Ariadne Page 6

  The admission is a hard one, shown by the pained expression creasing Klund’s stretched face. It’s quite a display. His act of self-preservation doesn’t surprise me. If anything, it humanises the geek, but it does raise a further question.

  “How do we know you didn’t gas the ship in the first place? You admitted you had access.”

  The geek’s eyes almost dart out of his face. “I would never do such a heinous thing. What would be my motive?”

  I share a look with Hewlis.

  “Motives are ten a penny,” I reply to the scientist. “Simple revenge, anger, resentment, love, etcetera. The list goes on. What is far more important, is opportunity, which it appears you had in bucket-loads.”

  Klund shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with that. Ariadne did it. I’m sure of it.”

  “Are you just as sure the ship can’t gas us again?”

  The geek nods with pronounced exaggeration. “I initiated a cascade failure, resulting in the death of the air-con system. I was worried about knock-on effects to other parts of the ship. That is what I was doing when we bumped into each other. A damage assessment.”

  “At least we’re safe,” Hewlis says sardonically. “Or as safe as we can be with that other ship out there.”

  “Okay, Klund,” I say. “What else is this ship capable of?”

  “You will inform the Company I had no choice in doing what I did?” he pleads, his head bobbing up and down. “That I was trying to save Ariadne and the experiment?”

  Velez snorts behind me. “There’s nothing wrong in looking after number one,” she says. “Forget the damn Company. They don’t think twice about fucking us over. I have personal experience of that. You did a good thing.”

  I ignore her. “Sure,” I reply to Klund. “If you tell me what you know about the Ariadne, I’ll make out you’re a goddamn all-round hero. Are we in any further danger from her?”

  “I’m not sure,” the geek replies, rubbing a hand over the blond stubble of his scalp. “She has a certain amount of independent thought, leading to independent actions.”

  “A goddamn accident waiting to happen,” Hewlis says with a flick of his eyebrows.

  “But that is how her mind was specifically designed,” Klund replies to the engineer. “That was the whole point of the experiment. Battle computers are all so advanced these days that any conflict between equal numbers of opposing ships will result in a stand-off. With an autonomous entity like Ariadne in control, the odds of winning such a confrontation are increased exponentially. Or that was the hope. But—”

  “—But something went wrong.” Hewlis spits. “Of course it did.”

  Everyone becomes quiet, me included.

  “What the fuck are we gonna do next?” says Velez, nervously breaking the silence. “We need to stop the ship, if we can’t do that, we’re all dead and buried.”

  I round on her. “We’re sticking to my plan. I’m going to interrogate all the other survivors and solve the murder—I’m sure that’s the link to getting out of this mess.”

  Velez snorts. “That’s no plan, that’s a death sentence!”

  “Does anyone have a better idea?” I ask, eyeing Velez, the geek and Hewlis.

  “Shouldn’t we be looking for Professor Chandrasekhar’s quarters?” the engineer says. “Shouldn’t that be our priority?”

  “How long do you think it would take to search every cabin and room aboard this ship?” I ask.

  Hewlis draws breath to answer but I talk over him.

  “Too bloody long. But let’s say we’re lucky and Drex and Boyd come back to tell us they’ve found the professor’s office. He’s very probably dead, gassed by his own creation. He must be, otherwise he would’ve done something to stop all this. And without the professor, how do we get in contact with Ariadne? Or destroy her? You think Chandrasekhar’s data-centre would let us in just because we asked? It’d be a waste of our valuable time.”

  Hewlis accepts my logic with a grim nod, his mop of grey curls wriggling like a nest of worms. “You’re right.”

  “Drex and Boyd?” the geek says. “There’s more people alive?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “And even more in the Hospitality Suite. Maybe they will have some useful information. I won’t know until I go and interrogate them.”

  “You won’t find anything of interest in Hospitality,” Velez says.

  “I’m a Skilled,” I reply. “Brought in to discover what the hell is going on here. That’s what we do—make sense of the nonsensical and find the bad guy. There’s a helluva lot more going on aboard this ship than an out-of-control, insane Cereb. I’m certain of it. If not… then we’re all dead. But without me, you’d be dead anyway, which means you have a simple choice: help me or get in my way—and you don’t get in the way of a Skilled when he’s doing his job, not unless you want to find out what it’s like to be on the rough end of a buzz-gun blast.” I stare at Velez, giving her time to let the threat sink in. “We’re heading to Hospitality and that’s final.”

  “Then please may I ask that you return my diagnostic scanner?” Klund asks.

  “What the hell for?”

  He shrugs, as if the answer is an obvious one. “I must continue my damage assessment, of course. I disabled Ariadne’s air-con node. There may be a knock-on effect to other systems. And a cascade failure would be quite disastrous to the ship. I will finish my work as fast as I can and come and join you and the others in Hospitality.”

  Something about Klund, his demeanour, his need to get away grates with me. It may be the wrong decision, but I shake my head. “Didn’t you hear me? We only have under two hours. Your work doesn’t have priority. Besides, I want you with me. You know more about Ariadne than anyone else.”

  “But I must—”

  I raise a single finger. “Hewlis, give me his scanner.”

  He passes it to me. I drop it to the floor and crush it under my foot. “Like I said, you’re done.”

  Klund’s hands turn into impotent fists, his face showing considerable annoyance.

  “What’s the matter?” I say. “You gonna report me for destroying Company property after what you did to Ariadne?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Now someone hit the damn elevator button.”

  WE EMERGE from the elevator and head for the front of the ship, only stopping to check the occasional body.

  I’m not expecting to find any more murder victims—victims who’ve been shot rather than gassed—but I check them anyway. Part of me doesn’t have much faith in Drex and Boyd. I’m wondering if it was a mistake to order them to search the ship. There’s no way they could get access to the crew’s private cabins, not without security codes, which might skew their results. Still, they are out of my hair.

  My heart quickens at the thought of meeting my old boss, Xev Tranth. The fact he’s aboard and still alive is something I can’t ignore. The man was calculating at the very least. I’m not the type to jump to rash conclusions but I can’t stop the irrational thought that I’m only aboard Ariadne because Xev somehow wanted me here. A ridiculous notion, but such is the power Xev once held over me.

  I lead Hewlis, Velez and an agitated Klund into a long, egg-shaped oval room following Ariadne’s artistic curves… the Hospitality Suite.

  I am astounded. The far wall is an enormous rounded plastiglass window through which the mesmerising waves of hyperspace swirl and bubble in an iridescent display of many colours. Portholes aboard normal Company ships are a usually a thin slit of thickened, clouded glass. I’ve seen nothing like this before.

  The interior walls have a raised complexity of brick-like shapes that flicker and dance with the flashing lights of the hyperspace display. The carpeted floor is a stylised design—a giant spider drawn in shades of red, black, and gold. Ariadne again. I shudder, remembering that this whole ship is one big spider and that I’m caught in its goddamn web.

  Tables and chairs are strewn around inside. Some of them knocked over to hide t
he twenty or so bodies laid out on the floor on the far side of the room. A single occupant—a consort with bright red skin—sits on a chair, its head bowed.

  I round on Hewlis. “Where the hell is everyone else?” I ask. “Xev Tranth and the waitress?”

  “Drex ordered me to break into the bridge. That’s where me, him and Boyd were when your pod smashed into the cargo bay. Velez was supposed to remain here,” he says, looking at the chef for an explanation.

  “I went for a walk to clear my head,” Velez replies. “I found all the bodies in Habitation a little off-putting. Not that it helped. There are goddamn bodies everywhere. But I had to get out. Something rocked the ship, probably your arrival, and I went to investigate. As for the others? I don’t know where they could’ve gotten to. Not my responsibility.”

  The chef has been annoying me ever since she turned up. “You’re supposed to be a cook, so go rustle me up some food. I’m starving. The galley is next door, so you shouldn’t get lost.”

  She stares back at me, as if the request is beneath her.

  “I pistol-whipped Drex, don’t make me do the same to you. And try and find something to drink. Preferably whisky.”

  Velez scans the room one more time, shrugs, and glides away.

  “I should go as well,” says Klund. “I really do need to check out the rest of the ship.”

  I shake my head. “You stay with me.”

  “But why?”

  I put my face next to his. “Because you keep trying to get away.”

  “I just want to do my best to help out. Can’t you see that?”

  “And I want you to stay where I can keep my eye on you.”

  “You let Velez go.”

  “Yeah, I did, but I’m hungry and, for the moment, that’s my priority.”

  I stride away from the annoyed geek and head towards the red-skinned consort, a hermaphroditic member of the order known as The Jen. It’s almost naked apart from chiffon-like material covering lithe limbs, the face hidden by a pair of elegant hands tipped with long, pink fingernails. The consort hasn’t moved since I entered, and if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s being ignored. I kick its chair with an irritated foot.

  The hands drop to reveal an augmented, fur-covered face containing wide, enlarged doe-like eyes. Attentive, pointed ears flick in my direction, sitting either side the buds of two horns. Its snout is also enlarged, tipped with a black, glistening nose. Long, red, luscious hair sprouts from its head to fall over its shoulders and down its back in a cascade like a horse’s mane.

  A stylised, cartoonesque human antelope.

  The creature is sexy… in a weird kind of way. But being exotic, attractive, and very much available—for the right price—is what the Jen are all about. They are professional companions. A polite term for prostitute, their bodies altered for the giving and receiving of pleasure—but they are a lot more than just playthings to be bought and then discarded.

  “Who are you?” it says, the voice breathy, sensual and overtly feminine.

  “I’m Vatic.”

  Its over-sized eyes roam across my emaciated frame, and I’m vain enough to let this bother me. I’m not in my best physical shape, that much is true.

  “You’re a Skilled?”

  “And you’re a Jen.”

  A snort. “Then you’re like me… not quite human.”

  I fix the creature with my good eye and reply. “I understand what it is to be different. But there is no similarity between us. You made a choice to become…” I look the creature up and down, “…whatever that is. I had no such luxury.”

  The Jen are not a separate breed like me, they are, instead, designer-humans. Fiercely ambitious, driven and goal-orientated—and not to be under-estimated. I tap my wafer. It reveals three consorts aboard. None of them are red-skinned. My heartbeat increases ever so slightly.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Rooba, Rooba Jen.” The Jen pushes itself up to stand on long, gazelle-like legs, its feet capped with augmented cloven hooves. Rooba is a good foot and a half taller than me. Crimson hair spills down its statuesque shoulders, glistening under the flashing lights of hyperspace. It possesses three pairs of breasts, diminishing in size above an impossibly slim waist, nipples large and pointed.

  I hear Eric Klund gasp behind me. Intimate human relations are probably an unknown territory to him. Sure, I’m stereotyping the young geek, but I’m guessing the closest he’s ever come to having sex is in the VR suite—and Rooba Jen is all sex, and pretty much nothing else, other than not-quite naked ambition.

  “You’re not on the Company roster,” I bark. “Care to explain why?”

  Rooba points towards the pile of corpses, where I spot the blue skin of another Jen.

  “I came with that consort,” Rooba continues. “Name of Naal Jen. There was a dropout and I was the last-minute replacement.”

  I take in the information with a nod of my head. That name is on my roster. Rooba’s story sounds plausible—on the surface at least. A last-minute change could be a valid reason why Rooba is not listed, but in terms of suspects, the Jen now has a red flag hanging over its head, a flag red enough to match its bright crimson skin.

  “If there’s a party, there’s bound to be a consort or two,” Rooba continues. “I’m a Jen after all and always keen to meet new faces and people.” Its eyes flick suggestively at Eric Klund. “You do understand what we are and what we do?”

  Rooba is plying its trade, even in this goddamn horror of a situation. Something the Jen can’t turn off. “Ignore it,” I say to the geek. “These things are not to be trusted.”

  “Please,” Rooba says with no trace of anger. “I may be a Jen, but I’ve never liked the impersonal pronoun. I’m female-preferred. With no hidden surprises… unless that’s your kink.”

  “Female huh? I thought your kind didn’t favour gender designation.”

  “We don’t. We can be whoever or whatever you want us to be. Presently, I’m all girl.” She throws back her head, emphasising her neck and boobs, a simple gesture full of practised coquettish allure.

  The thing is flirting with me. I suppose that in her world, I’m quite the catch, although Rooba must know that the Skilled are not prone to attachment or emotion. Mostly. “You’ve not asked me what I’m doing here. Or how I arrived on the ship?”

  Rooba shrugs again. “How should I know about any of that? Unlike you, I wasn’t given a ship’s roster. And who cares when you came aboard? You’re a Skilled. That makes you someone important, more important than that dim kid who put himself in charge.”

  I’m impressed with Rooba’s faith in me although, so far, I’ve few clues and no suspects.

  “Where were you when everyone started dying?”

  The question seems to focus Rooba. “I was outside in one of the corridors,” she replies, remembered horror replacing her coquettishness. “Chatting to one of the ship’s command crew. Hoping to make a connection, but some onboard incident called him away.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Someone had been shot. Someone important by all accounts.”

  I’m intrigued. Rooba is the first person I’ve talked to who has heard about the murder. I glance over to Hewlis and Klund who are hanging on every word the Jen says. My eye returns to the red-skinned consort and I fix her with a stare. “Yeah, I found the body,” I say under my breath. “Mandibald Glaxtinian, an Arbiter.”

  Rooba’s eyes light up. “An Arbiter? My, that would’ve been a catch.”

  “Did your mark give you any information about the victim? Or why she was shot?”

  Rooba shakes her head. “We barely swapped a few words before he was called away. He collapsed seconds later, gasping for air and grasping at his throat. I went to get help, but everybody was choking… dying from the same thing—something nasty in the air. Then the ship jumped into hyperspace without warning. After that, I dunno. I sort of acted on autopilot. I came back here… I didn’t know where else to go.�
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  I ponder her story for a moment. It’s as believable as the others I’ve heard. “With everyone dying, how come you survived?”

  “That’s easy,” Rooba says, a smile of pride appearing on her elongated snout. “I grew up on one of those poisonous little colony worlds where the Company sends dumb pioneers to go and die. It was where I learnt who I was, and what I wanted to be.”

  The Colonies. I had a half-assed desire to go spend the rest of my days as a farmer on one of those dust-filled planets. Part of me is still attracted to that idea. The Company, in the form of Strategist Stranng, had other plans for me.

  Rooba’s head lifts to look past me and through the plastiglass window, her eyes flickering with the swirls of reflected hyperspace. The red skin of her slender neck also glistens, drawing my gaze to her shoulders. I sense a strong physical urge to kiss them, to spin Rooba around. To lift its chiffon gown and to pound her statuesque ass. To feel that perfectly engineered body shuddering against me. The Jen are famous for using our desires against us. Lust, jealousy, love, and any other emotion that suits their purposes. Still, I’m impressed at the strength of my reaction. Rooba is perfectly designed, every part of it complimenting every other. A physical representation of a perfect stylised sexual allure that even I’m not immune to.

  And why would I be?

  I’m not human, but I still share their petty needs. If anything, the sexual responses and drives of the Skilled are more enhanced. Having full control over our bodies, over pain and pleasure receptors, and a helluva lot more, is certainly an advantage in the area of intimate human relations. It’s that same control that makes me immune to her genetically-engineered charms. I find her both alluring and repugnant, but I’m digressing. “Why is your time in the Colonies relevant?”

  “Because one of the first things I had augmented was my pulmonary system. Being able to filter the poisonous air, being able to breathe outside the goddamn domes was a sign of status on those backwater planets. But I was never gonna stay there. I made my escape a long time ago. I guess my enhanced lungs are why I’m still alive.”