Insidious. Part 3

"Please secure your belongings and fasten yourselves into your seats. The pa.s.senger deck will be rotating into its docking position momentarily."

Chris belted himself into the lounge. The perceived angle of gravity changed as the plane's pa.s.senger deck rotated to realign with its wings. At the same time, the pa.s.senger seats rotated until everyone faced the rear of the plane. Chris piped in an external view from a camera attached to Synchronicity and watched the arrival from the point of view of the station hub. He heard and felt orientation jets firing as the plane slipped inside the giant spinning ring.

The s.p.a.ceplane was designed to land on the spinning surface of the station's inner surface just as it performed atmospheric landings. It hovered above the oncoming steel, and then lowered straight down until the landing gear touched the surface. The sound of the tires came through the fuselage along with the sensation of acceleration, pressing first back into the seat and then slowly angling downward as the ship began spinning with the base. Applying the brakes produced a sensation of speeding up and growing heavier until finally, the runway crawled along and Chris's weight approached Earth norm, pulling him toward the floor of the s.p.a.ceplane.

The idea of landing the plane in deep s.p.a.ce seemed spectacular to Chris. He supposed it made sense to design the plane with one landing system that could function for both its Earthside landings and its rendezvous with the giant s.p.a.ce stations. Also, the pa.s.sengers wouldn't have to disembark in zero gravity. If the computer made an error, a disaster might ensue, but Chris hadn't heard of anything like that ever occurring.

He blinked and brought his natural vision back to the fore. The interior still b.u.mped and vibrated as the landing computer directed the s.p.a.ceplane off the runway ring and into a docking slot. Within the minute, the s.p.a.ceplane had attached itself to the inside of a thick cylinder that formed the Earth gravity zone of the station.

Thick, structural spokes visible through the windows dwarfed the plane, bringing home to Chris how large Synchronicity was. The spokes connected the main cylinder to the central hub where the fusion plant sat. The cabin crew started walking through the aisle again, preparing to help the pa.s.sengers disembark.

An automatic announcement told him that two doors were the only way into Synchronicity. A map flicked into his head with green lines marking points of egress to his right and left. Chris headed toward the left, sensing the line there was shorter. He came to a thin walkway that connected directly to the base. As he entered the dim metal corridor, he imagined he could feel the vast, cold emptiness of outer s.p.a.ce around him.

His link picked up a new guidance service so he activated it. A solid green line appeared over his course down the corridor. At the far door, it split into six lines, four of them red. He came to a room with six identical exits. He glimpsed someone at a counter speaking with a robot down one of the red marked lanes.

The guidance service superimposed green and red lights over Chris's view of the lane entrances. He chose a green lane and walked into a dark room the size of a large closet. A robot had been mounted within, sitting over a smooth black counter. It had a vaguely humanoid head and thin arms, attached by a cylinder that protruded from the wall.

"Luggage, please, on the counter. Also, empty your pockets and place all items onto the counter," said a synthetic voice.

The machine produced two black boxes and opened Chris's luggage. Most of his clothes went into the larger of the boxes.

"What exactly is the purpose of the sorting here?"

"Many items will not be allowed. I will separate out the illegal items and detain them."

Chris watched glumly as most of his toiletries followed his clothing into the large box. He a.s.sumed that everything would be fine since he hadn't packed anything out of the ordinary.

"This item. Identify," the robot said.

Chris shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, that's a one-charge stunner." He looked at the simple black device in the skeletal fingers of the robot. His father had given him the stunner when Chris had left the United States to go work for VG in Europe.

The robot hesitated before placing the stunner into the small box. Then it pushed the small box forward.

"These items are cleared," it announced.

Chris blinked.

"The small box is what I can take in? What about all my other stuff ... what happens to it?"

"Your screened items will await you when you return," the machine told him. "Please take your cleared items and follow the green line through the reception area."

"I don't need many clothes, I guess, but what about my other things, my cleaner, depgel, and all that stuff? You know ... my toiletries?"

"Everything you need will be supplied from company stock," the robot said. "Please take your cleared items and follow the green line through the reception area."

The green line directed Chris to the left of most of the pa.s.sengers. He looked over and saw that Jack had stayed with the main body. He realized that Jack would be going to pick up his old suit. Chris remembered it was called gear here. Since Chris was new, he'd be separated out where he'd pick out his gear.

He headed over toward a side door, along with six or seven other people whom he a.s.sumed were also following their link maps.

"Please enter one at a time and select your gear. Women to the left please," a voice announced in his head. Chris saw two women in the group move over. He gave them a quick evaluation. One stood a head taller than the other did-a blonde, very statuesque. He thought she fit the picture of a stereotypical Swede. The other had curly black hair and a round face. Chris decided she looked friendlier, although less striking, than the other woman.

Chris wondered if he'd finally have time for women here on the station. He'd been working so hard for the last few years he barely knew the other s.e.x existed. He couldn't so much as breathe wrong at work around a woman without risking some kind of disciplinary action. Wasn't Synchronicity supposed to be more of a social setting? But it had a whole set of rules of its own. The manual said that physical contact with the opposite s.e.x was only allowed in your quarters. That seemed obvious enough, since the rules said you couldn't take off your suit anywhere else, anyway, barring medical emergency. But how could such a thing be possible when they could only meet outside in the gear?

One at a time, the people in front of Chris stepped through a gray metal door. It was dark beyond the portal. Chris felt too nervous for any small talk with the others. When his turn came, he stepped through the door.

A gloomy corridor received him. Arrayed along either wall before him, sets of gear hung flat against the wall, illuminated by gentle directional lights that showed the suit without dispelling the dimness of the walkway. Chris looked at the first gear on his left. A dark gray webbing of some smooth fiber held the black plastic plates together over elbows, knees, and back. A thick extra layer of plastic covered the left shoulder. The head covering looked like a medieval helmet of black and blue plastic attached to the back plates like a hood. Blue metal rings were woven into the webbing around the ribs.

He stepped forward and counted twenty suits in all. They were all dark with blue accents like the first, but each one had several unique aspects. Different helmets or gloves or extra plates combined to make each suit different from the next.

How the h.e.l.l was he supposed to choose? The manual said that you chose your gear the first time you arrived on the station. It didn't say anything about ever being able to chose a different set if you decided you didn't like your first choice. What if he damaged it? What if it felt unbearably uncomfortable? What if he discovered he had made some awful faux pas with his choice?

Just take the pill.

Chris grabbed a set of gear that had a plastic mail mesh over most of the torso with a small ridge of blue spikes along the spine. The black eye plates were triangular, like jack-o'-lantern eyes.

"Please follow the green line to your changing room," a voice instructed through his link. Chris obeyed and selected a door on the opposite side of the one through which he had entered. Beyond there he saw another dark corridor with rows of doors. He stepped to the right and followed the indicated path into a closet-sized room with a tall mirror on one wall and a stack of boxes against the other.

Chris put on the suit. He felt like an actor climbing into an animal mascot suit. He cursed under his breath. If they're going to make an idiot out of me, it'll be soon now.

The suit felt much airier than he had expected. Chris realized that the suit had cleverly hidden spicules around his face and body that allowed air to flow in without directly revealing any of his flesh.

The visor of his helmet fed him the view outside through his link as if he'd turned his own body into a remotely controlled probe. He chafed against the ridiculous indirection the video loop introduced.

Someone could influence the data, too, and make me see things that aren't there. Maybe that's what this is all about?

He stood and regarded himself in the mirror. He looked robotic, he decided, peering through the one-way transparent material over his eyes. The suit stiffened his limbs, although it did bend at all the major joints. His gloved hands looked like they were covered in black scales with armored ridges on the knuckles.

He turned and stared at his clothes for a moment before he realized they went in one of the boxes. He put everything into a box, including his original shoes.

"Please deposit the clothes box in the indicated slot," a voice told him. Chris found a slot in the wall that his link overlaid with green arrows. He pushed the clothes through reluctantly, as if saying good-bye to his old life. He held onto his one-charge stunner in his palm.

"Please follow the green lines to your quarters. You will be allowed to acclimate to your new room for the rest of the day. Normal activities will resume tomorrow."

Chris took a deep breath.

"This is crazy," he whispered to himself. He half-expected the green line to lead him onto a stage where everyone would laugh at him, the naive newbie who put on the freak suit without questioning anything. "See what people do just because they're told?" someone would announce. "We need to learn how to question everything. Question everything and never cease searching for new ways to contribute to VG's success ..."

He pushed the daydream out of his mind. If that was what was about to happen, so be it. He'd get through the ritual and someday he'd laugh about it with the other execs while the newcomers put on suits to amuse him.

Chris trudged through a long corridor following the green line. The gear altered his stride making him feel clumsy. He pa.s.sed one other person, also wearing gear, walking the other direction. He didn't say anything. The green lines directed him down a connecting side pa.s.sage. He glanced at a directory through his link. He saw a map of one hundred quarters, swimming pools, racquetball courts, and other facilities. He noticed there were no public eating areas-a bad sign. The manual said you eat your meals in your quarters. If this was a joke, someone had gone to great lengths to feed his link the bogus map with all the right details.

At last, the green line came to a door. It was arranged on a long wall with a lot of other equally s.p.a.ced doors, like the entrance to a hotel room. The door opened for him.

Chris stepped into the room uncertainly. Through the visor feed, he saw a luxurious albeit low-ceilinged room. Plants grew from elegant tile vessels built into the corners. The walls were lined with mirrors, presumably to give the feeling of a larger s.p.a.ce in the limited volume available.

Then he realized these were his quarters. The rule about the gear didn't apply here. He pulled off the thick helmet and looked around the room. It didn't appear any different from what he'd just observed through the visor. Other than the low ceiling, he decided the room looked as nice as any five-star hotel on Earth. His link registered a wide set of options. One was a control for changing the color and decor of his room, but he decided he liked the s.p.a.ce as it was. He dropped his helmet onto a long, soft couch and pulled off his sleeves and torso armor, which he put on the couch next to the helmet. He decided to look around more.

He stepped into the bathroom. The walls and floor were decorated with a substance like dark gray marble. The same material formed a large sink in front of another mirror. He reached out and touched the sink. It felt smooth and cold like real polished stone.

A black-haired girl wearing blue appeared in the mirror, standing behind him.

"s.h.i.t!" Chris exclaimed.

"Sorry, sir."

The girl dropped to one knee, her head bowed.

"Uh, oh, that's okay, you surprised me." Chris waited a moment, but the girl did not move. "It's okay. You can stand up. Who are you?"

"Your servant, sir," she said. Slowly, she stood. She wore a simple silk robe. Her beautiful eyes and dark skin spoke of Chinese lineage. Chris found her attractive.

"Oh. I didn't know we had any help here. You in the manual?"

"What?" she asked, looking up at him with innocent brown eyes.

"Never mind ... you're young. What's your name? Do you work for VG?"

She looked fl.u.s.tered. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I am your servant."

"Oh. What's your name?"

She kept looking at the floor. "I am your servant ... Cinmei."

Chris thought she seemed reluctant to part with her name. He suspected she had a strict set of rules to adhere to much as he did. He hadn't read anything about any personal servants in the manual.

He walked to the main room. The young woman followed.

"This is a nice place. It's quieter than I expected here," he said. Chris stepped toward the bedroom entrance. He saw a large, low bed and a set of dresser cabinets.

"Well, I'd like to dismiss you for now. I'm fairly tired, and I'd like to grab a nap. I can send for you ..." Chris frowned. "I don't see your link's service."

Cinmei looked down again. "No, sir."

"They block your link?"

Cinmei shook her head. She pointed at her head and then flicked her finger away in the nonverbal sign for no link.

She doesn't have a link?

He looked away from her. She was held here without a link working as a private servant for whoever took the room. Chris couldn't escape the truth.

The executives of VG kept Chinese slaves in Synchronicity.

He turned and walked to the couch.

Just take the pill.

"Something wrong, sir? Anything I do?" Cinmei asked uncertainly, following him to the couch.

Chris now knew what Synchronicity really was-a deep s.p.a.ce fortress where the laws of Earth meant nothing. He'd never realized how far gone Alec Vineaux was. He'd degenerated beyond eccentricity to true criminal behavior.

Cinmei settled closer and ma.s.saged his shoulders. She worked her strong fingers into his bunched muscles with the vigor of a trained ma.s.seuse.

Chris thought about his 16,000 ESC per year. He glanced at Cinmei's figure in the wall mirror and decided he wasn't going to breathe a word about it to anyone.

Three.

A sleek black courier ship approached Thermopylae's inner runway. Aldriena Niachi sat in the pilot's couch, but she only watched, her delicate hands folded before her as the Silvado's computer directed the landing. The small plane attacked the spinning runway much like an atmospheric landing.

Aldriena felt a gentle vibration as the landing gear contacted the station. The control systems of the courier tackled the task with superhuman finesse. The courier ship's c.o.c.kpit sat inside a rotating capsule to keep the pilot comfortable under whatever acceleration was being applied, so Aldriena faced the back of the plane as it started to spin with the base.

As the courier slowed relative to the runway, it began to spin with the base, pushing Aldriena farther into the soft couch. Finally, from the Silvado's external cameras, it appeared that the base had stopped rushing by. Sitting on the runway, feeling about nine-tenths the acceleration of Earth gravity, the courier taxied back into a berth to connect with the giant s.p.a.ce station.

Welcome to Thermopylae on behalf of the Bentra Corporation. Please keep the following conventions in mind during your visit ...

Aldriena ignored the piped babble from Bentra. She stepped up from her pilot couch and adjusted her mind to the new angle of acceleration.

She slipped out of the pilot's module and walked into the cargo area behind the c.o.c.kpit. The tiny courier's belly could hold the volume of about four small cars, but there were only two cargo containers strapped to the walls, each small enough to be carried in one hand. She opened a small floor compartment and pulled out her gear.

Aldriena unzipped her Veer skinsuit and let it drop to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her transparent undersheers. She stared down at the ugly plastic gear and sighed at the waste. No admiring eyes would fall upon her smooth brown body once she donned the gear. Aldriena knew how to leverage her beauty to such advantage, but the dorky suit would nix that. She wouldn't be able to get on Thermopylae without it. The gear was black, which was a plus, but from there it went rapidly downhill. It had a ridged, almost scaly exterior and a broad, flat plate across the chest that submerged her femininity. It had blue detail work here and there, an announcement of her lowly rank at the station. Another reason not to get into it.

But she slipped into the thing anyway and resumed her work.

Aldriena unstrapped the first container, her personal travel case, and put it in the exit way where the station ramp had attached to the courier. Then she moved to the other case, her real cargo. She freed this strong black case from the wall. It swung hard to her side, nearly pulling her arm off. The container pushed her musculature and balance beyond comfort with its unusual ma.s.s. She packed more power into her small frame than most would expect, but the case was heavy, and the gear's bulk wasn't helping.

She staggered to the exit and s.n.a.t.c.hed up her own case, grateful for its minor counterbalancing effect. She snorted inside the facemask, imagining how she must look. A random person on Earth might mistake her for a tacky humanoid bellhop robot carrying a tourist's luggage up to the honeymoon suite of a cheap Goth hotel.

As soon as she stepped into the base, her Cascavel linked in and started snooping around. It was two links in one, completely modular. She used the normal link most of the time, and it adhered to all the official protocols obeyed by most links made anywhere. The Cascavel's alter ego, a tiny stealth link, wouldn't be spotted in most scans as it nestled next to the civilian link in her skull like a remora on a shark, except in this case the remora was the predator.

The Cascavel came complete with a powerful hacking suite, loads of storage, and advanced optical capture abilities wired through her eyes. It could record even a glimpse of sensitive information from great distances. Aldriena stole a glimpse of the security laser mount above her, wondering if she would see a flash if it fired.

Quit being so melodramatic. It wouldn't be an optical wavelength weapon. Besides, you know they'd want you alive. Pump you for information first, then ...

Aldriena terminated her line of thought and regained full placidity. It wouldn't do to trigger the HIT and make the ugly daydream into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The Cascavel connected using a series of one-time codes her company, Black Core, had purchased from a Bentran traitor. Right now, the ex-Bentran man was probably soaking up the sun on some Brazilian beach, enjoying the payout he'd earned by helping out Black Core with insider information. Or he'd been whisked back home by Bentra for planting the fake info, and Aldriena was about to be captured and interrogated.

All in a not-so-honest day's work.

The code seemed to function. There was still the problem that the man wasn't on her courier. Black Core had registered him as a pa.s.senger, in case Thermopylae's computer would crosscheck the use of the code with the presence of the employee. But the cameras would reveal that he hadn't come on board.

An active AI core would catch the oversight in a second and have Aldriena stuck to the bulkhead with a glue grenade. But Thermopylae couldn't have a superintelligence active for longer than hours at a time, it was simply too dangerous. There had been too many close calls. Even the arrogant corporate leaders had learned or died. Rampant AIs were like nuclear meltdowns: they happened, but each time one occurred they bolstered mankind's resolve to get it right next time-or else.