Rubicon, page 9
Adriene glanced at the time on the terminal on her desk: 2150. She’d slept a lot longer than she’d intended. As much as she dreaded the idea, it might help keep her awake awhile, get her sleep schedule a bit more on track. And she had very little to lose. Worst case, it was horrible, and she could claim exhaustion and leave. Best case, they’d be able to pour her a stiff drink.
“You headed there now?” she asked.
Daroga’s green eyes flashed with a hint of surprise. “I am. Yes.”
She got the distinct feeling he had, in fact, not been headed there, but didn’t care to analyze it further. “Mind an escort?” she asked. “I still don’t know my way around.”
“Ah, right…” His mouth tilted into a smile. “Sure, I can help with that.” He took a step back and swept an arm to the left. She grabbed a sweatshirt and tugged it on as she headed down the hall, Daroga keeping step beside her.
“Actually, uh, shit—this way,” he said, and turned around. Adriene sighed, then followed.
* * *
The Hold’s designation proved apt—literally a storage hold, down in a quiet corner on one of the lower decks. The square room had been cleared of cargo, with at least half the company gathered around a dozen tables, a few sitting on couches near the back. A countertop ran along one wall near the front, stacked with empty glasses and an impressive collection of metal liquor bottles. And all around, vices of every kind: fraternization, gambling, drinking, smoking; though no evidence of anything harder. Like any other division, Command would be willing to let the normal stuff slide for the sake of morale—but not everything.
Adriene followed through a light haze of smoke as Daroga made his way to a table near the center where Brigham and Gallagher sat with half a dozen others. At a bar against the left wall, Kato stood chatting with someone Adriene didn’t recognize. He waved at her and Daroga with a bright smile. She nodded in return.
As they approached, Brigham pulled a chair away from a nearby table and offered it to Adriene. “Valero, glad you made it.”
She nodded, sitting down warily.
Daroga pulled up another chair and sat beside her while Brigham returned to his seat.
“How’d you like those sims?” Gallagher asked, drink in hand. “Pretty wild, huh?”
“They’re impressive,” Adriene replied. “And exhausting.”
Gallagher smiled. “Yeah, took me weeks to get used to them. We’ll hit up a few more soon, getcha feeling confident in no time.”
“So, Ninety-Six, huh?” Brigham’s mouth tilted in a half smirk as he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “Not many newbies show up with such a solid nickname from the get.”
Gallagher perked up. “Wait, what’s the story?” she asked, her words beginning to slur around the edges.
“Ninety-sixth husk,” someone else replied—a red-haired man Adriene recognized from the hardsuit lecture.
Gallagher set down her drink, her eyes wide. “Holy shit, what?” She scanned Adriene with a look of unrestrained wonder. “Mira’s fiery ashes…”
“Guys, come on,” Daroga admonished. “Leave her be.”
Gallagher ignored him. “So, if you’ve died that many times … how old are you really?”
“Shit, Gal,” the redhead laughed, “don’t ya know not to ask a husk her age? Rude.”
Brigham chuckled, and Gallagher rolled her eyes.
“It’s fine,” Adriene said. “My husk’s only a year younger than I am.” For now, she almost added, but swallowed the bitter thought back down. “It’s twenty-eight.”
“Damn,” Gallagher muttered, then lowered her voice. “You ever get hybridized?”
Adriene tensed, feeling suddenly incongruous. No one ever asked things like that in the 803rd. The topic was so taboo, it wasn’t broached in even the most unseemly of conversations.
She picked at the seam of her pant leg, face warming as silence descended over the bustling room. Only a couple of people still held their own clueless discussion, off in the far corner.
“That’s a yes,” Brigham said, voice low and gravelly. He shoved a glass of dark amber liquor across the table toward her. “Let’s hear it.”
The liquid sloshed in the glass, and Adriene’s hand twitched. With an effort, she stopped herself, clenching her fingers into a fist.
She wanted it, obviously. It was the primary way she’d convinced herself to come down, to endure the spotlight and this inevitable line of questioning. But something tugged in the pit of her stomach—guilt sourced from somewhere light-years away.
Harlan had wanted to stop. Wanted her to stop. She had to at least try.
She exhaled a heavy breath, then looked back at Brigham. “Once.”
“Fuck me…” Kato’s thin voice floated over from the bar.
Someone across the room snickered, “Yeah, Kato, you wish,” eliciting a rumble of laughter among the others, though it quieted down instantly. Apparently, everyone wanted to hear this.
Adriene glanced over at Daroga beside her. He sat slouched against his chair back, picking at his fingernails. He met her eyes, seeming at once apologetic, horrified, and curious.
Gallagher leaned forward on the table. “What was it like?”
“I don’t really remember,” Adriene replied. Which they’d accept as the truth, if they knew anything about hybridization statistics.
Adriene’s case had been an outlier in more ways than one. Typically, soldiers who’d been hybridized returned with complete amnesia—at least of the hybridization itself, if not their entire lives.
Less commonly, they retained a few scattered memories. In those cases, they rarely if ever made it out the other side in one, cognitive piece. They’d been taken over for too long and become too integrated into the Mechan hive mind. When they finally rezoned and their fused minds were torn free, the consciousness received by their new husk was often completely beyond repair. They’d lost all sense of how to be human, reverting to some primal, animal state.
The fact that Adriene’s consciousness had remained intact was, by far, the exception.
Brigham scratched his jawline. “I’ve never understood it … If they shove themselves into our brains, how come they don’t end up in the new husk?”
“They’ve definitely tried,” she replied. “But they can’t make it work.”
“Why not?” Gallagher asked.
Adriene exchanged a look with Daroga, who corroborated her uncertainty with a shrug.
“No idea,” she said. She really didn’t. She had no idea why the Mechan consciousnesses didn’t transfer as seamlessly as a human’s. Whatever the reason, she was fucking glad. That’d be one hell of a back door.
Brigham frowned. “Maybe the same reason we can’t put our brains in someone else’s body. Ain’t wired right.”
The red-haired man nodded his agreement. “Yeah, or maybe their whole hive mind thing fucks it up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Gallagher mumbled, running a finger along the rim of her glass. She looked back at Adriene. “How long were you … ya know?”
“Two weeks.”
Someone let out a low whistle, followed by stark, lingering silence broken only by the rustle of clothing and soft squeaks of chairs as people shifted uncomfortably.
“Damn,” Brigham sighed. “So you don’t remember anything?”
“Only a few things, here and there,” she lied. She remembered everything. Every single second, burned into her brain. But for some reason, she couldn’t tell them that. “It’s like trying to recall a dream,” she went on. “At times, I could almost hear the hive mind, but it was … cluttered. I couldn’t really interpret it. I remember not having any control, but I could still feel everything, smell everything, hear everything. Like I was paralyzed inside someone else’s body.” She eyed the glass Brigham had passed her, twisting it between her thumb and forefinger. “And I remember having to watch as they used me to ambush my own soldiers.”
“Shit.” Gallagher’s thin eyebrows pinched as she shook her head. “Is that how you ended up getting killed?”
“No,” Adriene said plainly, and she fully intended to leave it at that.
They all stared back, expectant. Waiting for her to elaborate.
She swallowed the lump that’d lodged in the back of her throat. “They … never fed me. Or gave me water. I don’t know if they forgot or they just weren’t prepared for a prisoner. Or they just didn’t care. So, eventually I just…”
The silent room grew even quieter. Adriene pressed her thumb into the palm of her hand as the others scratched their heads, or picked lint off their untucked uniforms, or sipped their drinks while avoiding eye contact.
What had they wanted to hear? That it was a great time, fun was had by all, would hybridize again in a heartbeat? It was the only experience in the universe worse than rezoning, the only reason she could convince herself to keep killing her squadmates—because she knew the alternative. Did they really think it would be a fun story?
“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Daroga’s weathered voice rumbled, “is why when in doubt, we zero out.”
The weight in the air alleviated somewhat as the others recited, “When in doubt, zero out!” and clinked their glasses together before taking deep swigs.
Adriene ran her thumb along the rim of her glass as everyone returned to their own conversations. She watched the others seamlessly switch back to laughing and jeering—fascinated by their congenial behavior. Not for the first time, she wondered what number husk they were all on. Some were young—so young they had to have been recruited straight from basic. Maybe some had yet to rezone even once.
She wondered if their consciousnesses would remain intact if they were ever hybridized. Or if they’d break when they died for the first time.
Brigham chuffed derisively. “Now, if we can only keep the ghost from causin’ more trouble,” he said, and his buddies at the table voiced their agreement.
Daroga groaned, and his head lolled back. “Not this shit again.”
Brigham shrugged. “Not our fault you can’t keep dead people from hauntin’ our software.”
The group launched into a well-worn argument, shouting over each other as they poured more drinks.
Adriene pushed her chair out and headed for the bar on the left, where Kato now stood alone, pouring himself another drink.
He turned as she approached, lounging casually against the bar, elbows propped back on the countertop. “That’s some shit, Ninety-Six.”
“Yeah,” she sighed, turning to face the room and leaning against the counter beside Kato.
His tone turned timid. “Hey…” He elbowed her arm lightly. “You don’t mind Ninety-Six, right?”
Adriene shrugged. “I’ve had worse nicknames.”
He gestured to the assortment of metal liquor bottles gathered on the bar top. “Drink?”
After a couple seconds, she found herself shaking her head. “Not now, thanks.”
A din of shouts rose from the table again. She turned to find Daroga chuckling as he fled the table, arms held protectively around his head as the others tossed stray napkins, bottle caps, and bits of food after him.
He huffed a breath as he reclined against the edge of the counter on the other side of Kato, laughter settling. “They’re relentless, I tell ya.” He brushed a crumble of bread off his shoulder.
Adriene wrung her hands as the silence stretched out, and she finally exhaled a quiet sigh. She was here. She’d bothered to show up. She might as well give it a try. Be normal.
“So, uh,” she began, eyeing Daroga, “how long have you worked for Dodson-Mueller?”
“Almost ten years. CNEF Contracts Division for seven or so.”
“Will the other rep be joining us? Your colleague?”
“Not this evening, I’m afraid,” he replied, tone oddly even, almost performative. “She’s reviewing the contract with Major Blackwell.”
“Still?” Adriene asked.
Kato grinned. “‘Reviewing the contract’ might be a, uh, euphemism, as it were.”
Daroga nodded, amused.
“As we all know,” Kato continued, “sometimes ya gotta review a contract, like, nine or ten times. Ya know, determine liability … arbitrate disputes…”
Daroga cracked a smile, and a weird sensation tugged at Adriene’s lips.
“Ah,” she said. “Understood.”
“Make sure it’s legally binding…” Kato continued, quite proud of himself.
“Okay, Lian, we get it,” Daroga said, though he continued to snicker.
Adriene lifted a shoulder. “She looked like she could use a couple good contract reviews.”
Kato practically spit out his drink as he cracked up laughing. He launched into a coughing fit, and Daroga gave him a couple of firm pats on the back.
Adriene glanced back at the crowd around the table, settled back into deep conversation. “Are they for real with this ‘ghost in the system’ stuff?”
Kato was already mid-drink again, but nodded fervently through it.
Adriene looked at Daroga. “But you don’t believe it?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I just like playing devil’s advocate. I’ve heard these guys talking about it since I became Flintlock’s rep, what—four years ago?”
Kato nodded his agreement.
“I can’t say I’ve ever experienced it,” Daroga continued, “but these guys seem to think it’s real.”
“It’s totally real,” Kato croaked, voice still recovering from his coughing fit.
“Seriously?” Adriene asked.
“I swear on my ma’s farm back on Prova—no joke,” Kato said fervently. “We get faulty readings in our HUDs, suits actin’ all wonky, weapons misfiring…”
Adriene raised an eyebrow. “Sound like tech glitches.”
“Sure, sure, but they have style,” Kato asserted. “Sometimes, it messes with mission parameters, sets new objectives, even gives out digital orders using Blackwell or Thurston’s security codes.”
Daroga nodded. “And then there’s what happened to Cash.”
Kato’s flushed cheeks blanched, and he looked down at his boots. Daroga’s brow softened.
Adriene’s gaze drifted between them. “Who’s Cash?”
“Used to be Forward Recon,” Daroga said, a hint of apology in his quiet tone. “Guess you’re technically his replacement.”
This was the missing squadmate they’d awkwardly avoided discussing after the lecture. “What happened?” she asked.
Kato’s shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. “He rezoned a few months back from a supposed ‘implant overload.’ Pretty much melted his brain, I guess.”
Daroga shook his head. “Never happened before, never happened since—not in Flintlock or the entire 505th. Between that, and the fact that he never came back after his rezone … let’s just say ‘the ghost’ caught the blame.”
Adriene’s brow creased. “Why didn’t he come back?”
Kato spun his drink around in his glass, gaze cast down. “Apparently the, uh … trauma messed up his wiring a bit. They didn’t think it was safe to refit him with a Rubicon, so they reassigned him.”
Daroga elbowed Kato lightly. “But good riddance, right?”
“Yeah.” Kato’s dry voice cracked. “I certainly wasn’t sad to see him go. Just didn’t really need to see his head explode first.”
Daroga frowned, shifting along the edge of the counter until his shoulder propped against Kato’s.
Kato leveled a serious look at Adriene. “He really was a shitbag,” he explained. “Even if his implant hadn’t exploded, it was only a matter of time before he’d have gotten himself rezoned. Or hell, all of Forward Recon.”
Adriene chewed her lip, still not used to how serious these people took rezoning. Dying really did have a whole different meaning in the 505th.
“We never could find a fault in the implant,” Daroga said. “In what remained of it, anyway. But something had to cause it.”
Adriene raised an eyebrow at him. “So you do believe in the ghost?”
Kato cast Daroga an accusatory look. “Only if it means their lawyers can shunt the blame onto our software, so they don’t get sued.”
Daroga’s lips pinched. “If we get sued, you lose all the fun toys.”
“Wait,” Adriene said. “Dodson-Mueller doesn’t create the Rubicon software?”
“No, ma’am,” Daroga said. “Hardware facilitation only on the Rubicon front.”
She tilted her head. “I’d assumed you wrote it.”
“Nah,” Kato said, turning to face the bar and pour himself another drink. “Don’t get me wrong—my boy’s smart. Knows the code better than anyone.” He cast a smarmy grin at Daroga. “Except maybe the major, right, bud?”
Daroga rolled his eyes, then shot Kato a scowl in response—clearly exaggerated, but still genuine.
A pain point of some kind, but the two traded so much good-hearted shade, she had trouble keeping up.
She was about to ask them to elaborate when a hush swept across the room.
Adriene followed Kato’s gaze to the entrance, where Major Blackwell stood in the open doorway.
“Buckle up, fivers. Orders dropped.” His low voice reverberated across the silent room. “Course is set, drive’s spoolin’.” He gave Brigham and Gallagher a glance, then turned and eyed Adriene and Kato. “Forward Recon, your boots’ll be on the ground first thing—shuttle leaves at 0430. Mission briefing on the flight. Get some rest.”
He turned and disappeared into the hall.
Adriene looked to Kato. The humor had left his face. “Shit.”
Kato scratched his chin, but he otherwise didn’t react as Adriene took the whiskey glass from his hand and threw it back, letting the warmth burn her throat and settle deep into her stomach. She passed the empty glass back to him and let out a heavy breath.
Tomorrow was as good a day as any to die. Again.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Adriene stood behind the pilot’s seat in the exposed cockpit aboard Forward Recon’s dropship. A wide viewscreen over the cockpit controls displayed a distorted view of subspace hurtling past—countless forking, gnarled white tendrils stretching alongside like a hundred thousand skeletal hands that reached back, shrieking a high-pitched tone that resonated in her bones. A lingering haze of spectral dust shrouded the hull, thick flakes of ash drifting lazily as if in suspension around the ship.
