intention of leaving a witness to our escape.”
“If you hurt her, you won’t get a single credit.”
The room reeled at the statement like a slap to the face. Still, Roon refused to shrink. Xenecia bristled with pure malevolence.
“Is that so?”
“Roon,” Fenton said with a worried whisper. “Roon, for god’s sake don’t—”
Roon ignored him pointedly. "That is so."
Now the scowl flared across Xenecia’s face like a supernova in full swing. Looming menacingly over Roon and Ensign Cassel, her mouth set in the universal rictus of contempt, she wondered, “Then what is to stop me from—”
Before she could finish the thought, a measured, synthesized, almost asexual voice cut in all around them.
“Override: Command Interrupt Protocol initiated. Voiceprint transfer of Commander Knolan Orth’s yacht to Ensign Ohana Cassel authorized. Ensign Cassel, confirm voiceprint transfer?”
The four of them exchanged awkward, uncertain glances with each other and the ceiling for several silent seconds until the voice, unfazed, repeated, “Ensign Cassel, confirm voiceprint transfer?”
“Yes!” she blurted. “Confirm!”
“Voiceprint transfer confirmed. Ensign Cassel is hereby granted voice authorization over Commander Orth’s yacht.”
Perhaps feeling adventurous in light of her still-ongoing brush with death, Ensign Cassel dared ask the question that was on all their lips: “Who—What are you?”
“Greetings, Ensign Ohana Cassel; Advocate Roon McNamara; Xenecia of Shih’ra; Fenton James Wilkes. I am OverCom, a bypass subroutine embedded within the command net superstructure of Orbital Station Tau’s primary data matrix. I was given orders by Creator to intervene in the present dispute before it could devolve into violent action. Creator trusts this has been accomplished to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, thank you very much, OverCom!” Fenton offered quickly, turning to Roon. He was just about to entreat her to get them moving when the synthesized voice cut in once again.
“You are very welcome, Fenton James Wilkes. Creator instructs I should extend well wishes and kudos on behalf of us both, which I henceforth do, as well as to inform you that you have three minutes to depart before you are met with armed resistance to an otherwise tidy escape. This, of course, not allowing for certain distractions and obstacles, of which Creator is diligently at work crafting. Creator asks, Do you need additional cajoling?”
“Not a bit, OverCom,” Roon said, having finally torn herself away from a renewed staring contest with Xenecia. “Tell Creator we are indebted for your help.”
“Indebtedness declined. Creator says the scales are balanced and to be immediately upon your way. No further delays, except those created in your own interest. Please be off now. Safe travels!”
They didn’t argue. Even Ensign Cassel fell into the retreat as part of the team without further prodding. Roon guessed she understood that someone had saved her from a sudden and brutal execution, and that the least she could do to thank them was to use every skill in her arsenal to see these fugitives outside the reach of the long arm of corporate justice as quickly as possible. Hell, if she played dutiful hostage long enough she might even live to be able to claim cooperation under duress. Assuming she too lived long enough, Roon had every intention of standing as witness to that defense, no matter how much it incriminated herself in the process.
Up the ramp to Commander Orth’s yacht they ran, Ensign Cassel stopping only to take a bracing and no doubt prayerful breath before announcing, “Authorize entry, Delta-Delta-Cassel-Five-Six-One-Six-One-Zero-One-Beta-Gamma.”
The hatch didn’t open, but neither was the code denied. An unnerving number of seconds passed, the foursome loitering nervously on the gangway, expecting to be overtaken at any moment. Their only hope was that OverCom’s so-called Creator had managed to
“If you hurt her, you won’t get a single credit.”
The room reeled at the statement like a slap to the face. Still, Roon refused to shrink. Xenecia bristled with pure malevolence.
“Is that so?”
“Roon,” Fenton said with a worried whisper. “Roon, for god’s sake don’t—”
Roon ignored him pointedly. "That is so."
Now the scowl flared across Xenecia’s face like a supernova in full swing. Looming menacingly over Roon and Ensign Cassel, her mouth set in the universal rictus of contempt, she wondered, “Then what is to stop me from—”
Before she could finish the thought, a measured, synthesized, almost asexual voice cut in all around them.
“Override: Command Interrupt Protocol initiated. Voiceprint transfer of Commander Knolan Orth’s yacht to Ensign Ohana Cassel authorized. Ensign Cassel, confirm voiceprint transfer?”
The four of them exchanged awkward, uncertain glances with each other and the ceiling for several silent seconds until the voice, unfazed, repeated, “Ensign Cassel, confirm voiceprint transfer?”
“Yes!” she blurted. “Confirm!”
“Voiceprint transfer confirmed. Ensign Cassel is hereby granted voice authorization over Commander Orth’s yacht.”
Perhaps feeling adventurous in light of her still-ongoing brush with death, Ensign Cassel dared ask the question that was on all their lips: “Who—What are you?”
“Greetings, Ensign Ohana Cassel; Advocate Roon McNamara; Xenecia of Shih’ra; Fenton James Wilkes. I am OverCom, a bypass subroutine embedded within the command net superstructure of Orbital Station Tau’s primary data matrix. I was given orders by Creator to intervene in the present dispute before it could devolve into violent action. Creator trusts this has been accomplished to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, thank you very much, OverCom!” Fenton offered quickly, turning to Roon. He was just about to entreat her to get them moving when the synthesized voice cut in once again.
“You are very welcome, Fenton James Wilkes. Creator instructs I should extend well wishes and kudos on behalf of us both, which I henceforth do, as well as to inform you that you have three minutes to depart before you are met with armed resistance to an otherwise tidy escape. This, of course, not allowing for certain distractions and obstacles, of which Creator is diligently at work crafting. Creator asks, Do you need additional cajoling?”
“Not a bit, OverCom,” Roon said, having finally torn herself away from a renewed staring contest with Xenecia. “Tell Creator we are indebted for your help.”
“Indebtedness declined. Creator says the scales are balanced and to be immediately upon your way. No further delays, except those created in your own interest. Please be off now. Safe travels!”
They didn’t argue. Even Ensign Cassel fell into the retreat as part of the team without further prodding. Roon guessed she understood that someone had saved her from a sudden and brutal execution, and that the least she could do to thank them was to use every skill in her arsenal to see these fugitives outside the reach of the long arm of corporate justice as quickly as possible. Hell, if she played dutiful hostage long enough she might even live to be able to claim cooperation under duress. Assuming she too lived long enough, Roon had every intention of standing as witness to that defense, no matter how much it incriminated herself in the process.
Up the ramp to Commander Orth’s yacht they ran, Ensign Cassel stopping only to take a bracing and no doubt prayerful breath before announcing, “Authorize entry, Delta-Delta-Cassel-Five-Six-One-Six-One-Zero-One-Beta-Gamma.”
The hatch didn’t open, but neither was the code denied. An unnerving number of seconds passed, the foursome loitering nervously on the gangway, expecting to be overtaken at any moment. Their only hope was that OverCom’s so-called Creator had managed to
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