Copper Rain

Copper Rain Part 7

The Present

"So, you saw Titus," says Zoie, exhaling clouds of frosted air.

It wasn't a question, so I didn't treat it as one. "I met a construct calling itself Titus."

"There's little difference."

"Fuck that, the last time Titus was among the living he tried to kill me."

"An occupational hazard for a prick like you," she says, shivering in the damp coldness.

I laugh. Zoie's still dressed in the same outfit as last night, but over the top of this is the least worst enviro-suit I could lay my hands on at short notice. I, as befitting a highly-valued security asset, have the latest in HeXtract technology and am currently feeling no pain. Well, no physical pain, what I am feeling is confusion. I still can't work out if this version of Titus is legit. And if he is legit, then what the fuck does he want from me?

We are waiting down by the nubport, but not at the bit that deals with people heading off splinter. Instead we are at a far larger terminal, the one that deals with transporting the minerals off the nub and out into the wider universe—which is why Zoie's freezing her ass off.

"You sure you're going to be warm enough?" I check.

"You got this shit for me."

"Julian's idea, not mine."

"So you're OK with a barely human cyborg freighting you off rock, but the idea of Titus fills you with dread."

"Julian's brain is human. I'm not even sure what the hell Titus is."

I'm guessing Zoie's need to chat is aimed at taking her mind off the next step. And in that sense I'm right behind her. There's no way to get us through the passenger section of the nubport. The security arrangements are too tough for something that needs to be done immediately. If I'd had a little time, maybe I could've figured something out. But time, according to Zoie, is limited. So the freight port it is.

"So what's the plan?" she asks. "Get up front into the autopilot and ride the sling from there?"

"No chance. The swing-by would kill us. We need to get into the maintenance hatch."

"How's that going to be better?"

"There's a suspension chamber. It's like a crew's quarters."

"On an automatic space barge? What the hell for?"

"This hulking piece of shit is a helium-hopper. And those bad boys are all repurposed millennium ships with the cryo-suspension gear torn out."

"But if all the original gear's gone. Why's the chamber still there?"

Which was exactly the question I asked Jules. The answer, ironically, is a small tech crew, like the huge dude back at the cowboy bar, is needed on long haul missions to maintain the deteriorating subsystems. What was cutting edge back in the day is now so old it needs human intervention to get through the rip gates. Not only that, but the presence of live humans on board the hoppers also prevents the activation of a series of gate defenses that were initially put in place to prevent the spread of AI technology. But this particular hopper is doing the short sling to Heladon, so there's no ripping involved, and therefore no human crew—our suspension capsules await.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "We'll be in the cryo-pods for most of it."

I grab her by the arm and pull her around a corner as a security bot squawks past. These are nothing more than mobile cameras, but if they catch me on screen, someone will come down for a look see. And while I have a high level security clearance, it doesn't include loitering around the loading docks with an off nub woman who can somehow violate security recognition protocols. We need to get moving.

We slink around the edge of the main transport dome and scurry for the hopper—according to Julian's schedule it's almost time. The nozzle attached to the intake valve at the top of the hopper hisses, there's a cloud of escaped helium as the gantry pulls away from the massive ship. We flip down our visors, and I pray that Zoie's enviro-suit is good enough to withstand a burst of cold from the butt end of the Kelvin scale. This is something I thought about mentioning to her, but then I didn't.

As the opaque cloud descends, the next stage of the plan falls into place. Under the cover of the heavy white runoff gas we hustle across to the base of the launch module. I take out the magnetic key Julian had given me and swipe at the access panel. It clicks open and we sweep inside. I jam the door closed, click on my helmet light, and a panel flares into life in front of us.

"Buckle up, bitches," says a voice. "Cos things are gonna get rough."

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