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  Beth didn’t think the change in course would speed her up significantly, but what it did was shorten her distance to travel until she was behind the big planet. She hoped that would be enough.

  The planet grew larger and larger, and twice, Beth had to zoom out on her display. All the time, the leading blip, which had now split into two separate blips, closed the distance. She kept running the calculations, and as the alien torpedoes, as she was now calling them, came closer, the calculations became more accurate. It soon became apparent that her change of course was not enough. She was going to get caught a minute too soon.

  “They can probably follow me around the planet, anyway,” she muttered.

  She nudged the course over, closer to the planet, so that she would pass right alongside the exosphere. Alarms blared, but mercifully, the AI didn’t say a word.

  “This is it,” she told herself as she reached the planet.

  Outside, immense forces were pulling at the Lily, something it was not designed to take. It even shuddered, something Beth had never felt before. Beth almost panicked, knowing she’d hit the limits of the exosphere, and she was afraid she’d bounce off, exposing the ship to the torpedoes that were on her ass. With a firm hand, she steadied the scout, wishing now that she could turn it back over to the slagged AI.

  The first torpedo torpedoes materialized on the visuals. Long and cylindrical, it did look like a torpedo. Beth was tempted to close her eyes, but if she was going to die, she wanted to see it coming.

  But it didn’t come. It started to slow down. The Lily shuddered more violently, and something broke free to lodge beneath her right foot, but on the display, the first torpedo began to yaw. Suddenly, it swerved and dove into the planet, as the Lily began to whip around the gas giant.

  Where’s the second one? Where is it?

  The gas giant was big--huge, in fact. But the Lily was moving very fast. Within moments, the ship slingshotted around and broke free of the planet’s grip, heading back out into space. Beth kept it on course to reach the gate, but she ran every scanner she had back toward the planet, looking for the second torpedo. It never appeared.

  Somehow, by some miracle, she had shaken the alien craft, and the Lily was still intact. She pulled out her cross and kissed it.

  Beth switched the fold scanner to the remaining blip, the one still far behind. It was still accelerating, but with the gas giant’s assist, Beth had opened up the distance. It had shifted course as well, moving to an intercept that steered clear of SG-4021-8.

  Beth ran several scenarios. She wished she could turn the AI back on, but disabling it was a safety option, in case an AI went rogue (which was an extremely rare occurrence). As such, it would take a tech to install a new AI. Still, even with out the AI making the calculations, it became obvious that unless the ship chasing her had something else up its sleeve, the Lily should enter the gate with around 40 minutes to spare. She was still nervous about another set of torpedoes, but after an hour without any more being fired, she began to relax. She even fell asleep for two hours.

  Eighteen hours, twelve minutes, and fifteen seconds after slingshotting around the gas giant, Pilot 3 Floribeth Salinas O’Shea Dalisay, Hamdani Exploration Corps passed through the gate. As per regulations in existence since the formation of the Directorate, but never followed, as far as she knew, she triggered the self-destruct, and the gates to and from SG-4021 were reduced to their component atoms.

  Chapter 2

  Beth was whisked down the corridors, two rather large, imposing men one step behind her. She wasn’t a prisoner, but the two goons left her little doubt that they would take her by force should she try to leave.

  Within seconds of destroying the gate, the Lily had been locked down. The gates were the lifeblood of humankind, and they were sometimes attacked by anarchists, but she was a vetted pilot, not some crazy anarchist with a bone to pick. And it wasn’t as if they were difficult to replace. The gate itself was almost inconsequential: a powersource and a projection field. Gates such as the one Beth had emplaced outside the SG-4021 system, which relied on solar power, massed less than a kilogram. It was the programming that was the difficult aspect of creating them, requiring something along the lines of an Ana to make them functional. HB could replace the one Beth had destroyed in a few hours, if they wanted.

  Which they couldn’t possibly want to do. Not now. But other than her first report, given from inside the Lily, Beth hadn’t spoken to anyone. Ana had taken over the Lily’s controls and brought her in to HQ, but Beth had been in a comms blackout.

  She’d been met at the dock by the two goons, OPWs like her, but whereas she’d been hired due to her diminutive size, these two were chosen for the opposite physical attributes. They were huge!

  Technically, she didn’t have to go with the two guards. HB would have to formalize custody for that to happen. But the company could fire her on a whim, and she valued her job. Once her report made it up the chain, this would all be cleared up. She should even receive a company commendation—and hopefully, the bonus for the asteroid belt she’d left behind.

  Beth was a little peeved that she hadn’t been met by the corporate brass. The fact that there were aliens in the system, space-faring aliens, no less, would reverberate through humanity, and she not only found them, but kept them from using the gate.

  Well, she didn’t know if they could actually use it, but a human ship could follow the trail of another without the actual calculations, so why couldn’t an alien ship?

  She’d followed the regulations and destroyed the gate. Let the Directorate open another one with the might of the Navy behind it. Let them work out a first contact.

  Second contact. They tried to blow me up on the first.

  Beth might have just saved humanity from an alien invasion, and she wasn’t being treated like a hero. It was starting to get on her nerves as she trooped down the passage.

  The trio stopped at a non-descript door. The first goon leaned in, had his retina read, and it opened with a slight hiss. Inside the room was a simple table with a single chair on one side, three on the other. Just like in a police holovid. Goon 1 held out a hand and indicated that she take a seat.

  “You can speak, you know,” she said as she sat down.

  He didn’t reply.

  With a shrug, Beth sat. She was running on adrenaline, hyped by what had transpired. This was big—very big. She understood that HB, the Directorate, and probably the Corporate Council would want to determine how to break the news to the public. She might be kept under wraps while this was worked out, sworn to silence. She didn’t understand, however, why she wasn’t already speaking with the HB brass—the local bosses in person, and even the CEO back on Earth. Surely, they’d be all over this.

  There was an old-fashioned-but-now-back-in-fashion analog clock on the wall. Beth sat and watched the second hand slowly make its circuits around and around. It was mesmerizing, in a way, and Beth felt herself calm down. She might have just made one of the biggest discoveries in history, but she was just a tiny asterisk among the trillions of humans. The news itself was the big thing. She knew she was being a little bit juvenile in thinking that all the big wigs would be running over to assuage her ego when things had to be in chaos now.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone come and ask for my debrief.

  “Right, guys?” she asked, just like that and not giving them a reference.

  Neither said a word.

  Almost twenty minutes had passed before the door whispered open and a harried-looking man came in, p-link in hand. He hadn’t had the full mods of a GT, but it had been obvious that he’d had some sculpting done. His face was just too perfect, almost elfin with the lilac eyes that were all the rage now. If Beth had to guess, she’d say he’d been an OPW like her, but one who’d risen in the ranks, making enough money for his mods. He sat down across from her and studied his p-link for a moment.

  About time, Beth thought, leaning forward in anticipation of te
lling the man just what had happened.

  He finally looked up and said, “Pilot Two Dalisay, I’m Accountant Eight Huhn.”

  That took Beth by surprise. An accountant? Why am I being debriefed by an accountant?

  As a level eight, he was in upper management. There were probably only a few senior accountants in the entire Nexus Prime facility. But what did she have to say to a bean-counter?

  “Can you please tell me why you destroyed both your AI and the gate pair to SG-4021?” he asked without preamble.

  Beth stared at him in shock, her mouth dropping open.

  “Well, I’d appreciate an answer, Pilot,” he said in the same even voice.

  “Because . . . because I was being pursued by an alien ship that was trying to kill me!”

  The goon standing behind the accountant broke his stern visage, raising an eyebrow before recovering to his stone face. The accountant sniffed dismissively.

  “So you reported.”

  What? What’s he getting at?

  “Yes, I reported. That’s what happened. I destroyed the gate pair because of the Directorate regulations.”

  “Yes, IR 2.09.01. I am familiar with it. It’s something no one has ever done before, however.”

  “That’s because no one has ever run into aliens before,” Beth said with a raised voice, standing up.

  The goon behind Huhn took a step forward, but with a roll of his eyes, the accountant raised a hand in a casual dismissal. Beth might be a third of the accountant’s weight, but that flick of the hand infuriated her. She swallowed her anger and sat back down. He might be a dick, but he was an executive level eight, and someone in her position didn’t make it a habit of getting on someone that high’s bad side.

  “I’m sorry, sir. To make it clear, I encountered and alien ship that fired upon me. I returned to Nexus Prime, and as per Directive regulation IR two-point, uh . . .”

  “Two-point-zero-nine-point-zero-one,” he prompted.

  That made her angrier, but she bit back a retort, then said, “Thank you, sir. Yes, that regulation. I destroyed the gate pair to isolate the SG-4021 system from Nexus Prime.”

  “Assuming for a moment that I believe you, which I do not, why did you null your AI?”

  “I had to. The enemy torpedoes would have hit me unless I hugged the exosphere, and the AI would not allow that. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be alive and here now.”

  “So, somehow, a human pilot was better able to fly a Hummingbird than the best AI HB can offer?”

  “Yes, sir. As I said, I had to push the envelope in order to survive. I had to do it.”

  “So, you nulled the AI, the only entity that could verify the existence of this so-called alien ship? How convenient.”

  For the second time within a minute, Beth just stared at the man, mouth hanging open, before she was able to sputter out, “Just pull the ship’s record! You’ll see it.”

  He looked at her scornfully and said, “And how do you expect us to do that? You nulled your AI.”

  “Yes, I did. I told you why. But can’t one of our tech teams recover that?”

  “Please, Pilot Dalisay, you give us more credit that we deserve. That, or you don’t give the techs who designed the null enough credit. When you decided to null the AI, you wiped it clean. That’s why we call it ‘nulling.’ It cannot be recovered.

  “So, once again, what proof do you have that you encountered an alien, Pilot?”

  Beth simply looked at him, uncertain what to say. It was news to her that a nulled AI could not be recovered—if that was even true. Criminals always tried to wipe their p-links, but no matter what new method they used, the police were always able to recover the data.

  “I thought so, Pilot. What we do know, however, is that the mineral wealth in the system is significant.” He paused a moment, for all the world looking like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. “And SG-4021-4 has every indication that it could possibly be a Class A world.”

  “Yes, sir, I know that. I shot back updates on my findings.”

  “Did you mean to do that?”

  “Sir?”

  “Perhaps as you got closer, you confirmed that SG-4021-4 was in fact a Class A planet.”

  “I was hoping, but nothing was confirmed yet,” she told him, wary of where this was leading.

  “So, you say. But what if you did receive confirmation that it was, in fact, a Class A planet, then decided to shop around that information?”

  It took a moment for Beth to understand what he was saying, but once she did, righteous indignation set in.

  I almost got killed on this mission and brought back astounding news, and I get this shit?

  “It makes sense that you would null your AI, then concoct a reason why we shouldn’t go back to the system.”

  “I assure you, sir, that everything I’ve reported is the truth,” Beth said through clenched lips, trying to remain civil.

  “Your word, without anything to back it up.

  “Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Pilot Dalisay. First, we’re docking your pay to cover the cost of both the gates and the AI. I’ve already totaled the amount, and that will run you 567,446 BC,” he said with a sneer.

  Bullshit. There’s no way they cost that much. And so nice of you to have it down to a specific BC.

  “And before you ask, no, you aren’t fired. You’re still under contract, confined to your quarters until we get to the bottom of this. Once we evaluate the system and have proof of your perfidy, we’ll remand you to custody.”

  For the first time since Huhn arrived, Beth realized that she was in big trouble. If HB fired her, she’d be technically free to go. HB could sue her for damages, but they’d have a difficult time collecting such an exorbitant fine. You can’t milk a dry cow, after all. By keeping her under contract, she’d be working decades to pay off the fine.

  It wasn’t as if she could break the contract herself. Workers didn’t have that right—only the corporations did. And by keeping her under contract, if they could show financial damage, then they would have the legal right to confine her in the HB prison.

  “And if you go to SG-4021 and find out I am telling the truth?” she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

  Accountant 8 Huhn laughed, which made her angrier. “If you are telling the truth, well, you still owe the replacement costs, so good luck with that.

  “Now, I’m just here to present you the bill. Security Six Onswalt will be here momentarily. You can tell your tale to her and see if she believes you.”

  Which wasn’t going to happen, Beth knew. Sec6 Onswalt had been an OPW from Tychee, and she’d climbed the ladder into employee status by being the biggest asshole in the company. She came from the same roots as all the rest of the OPWs, but she seemed to resent their presence, and took every opportunity to slap them down.

  The door hissed open, and Huhn said, “Speaking of her—” before he stood up, hitting his chin on his chest and saying, “Mzee Teneriffe, how can I help you?”

  Beth felt a surge of hope, and she stood as well, turning and chinning. Mzee Teneriffe was an anomaly, a GT who not only had a job, but one protecting the powerless. She was the Directorate rep for workers’ rights. Tall and slender, as all GTs were, she had chosen a light-rose skin color, and her silver hair, almost metallic in appearance, never had even a strand out of place. She looked the part of a typical GT, but unlike most of her kind, she seemed to genuinely care for the OPWs and general employees.

  “What can you do for me, Accountant Eight Huhn? I should think that would be obvious,” she said, a measure of icy steel in her lilting voice.

  “I’m afraid I don’t, Mzee.”

  “Hmm. You seem to have Pilot Two Dalisay under arrest, and I have not been informed of this.”

  “I must beg to respectfully disagree, Mzee. The Pilot—” Beth could almost hear the disdain in his voice when he said her title, “is merely being debriefed on her last mission.”

  The Mzee gave
a pointed look at the two guards, one after the other. They both averted their eyes.

  “They are only here to protect Pilot Two Dalisay,” he said, grasping for words.

  “I didn’t realize that the halls here in HB headquarters were that dangerous for your pilots. Has there been an incident here, like on Warm Heart?”

  Beth almost smiled as Huhn blanched, his dark skin almost turning grey. Three years ago, the local population had risen up, demanding the removal of all OPWs. Twenty-three EnBee OPWs were killed in the rioting, and Wei Min Industries was fined twenty-million BCs.

  “No, Mzee, nothing like that,” he stammered out.

  “Good. Then I will assume that, as you have not levied charges against Pilot Dalisay and there is no threat to her well-being, she is free to come with me now.”

  Huhn looked up at one of the guards, and the man shifted his gaze to the ceiling. The accountant wasn’t going to get any help there.

  “Uh . . . no, Mzee Teneriffe. As soon as Security Six Onswalt is finished with her, she is free to go with you.”

  “I used the word ‘now,’ if you have ears with which to hear,” Accountant Eight Huhn,” she said, and then turning to Beth, added, “Do you want to come with me, Pilot?”

  Beth glanced at Huhn, who was staring daggers at her. She knew she should stay. The Mzee had no real authority here. True, she could cause problems for the company. But if she did, the company would most likely take it out on Beth.

  Screw it, Beth told herself.

  “Yes, Mzee, I would like that.”

  “Then come with me . . . unless you have an objection, Accountant Eight?”

  “I . . . I will bring this matter up with Mzee Gossamer,” he said.

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Mzee Gossamer was the Operations Officer for HB at their Nexus Prime facility. He did have direct control over every person in the organization, answerable only to the CEO, Mzee One Off. Beth’s heart fell when she heard Huhn’s words. Except for meeting Mzee Teneriffe a couple of times, she avoided the few GTs at Nexus Prime. Nothing good came from attracting their attention.