Under A Winter Sun, page 8
Are we talking about me here? “But there's a certain charm with old stuff.”
“Old stuff breaks.”
“That's part of the charm.”
“Tell that to the men in the tank that exploded and tore me open. They said it was a hardware malfunction. Took out my entire platoon of human grunts. That's what old stuff does. It kills people.”
“Not all old stuff.” I pull her closer. “Some old parts are still working fine.”
“Perez. Don't.” She puts a hand on my chest. Her cool fingers soothe my burning skin.
“Don't what?”
“Just don't. We don't have long until we go under thrust again and before we do, I need to brief you on the specifics of our mission. There are things you need to know. And there are things I need to know.”
And here I was, thinking she made up this briefing to get me into bed. I let her go. “So, brief me.” I search for my underwear, but I can't find it.
“There's a suit for you in that locker.” Jagr points to a locker in the wall. I push off lightly against her and float over to the locker. Jagr floats off in the opposite direction. I open the locker and inside is a combat suit, like the ones the girls wear. I pull it on, being careful with the zipper. Regeneration or not, there are injuries no man wants to suffer. The suit fits me like a glove. It looks cool too. I can understand they wear them all the time.
“I told you we had a man on Nifelheim and that he disappeared. What I didn't tell you was why he was there.” Jagr hits the opposite wall, pushes off and drifts back into the middle of the room.
“Why was he there?” I grab my black T-shirt where it floats and pull it over my head.
“What the Goliaths are planning might be connected to something else we're investigating.”
The Prince of Their Little Winter Kingdom
“What?”
“The communication spikes we've seen coming out of Nifelheim.”
“Comms-spikes?”
So, they know about those.
“Yes. Powerful enough to cause brief data outages throughout the system.”
“Still think it's a coincidence, Perez?”
I ignore her. “And what are the Goliaths saying?”
“We don't know.”
“You don't have anyone who can translate Norse?”
“We do, but the transmissions are encrypted. On a level we've never encountered before, and, so far, we haven't been able to crack them. Even our best AIs failed, and we have some illegal shit in our arsenal. All we know is they broadcast stupendous amounts of raw data to someone in the system. Since the recipient is not transmitting anything in return, we can't locate them. This has got the Terran intelligence community nervous. They don't like unidentified entities with unknown tech operating from an undisclosed location. Our job on Nifelheim is to make all those unknown entities known.”
“Where are the transmissions coming from?”
“No idea. They bounce them around the planet and it's impossible to tell where they originate.”
“And you think this project Hokey is connected to the comms-spikes and your agent going AWOL?”
“Project Jotun.”
“Whatever.” I grab the boots from the locker and pull them on. The motion sends me into an awkward spin.
“Yes, we think so.”
“Sounds simple enough. We go in, find the source of those transmissions, locate your agent, and extract him. We should be out of there in time for tea tomorrow.” I get the boots on and pull the straps tight. Like the suit, they're a perfect fit.
“Do you honestly believe that?” She stares at me like I claimed priests could turn wine into human blood.
“No.” When the Goliaths are involved, nothing is ever simple.
“Maybe you are smarter than they said. Now you.”
She curls up into a ball, hugs her knees and rests her chin on them. She's still naked. “Are we good?”
“I'm all good.”
I smile.
“Not you and me, Perez. You and us. The immortals. We need to know we can count on you and that you won't stab us in the back at the first opportunity.”
I think for a while, while I regard her beautiful backside as she spins around her axis.
“Yeah. We're good.” I nod and scratch the back of my head. “We're good.”
“Good.” She seems to relax. “Now tell me about your friend, Thorfinn Wagner.”
“Finn? There's not much to tell. He is the oldest son of Jarl Ragnwald and the rightful heir to the throne. He is also one big ugly motherfucker and the second-best fighter I've ever seen.”
“They call him the Skullfucker. Why is that?”
“Funny story that. When Goliaths come of age, they must prove themselves in single combat. They do that by challenging one of the other juveniles to a duel to the death.”
“Sounds harsh, even for Goliaths.”
“It keeps the population small and strong.”
“How pragmatic. So, why the Skullfucker?”
“The one who wins the duel is given a nickname based on the most memorable event of the fight.”
“So, you mean he actually …?” She points to the side of her head and looks sceptical.
“That's what I heard. This was way before I met him, but I've seen him work. I wouldn't put it past him.”
Jagr makes a face. “You said he was the second-best fighter you'd ever seen. Who's the best?”
“That would be Berengar the Defiler.”
“Do I even want to know what he did to earn that name?”
“No, you don't. He did the Corporate War circuit about the same time as Finn and I. The reason Finn was the top fighter and not Berengar, was because the Defiler was too demented even for that blood-crazed audience. He scared people. For real.”
“Sounds like a swell guy.”
“He's not. He's a Goliath berserker. I once saw him take out a full platoon of Nishin samurai single-handed.”
Jagr seems unimpressed. “Soledad could do that. Hell, you could do that, Perez.”
“Not if I was unarmed, and they wore state-of-the-art Tenshi combat armour.”
She raises an eyebrow, a little impressed at last. “So, Thorfinn is the prince of their little winter kingdom, which should make our job a lot easier. I suppose his word is their command?”
“Well, that's the thing. He went back to Nifelheim five years ago to be a Breeder, and I haven't spoken to him since his mother died and his father remarried. Finn took that hard and shut himself off from the world. He doesn't like his stepmother much. He's locked away in the Breeder monastery, making little Goliaths and working out in the priests' gym. Their rules state that while you're a Breeder, you give up all other privileges.”
This gives her pause.
“What? Why the fuck didn't you say so from the start?”
“You never asked. How was I supposed to know you needed a fucking prince?”
“Shit.” She ponders her options. “Who's next in line to the throne?”
“Finn's little brother, Eirik.”
“What's his nickname?” She sounds apprehensive.
“The Fair.”
“Sounds like we're in luck.”
“Fair has more to do with his looks than his sense of justice.”
“Oh. Do you know him?”
“Yeah. Eirik Wagner is a poseur, but he's not a bad man.”
“So, we should be fine.”
“Perhaps. He is a handsome, ambitious, and clever bastard. For a Goliath.”
“I'll keep that in mind. Now get back to your cabin, Perez. Deceleration burn begins in two minutes and now I have a call to make.”
Large orange numbers on the wall screen tell me we are at 2:12 and counting. Better hurry back. “Well, thanks for the briefing, Jagr.”
“Once in a lifetime thing, Perez.”
When I open the door, I almost collide with Soledad who's on her way in.
“Woah, watch it, handsome,” she greets me with a smile and looks me over. “Nice outfit. I came looking for you. Come on, it's time to strap down with me again.”
Then she sees Jagr pulling on her panties behind me and her smile freezes.
“Hey.” I grin, trying to block her view. “Let's go do some strapping down.”
Soledad doesn't reply. She keeps staring at Jagr over my shoulder as the door closes behind me.
I pull myself into our cabin and buckle up. Soledad straps down mere seconds before burn.
The engines ignite with a rumble, and we're pushed deep into our bunks once more.
“Later, Soledad,” I call.
She doesn't respond.
Is my timing shit or what?
* * *
When we arrive in orbit around Nifelheim, Soledad is asleep. Or she pretends to be asleep, to avoid speaking to me.
An automatic female voice issues from the speakers. “We are now in orbit. You are free to move about.”
The wall screen shows a beautiful image of the icy moon Nifelheim, rotating below us. Behind it looms the ice blue clouds of the gas giant Nirvana.
As I unstrap from the couch, there's a knock on the door.
“All hands on deck. The mess in two minutes.”
I kick off for the passageway. Soledad is still out. Or still faking it.
I leave her alone. If she wants to sulk, it's her funeral.
I'm first to arrive, and I grab a squeeze-bulb of coffee from the dispenser and suck it down without heating it. Like everything in space, it tastes of polymer, but I hope there's real caffeine in it. I need a pick-me-up after the flight. Forty-eight hours of acceleration and deceleration take their toll, even with the regeneration and the drugs. I can't imagine how the human crew feel.
Probably like Braden looks.
She's first of the girls to show up, and she looks like hell. Her blue hair's a mess, she's got purple rings around her eyes and her skin is pale and shiny with sweat.
“Hey,” she rasps and jerks her chin at me.
“Hey.” My voice is not any better. “Pleasant trip?”
She hacks what could be a laugh from a sore throat and puts a bulb of coffee in the heater.
“No. You?”
“Can't say that I did. And Soledad hasn't said a word to me all trip.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Smooth Perez. Real smooth.” The machine pings to tell her the coffee is ready, and she sucks it down. “Fuck, that's bad.”
She makes a face. “Don't they have anything stronger on this boat?”
She rummages through the cupboards. “Help me out.”
“They don't allow booze on navy ships anymore.” Which is too bad because I could use a stiff drink myself.
“Damn.” She gives up her search and turns around. “So. How was she?”
“How was who?” I play innocent.
“Jagr. How was the ice maiden? We thought she didn't have sex.”
I give her my best Casanova smile. “She hadn't met me.”
“She's using you, Perez.”
Braden looks at me with sympathy. “It's basic dog psychology. Give the dog a treat, and he will follow you around, hoping for another. I, on the other hand …”
“Take a number, Braden.”
She smiles. “More coffee?”
I'm not sure my stomach could take it.
“Sure, heat me one.”
She throws two more bulbs into the heater.
“When we get back on the Sunny, I'll brew you a proper cup, Perez. The stuff that puts hair on your chest. Not this weak navy shit.”
“Looking forward to that, Braden.”
I reach out a fist, and she bumps it while the smell of coffee spreads through the mess. It's strange how something as trivial as the scent of a beverage can make everything feel normal. Then Jagr and Soledad arrive.
“There you are, Boss.” Braden shines up. “How was he?”
Jagr glares at Braden and her jaw muscles flex, but Braden goes on, oblivious.
“What? Tell me, Mish.” She coughs again. “I want to know what I'm in for when I get into his trousers.”
Jagr laughs.
Soledad may not look at me, but Braden and Jagr beam at each other. Braden is great at defusing awkward social situations. This team might not be so random after all. They each fill an important role in the group dynamic. And here I come and mess everything up.
“Listen up, ladies.” Jagr clears her throat.
“We are now orbiting the ice-moon Nifelheim, and our mission is about to get a lot more dangerous. As soon as we set foot on the ice, we'll be on hostile ground. The mind-state of the Goliath population is unknown, and so we will assume they are red until proven otherwise. I've notified our backup asset about our imminent arrival. He has agreed to meet us at a remote location and guide us to the Jarl's hall. The Goliaths have let us enter orbit because they are impressed by the Shiloh. That will not last. We need to get planetside fast. Our cover story is we're here to help construct the Gleipnir space elevator. We're allowed to bring down the Sundowner, but that's as far as we've got. The rest we'll improvise on the ground.”
I raise a hand. “What if it was the Goliaths who grabbed your agent?”
“If that turns out to be the case, we get him out by force.”
I cough. “By force? From the Goliaths?”
“You got a better plan, Perez?” Jagr puts her hands behind her head and stretches with a grunt, making her back crack and her chest expand.
My mind goes blank. “Nope.”
Braden looks pointedly at Jagr's chest and mouths “Told you so”.
“So that's our plan.” Jagr lowers her arms. “Cargo bay in five minutes, ladies. Don't be late.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Braden gives Jagr a salute before she pushes off for the passageway.
I hurry after her to avoid having to confront Soledad.
Soledad stares after me like she wants to kill me.
Well, I guess you win some, you lose some.
* * *
The Sundowner shakes and screams like a junkie going cold turkey as we tear through the icy atmosphere of Nifelheim. The air is breathable for humans, with a tad more oxygen than our bodies are built for. Some say that's why the Goliaths grow so big. Like the dinosaurs.
Outside the hull, the air burns. The thought of only a decimetre of hypercarbon between me and certain death makes me shiver. A single rip in the hull, and we're gone. The Goliaths would wonder at the shooting star above their heads and wish for more mead. Then they would go back to fighting and counting honour points. They wouldn't even know we had died in their sky.
“Are you afraid, Perez?” Soledad calls. “You look worried.”
She has to shout to make herself heard over the noise.
“I'm not worried. This is my not worried face.”
“You could have fooled me.” Her attention returns to the console in her lap. It shows a lot of complex-looking schematics.
“Is it far?”
She sighs and turns to glare at me. “To the surface?”
“No, to Tipperary.”
“Where?” She looks confused.
“Never mind.” And I thought these girls were from Earth. Then again, Tipperary might not exist anymore. “Yes, to the bloody surface.”
“No, we should be down in a few minutes. Braden has got this in hand.”
The ship does a crazy sideways jump.
Without our reinforced skeletons and tendons, I'm not sure any of us would have survived the bump intact.
“I hope that's all she's got in her hand.”
I've never liked this part of a drop. Putting my fate in the hands of a jacked-up fighter pilot has never appealed to me. “Does it always do that?”
“No, that was new.” She looks worried. “I need to check that.”
She pushes virtual buttons in the holographic interface, hums to herself, and she's lost to the world.
Great. So, we might still die.
Braden's voice comes over the intercom. The heavy Crump music from before has been replaced with equally bass-infused Dysfunk. Braden likes her music ass-bouncingly hard.
“We passed through some poor weather there, but now we're in the clear. Prepare for landing in two minutes. Please clean any spilt drinks from my seats.”
We didn't die.
This time.
* * *
A mostly frozen ocean covers Nifelheim, with islands of varying sizes forming the only dry land. Braden sets the Sundowner down on the ice, close to the snow-covered beach of one of the larger islands. It has a name I can never recall that sounds like a cough. Sharp black rocks protrude at an angle from the ice like enormous spear tips, reaching for the heavens. It's bright out there. Our distant suns shine down from a cloudless sky, and the light glitters in the ice on every surface. It looks like Nifelheim woke up on the right side this morning. We still need to be careful. I've seen the weather go from barbecue conditions to howling ice winds of death in minutes on this snowball.
“Come on girls, grab your gear and get to the ramp.” Jagr comes out from the cockpit with Braden in tow. “Remember to bring warm underwear.”
We follow her to the cargo bay.
Soledad kicks open a crate.
Jagr grabs her shoulder. “No weapons, Pip. Sorry. Here.” Jagr hands her an anorak.
“But, boss …”
“We're supposed to be construction workers.”
Soledad mumbles something and pulls the scarf up to cover her lower face. I can understand her feelings. Going unarmed on Nifelheim is a gamble with death. Still, I can see Jagr's point. Our cover story is sketchy. But against the Goliaths, it holds a greater chance of keeping us alive than weapons would.
Soledad stares at Jagr over the scarf. Jagr stares back. Soledad breaks eye contact and pulls on her anorak. I bet Jagr is great with dogs.
“Can I have a pink one, boss?” Braden asks.
“This isn't a pride parade, soldier.” The snarl in Jagr's voice is not sincere. I can almost hear her smile. It must be an inside joke because even Soledad laughs, and the tension breaks.
“A girl can always dream.” Braden rolls her eyes and pulls on her anorak.
We follow suit.
I sweat profusely, even though the smart insulation of the clothing does its best to regulate my temperature.
