacekeeper might. There was no middle ground.
His father would be . . . something new, at least in the Admin.
He was glad Gordian agents had saved his father in this manner, but why had they done so? Didn’t their laws make such an act illegal? Or had his father provided consent?
So many questions.
I’ll be able to ask him myself soon enough.
“Vassal?”
The AI’s avatar appeared before him. “Yes, Director?”
“Assuming all the information we’ve received is accurate, what’s my father’s legal status back home?”
“Deceased. There are no provisions in our law to handle the current situation.”
“Thought so.” Jonas sighed through his nose. “Which means I’m stuck in command, at least until the Chief Executor appoints his replacement.”
“He may nominate you to the post.”
“Maybe.” Jonas watched the entrance. But then he faced Vassal and flashed a brave smile. “At least Dad is still around to lend a hand. He’s not one to let something like ‘legal death’ slow him down.”
“I believe you’re correct, sir,” Vassal replied, returning the smile.
The entrance to the hangar split open, and a pair of STANDs stepped aside to allow Isaac and Susan through. The LENS drone floating behind the detective bore more than a passing resemblance to a floating metallic eyeball, slightly larger than his head. The avatar of a miniature woman in a long purple coat sat atop the drone.
They met Jonas at the base of the ramp.
“Ready to leave?” Jonas asked them.
“I am.” Susan patted the hefty sidearm holstered at her hip. “Assuming my combat frame’s arrived.”
“It’s already stowed in the hold.”
“Then we can leave as soon as our forensics support arrives.” Isaac glanced back at the entrance.
“Should be any minute,” Jonas said. “Tyrel sent out the order before I left her office.”
They didn’t have long to wait.
The doors split open again, revealing a stocky young man in SysPol blues with a round, somewhat pudgy face. The avatar of a small stone figurine floated over one shoulder—a monkey covering its ears with its hands. The specialist took a cautious step inside and looked around. The heavy disk of a conveyor drone hovered in behind him, a large crate grasped in its flexible arms.
Isaac waved the man over.
“Hello, um.” The specialist gave them a worried smile. “Sorry, but I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.” He summoned a document over his open palm. “I was supposed to fly out to Venus tomorrow for my next rotation, but then I received orders straight from Commissioner Tyrel of all people! Not sure why the Commissioner sent it directly to me, but orders are orders. Anyway, is there a Detective Cho here?”
“That’s me.” Isaac extended a hand.
“Ronald Gilbert, Forensics Specialist.” He shook Isaac’s hand. “Seems like I’ll be supporting you for a while.”
“Seems like.” Isaac gestured to his side. “This is my deputy, Special Agent Susan Cantrell.”
“You with the DTI?” Gilbert shook Susan’s hand.
“That’s right.”
“And here is my IC, Encephalon,” Isaac continued.
“Hey.” Cephalie gave the specialist a little wave from atop the LENS.
“A pleasure.” Gilbert nodded to her. “Now, can someone point out where I should send my gear?”
“Right up the ramp.” Isaac pointed with a thumb over his shoulder.
“On that?” Gilbert pointed at Pathfinder-Prime. “An Admin chronoport?”
“Is there a problem?” Isaac asked.
“Well, my drones have counter-grav. I can’t take them onto Admin vessels.” He paused, as if unsure of himself. “Right?”
“That restriction was rescinded about a month ago,” Isaac explained, “after the Providence tech exchange was finalized. We’re giving them counter-grav tech as part of the deal, so the rule became pointless.”
“Ah. Right. Makes sense.”
“Agent Cantrell,” Jonas said, “please assist Specialist Gilbert in stowing his equipment, then join us on the bridge.”
“Yes, sir.” Susan stepped onto the ramp. “This way, please.”
The two headed inside, followed by the conveyor.
Isaac bobbed his head after them, and the LENS floated up the ramp.
“Follow me, Detective,” Jonas said, and led Isaac through the chronoport’s tight, convoluted interior. Unlike SysGov vessels, Pathfinder-Prime had to function under a variety of gravitational conditions, including local downward gravity, free fall, and when under power, horizontal acceleration. Walls could become floors or ceilings under different circumstances, and the interior was littered with handholds and ladder rungs.
The bridge sat near the front of the vessel, with acceleration-compensation seats arranged in rows of three. Jonas was about to direct Isaac to the extra seating along the back row, but the detective filed down the row of his own accord, having spent time aboard chronoports in the past. Jonas took his own seat one row up and waited for the rest of the bridge crew and passengers to settle in.
“Director,” Captain Durantt’s voice boomed over the bridge’s shared virtual hearing, “we’re ready to depart on your command.”
“Take us out.”
The hangar bay opened to the vacuum of space, and the chronoport slipped out of Argus Station, an infinitesimal speck against the massive cylindrical station.
“First time aboard a time machine?” Isaac asked Gilbert quietly.
“Yeah.”
“It’s not bad,” Susan assured him. “There’s just one big bump when we pass through the outer wall, and that’s it.”
“Distance, one kilometer from station,” reported the realspace navigator.
“Spinning up the impeller. Twenty . . . forty . . . sixty . . . ” The temporal navigator checked her charts. “Spin stable at one hundred twenty. Chronometric environment stable. Impeller configured for transdimensional flight. All systems ready for phase-out.”
“Execute,” Durantt ordered.
Power diverted from the fusion thrusters coursed through the impeller spike, energizing and transforming the exotic matter at precise intervals in sync with the impeller’s spin. Chronotons that could once flow freely through the material found themselves blocked in one direction, and chronometric pressure began to build along a precise axis.
The pressure reached a critical threshold, and the chronoport lost phase cohesion with local realspace. The vessel broke through the universe’s outer wall with a mighty lurch, and then turned and settled onto a course for Providence Station.
* * *
Jonas stepped into the CHRONO Executive Medical Suite and was immediately greeted by the smiling face of a Peacekeeper behind the reception counter.
“Hello, Director.” She rose to attention. “I’m Specialist Gillespie. I was one of the people who responded to the emergency.”
“How is he?”
“Quite well, all things considered. His brain was mostly intact when my SysPol colleague—Doctor Ziegler—extracted his connectome. The operation was performed before any cellular decay occurred from lack of oxygen.”
“Mostly intact?” A sickly, anxious sensation spread through Jonas’ chest.
“Several shrapnel micro-fragments penetrated his skull and passed through the brain. Only time will tell how much memory or cognitive loss he’s suffered.”
“How does he seem so far?”
“He experienced a period of disorientation after we loaded him into a synthoid, but it seems to have passed. Doctor Ziegler is with him now, running him through cognitive and reflex tests. I’ve been watching the results as they come in.” She gestured to a small screen over the counter. “So far, he’s been doing fine. The initial disorientation could be related to the synthoid itself.”
“Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, sir. Nothing like that, but it’s different from his original body. Taller, for one thing. It’s only natural for there to be an adjustment period for his motor control.”
“Why didn’t you customize a STAND synthoid for him?”
“Regretfully, sir, our synthoids are incompatible with SysGov connectomes without heavy modifications. As he was extracted with SysGov hardware, one of their synthoids seemed the logical choice, and Doctor Ziegler kindly donated his own.”
“It’s not a weird one, is it?” The image of Oortan squidform in a Peacekeeper uniform popped into his head, tipping its cap with a tentacle-arm. “Baseline humanoid?”
“Yes, sir. As baseline as they come.”
“Fully functional?”
“Um.” Gillespie blushed for some reason. “Y-yes. Definitely. As good as the real thing. Top notch SysGov engineering, all around.”
“Good.” Jonas took a deep, calming breath. “May I see him now?”
“Of course, sir.” She gestured down the hall. “First exam room on the right. He’s in there with Doctor Ziegler and Agent Noxon.”
Jonas nodded to the specialist and headed into the exam room down the hall.
He was greeted by a curious trio. A four-armed medical drone floated next to a statuesque man with a mop of wavy hair wearing a Peacekeeper uniform. Behind them stood a STAND combat frame loaded with an assortment of heavy weapons.
The combat frame was a venerable Type-92, which less charitable circles referred to as mechanical “death skeletons.” Jonas had always found the moniker to be overblown. Sure, Type-92s did resemble black-boned skeletons, and enemies of the state did tend to die in their presence, but seriously, calling them “death skeletons” was just overblown hyperbole.
The handsome man’s eyes lit up with immediate recognition, and he smiled at Jonas.
“Son!” He spread his arms.
“Dad?” It was more a question than Jonas had intended, and he wondered how much of his father had been carried over into this new shell. The visual contrast between Shigeki’s original, aging body and this paragon of the human form didn’t help matters.
“Yeah, I know,” Shigeki replied with a disarming grin. “This is going to take both of us some getting used to.”
“The arrangement is only temporary,” the medical drone said. “We can print out a custom body for you later. Put you back in something more familiar.”
“As long as you promise to de-age my looks first.” Shigeki rotated one of his shoulders. “I’ve had my fill of being old for a while.”
“Of course. I’ll help you with the order once you’re ready.” The medical drone extended one of its lower, more delicate hands to Jonas. “I’m Doctor Ziegler. A pleasure to meet you, Director.”
“Likewise. I understand I have you to thank for saving my father.”
“In a way, though Commissioner Schröder was the one who authorized the procedure.” The drone gestured for Jonas to come in. “Would you like some time together with the patient?”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Just holler if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Jonas waited until the three of them were alone.
“Nox?” he asked the combat frame. “Where’s your regular body?”
“In a lot of tiny pieces.”
“He’s not kidding,” Shigeki said. “I’d be dead if Nox hadn’t taken the brunt of it. Dead-er.” He cracked a smile. “Besides, I don’t think Nox minds an excuse to be carrying around a grenade launcher, given what happened.”
“Not one bit,” the STAND replied dryly.
“You seem to be handling this rather well,” Jonas said.
“Just keeping things in perspective.” Shigeki ran fingers back across his head, then paused and patted his unfamiliar hair. “I much prefer this to waking up in Yanluo’s burning realms.”
“Don’t say that, Dad. It could have been heaven.”
“Not in my profession. There are plenty of reasons people would want to kill me.”
“Are we sure it was a bomb? And not some really terrible construction accident?”
“Empty hallways tend not to explode on their own,” Nox grunted. “And nothing nearby could have caused the explosion. We were at least that certain when the telegraph went out.”
“Then it seems I was right.”
“About what?” Shigeki asked.
“I brought backup from Themis Division. Cho and Cantrell.”
Jonas threw out the names partially to see how his father responded. To gauge for himself if his father had lost a step.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“Cho and Cantrell . . . Ah, yes. The exchange program and our ‘junior provisional investigator.’ Which is a completely made-up rank.”
“I’ve explained my reasons.”
“Yes, yes.” Shigeki dismissed the issue with a wave. “I’m sure we can leave the investigation in their capable hands. We, however, have a much bigger problem to wrestle with.”
“It’s Muntero,” Nox explained.
“What about her?” Jonas asked.
“She’s blaming SysGov for the attack,” Shigeki said, “and, because of that, she’s put a complete freeze on all cooperation between Gordian Division and the DTI until the murderer is found. Joint surveys. Station construction. Everything. She even plans to pull our people out of Operations and have them work from inside docked chronoports!”
“Oh, for the love of—!” Jonas put a hand to his forehead. “Of all the times to start burning bridges!”
“So, you see,” Shigeki began, “you and I need to do what we can to bring this situation under control. Before that idiot turns everything we and Gordian have built here to ash.”