Carlos Ex Machina

This is bad, Tim thought as he raced down the corridor towards the entrance to the Ledas suites. This is very, very bad. He wasn’t sure where to go. He just needed someone—someone who wouldn’t slap ties on him the second he opened his mouth. The idea was that he’d be in there with Simonee, not traipsing around the LuxHab ring while the all seeing security AI expected him in holding with a prisoner.

Sweat slicked his palms. He kept clamping down on the little device Dalia Ledas had shoved into his hand during that handshake—like it might vanish if he loosened his grip. It was the only thing that might keep him from being shot on the spot. It had taken him a stupid minute—finger tapping, thumb jabbing, heart hammering—before the thing even lit. A tiny marquee screen blinked awake. The message loaded—and his gut dropped hard enough that his feet were moving before he’d finished reading. He’d tried the intercom first of course; banged on the door—nothing, as if everyone in the room had just vanished. Ice filled his belly when he realized that was exactly what happened.

How the hell am I supposed to get to Karalius Ledas? He wondered.

The governor’s office—up on the command ring at the tip—was a different kind of territory. And Dunham Fried’s mercs. Tim’s throat tightened just thinking his name. He thumbed the buzzer at the big glass door—and Gora’s face flashed up in his mind. Gora scared him too—almost as much—but he’d help Simonee for sure. The red-haired giant wasn’t at the desk. Just the little one.

“Sorry, pal, Officer Gora’s on lunch, and I’m just the admittance guard, I don’t handle kidnappings. You’ll have to file a report with the main security office.” Pierre didn’t even look up—eyes glued to the tablet.

Tim slipped out of the lobby and into an adjacent corridor—empty, at least at first glance. Should he try the main security office first? Maybe if he explained the situation to the sergeant they’d go easy on him. He pulled up the security net on his smartcomm. The summons flashed—report to main—and beneath it: WATCH LIST. Nope, he’d be in cuffs before he even had a chance to speak. But the device...

No, the governor needed this now and if he knew one thing about station security, it was that everything took time. Simonee and Dalia didn’t have time. He turned into the corridor outside the lifts.

The lights snapped out—and Tim’s breath caught. A vice around his neck. His knees tried to fold. Something held him upright. Warm, soft—but firm. Sweat under something sweeter. It made him think of... nipples?

He was moving, dragging, boots scraping under him. He yanked on the arm and his lips felt air.

“Wait,” he croaked.

A hiss at his ear. “Shhhh! There are at least ten blue shirts down this corridor, and they’re all looking for you!”

The lights came back on. Tim sucked in air and slumped into the wall—neck tingling.

Hazel eyes snapped into focus—hard, hot—under a dark brow pulled down like a blade. Mariem had hauled him into an alcove. Her face was tight—jaw set, nostrils flaring.

“You could have just pulled me aside!” Tim rasped, massaging his neck.

Mariem’s words hit him like spit: “Where the fuck is Simonee?” And with actual spit.

He wiped his face. “I took her to Dalia, as planned…”

Her voice dropped low. “And you left her there?” Her words rumbled his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to that part, here.” He handed Mariem the tiny marquee as he stood.

She fiddled with the device and read the message.

“Fuck!” The back of her hand hit his face and his shoulder hit the wall.

“Jesus!” He rubbed his jaw. “I was just following the message.”

A low sound rolled up from Mariem’s throat—not quite words. “But you. Left. Her. There!”

“What else was I supposed to do? The door was locked and they probably warped out of there anyway!”

Mariem held there—breathing hard—then some of the steel bled out of her shoulders.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right. Sorry,” Mariem sighed. “I’m just… a bit protective.”

“You think?” He said, stretching his jaw muscles.

She side-eyed him, but spoke quiet. “I could’ve hit you harder.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stood and straightened his shirt. “I’m a little tired of getting busted up by you. I’m not a bad guy you know.”

Mariem looked down.

He softened and looked up into her eyes. “You know we have to get this message to the governor, right?”

Mariem shut her eyes and spoke to the ceiling. “I know, I know.” Looking at him: “What was your plan?”

His shoulders twitched. “Well, it started with getting up to the command ring, after that...”

She shook her head. “You’re on the security net, they’ll arrest you on the spot.”

He jutted his chin. “Yeah, but you aren’t.”

She snorted. “Why would they let me in?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Your good looks?”

Mariem’s brow cinched and something like a smile, or a sneer grew into her lips. But the corridor lights flipped to red. A long chime rolled through—like a radar ping dropped to the floor and stomped on a bit.

“Oh, shit!” Tim hissed. “It’s the goon squad! They’re preparing for lock-down!”

“The goon what?” Mariem hollered over the blare.

“Attention residents, please remain calm.” A reassuring female voice sang over the loudspeakers. “Please direct your attention to the nearest station monitor for emergency information.”

A screen behind Mariem flared to life. Tim went cold. His eyes stretched wide. Mariem turned. On the screen: Simonee. Tim. Mariem. Their faces trapped in a bright red frame, staring back.

Her shoulders fell. “Well, fuck.”

“These individuals are being tracked by Enceladus Station Special Forces and are considered armed and extremely dangerous. Enceladus Station will experience a brief period of total lock-down. Please find the nearest emergency alcove, domicile or commercial area and keep arms and legs out of all entrances. If you do find yourself in a corridor or thoroughfare, please avoid contact with special forces and assume a safe position on the floor with your head between your knees. Enceladus Station is not responsible for injury or death resulting from actions taken in apprehending dangerous criminals. So, for your own safety, please avoid anyone carrying a weapon. Lock-down will commence in 10…9…”

“How the hell did they get my picture?” Mariem asked.

“…8…”

“Does it matter, we’ve gotta find cover, fast!” Tim yelled.

“…7…”

“But how are we going to get to the governor?” Mariem asked—voice thinning, climbing.

“…6…”

“I have no idea, but we aren’t going to do it dead!” Tim said.

“…5…”

“What if we turn ourselves in?”

“…4…”

“They might kill us anyway. These aren’t nice, rational, people!”

“…3…”

“Okay, then we’ll hide in an alcove until the lock-down is over.”

“…2…”

“Alcoves have built in facial recognition, that’ll only make them find us faster.”

“…1… commencing lockdown.”

Doors slammed down all along the corridor—metal biting metal—deadbolts clacking into place. Airtight. Locked. Tim and Mariem were alone in the corridor. Silence pressed in so hard Tim didn’t want to breathe loud enough to be heard.

“Now what?” Mariem hissed.

A hatch clanged open. Boot-stomps poured in from outside the hall.

“I suggest we go the opposite direction,” Tim whispered, backpedaling.

Mariem bounded ahead of him, but when Tim caught up she was stopped around a corner, standing tall with her hands over her head. A dark man with a scar carved across his face leveled a huge coil-gun at her head.

“Come out, Timmy-boy, we know you’re in there. Ms. Aggy’s got her eye on you.”

Soft footfalls behind Tim—pads, not stomps. He turned. Four special forces in black filled the corridor like moving cutouts.

A pink faced soldier with a blonde buzz cut nodded. “You’d better listen to him, squib, yer going nowhere fast.”

Tim raised his hands and slowly laid down his coilgun. Pink-face marched up and zip-tied his hands behind his back.

Pink-face tapped her ear. “Corporal Fried, Aggy can’t find Saran, she’s off the grid.”

Fried looked up at Mariem. “Mind tellin’ me where yer little friend is?”

Mariem flicked the marquee up between her raised fingers. “This might be a clue. It’s for the governor, from his daughter.”

Fried snatched the device and tapped it once—shook his head. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t have a kill order on you three.”

Tim stepped forward at Pink-face’s muzzle in his back. “I’m the one that took her to Dalia Ledas.” He called out. “Mariem isn’t part of this.”

Fried’s scar twisted up his cheek. “Right, Romeo. Well, the Admiral says different.”

Tim flinched. “Admiral?”

“Oh. That. Dick!” Mariem cursed as her hands were zip-tied behind her.

---

The command ring swelled at the end of the spine—a steel mushroom cap jutting into space. Boots herded Mariem out of the tram station—single file, Tim close behind. A steep staircase yawned ahead. Why aren’t we taking a lift?

The stairs dropped through a glass-walled channel. Landings split left and right into hallways—doors opened and closed, like the place was breathing. Bodies poured through the halls in tight streams—close enough to shoulder-check—yet nobody collided. Like they’d practiced the chaos.

At the last level, her stomach dropped. The geometry stopped making sense. The bottom opened into cubicles—too many—spilling across a floor that curved up like a wave about to break. Workers walked on the slope like they’d signed an NDA with gravity. Mariem’s throat tightened. Her stomach rolled. Behind her, Tim made a wet, retching sound that said he was close.

Above, a glass dome—triangles stitched together—showed stars sliding in a slow, sick spin. Mariem’s guts lurched harder, like someone had put the universe in a washing machine and hit start.

Mariem locked her eyes on the floor tiles—one, two, three—anything to stop the spin. Tim sagged into her shoulder. Behind them, boots kept a steady cadence. Fried’s broad back stayed out front, leading like this was a parade.

The glass channel spat them into a broad round hub. Light. Voices. Footsteps in every direction. A bright glass dome sat in the middle like a display case—and nobody spared Mariem more than a glance as they hurried past, talking over comms, shouting numbers, arguing at screens.

Fried marched them into the dome and halted them facing a raised platform—ramps curling up on both sides, a sealed cupola behind the balcony.

“Admiral on deck!” Fried barked.

Commandos snapped into formation—rifles up—like they needed an audience. The clerks didn’t even pause.

A door in the cupola hissed open. A scruffy silver-haired old goat stepped out—chin high, hands clasped behind his back like he was still leading a cruiser but the uniform didn’t fit—t-shirt, khaki cargos, steel-toed sandals. The sonofabitch peered down at them and threw his arms wide.

“Amigos!” Carlos shouted.

“I… am going… to kill you,” Mariem said. Her face didn’t move.

Someone stepped in behind Carlos—tall, solid, silver suit catching the light. Blonde hair with platinum swirls. A sharp-cut beard. His eyes pinned Mariem like storm clouds with a center of ice, and his mouth held a thin, colorless line.

“Where’s the thief?” The man boomed.

“Unaccounted for, sir,” Fried responded with a salute.

“She’s with your daughter, sir, Mr. Ledas sir!” Tim exclaimed.

“Then where is Dalia?” Karalius said. His eyes narrowed—hard, cold, cutting.

“I left them in her suite,” Tim said—swallowed. “I don’t think they’re there anymore.”

“The prisoners handed us this, sir.” Fried said, passing up the marquee. Karalius plucked it from his hand with thick fingers and pressed the activation button. He mouthed the words and sucked in a breath.

Eyes stabbing each of them in turn, he spoke the rest out loud: “They are taking me to the vault to show me everything... Please come.”

“In my office, now,” Karalius rasped and turned back to the cupola.

Fried popped their restraints. Mariem rubbed her wrists once, then moved to Carlos on the balcony with Tim at her back. The commandos flowed after Karalius into the office.

“I thought you were sleeping!” Mariem hissed in Carlos’s ear.

“I said I was going to take a nap, not a coma,” he retorted.

“Fine, how the hell did you coordinate all this?” She asked.

Carlos shrugged. “I know people. I ran into Fried. Called in a favor. Karalius promised not to execute any of us—win-win.”

And you couldn’t have just called?” Tim said—high and thin. “You had to lock down a whole section and snag us at gunpoint?” He swallowed hard.

Carlos sniggered and patted Tim’s shoulder. “Más divertido, hermano. Face-rec had you two in five minutes, they only shut down the corridor—for effect.”

Tim started to protest. Mariem cut him off with a look. “Don’t bother. He’ll get what’s coming.” She looked at Carlos. “I’m the bitch they call Payback.”

“As if,” Carlos chuckled. “I’m still waiting on revenge for the thing on Mars with the horse costume.”

Mariem raised an eyebrow. “Ever find those kangaroo skin boots?”

Carlos jerked his head. “What? You said they were in the laundry room.”

She put a finger to her chin. “Close, but on which side of the hull I wonder?”

Carlos raised a finger. “Oh, you…”

“Ahem.”

Karalius’s office was glass-walled—red and blue tapestries like flags. A silver-and-glass desk ran into a round table. Fried’s commandos ringed it, and every eye was now on Mariem, Tim, and Carlos.

“Excuse us, Señor Ledas.” Carlos said with a bow of his head.

Karalius turned his attention to a display screen poised directly in front of him. Without looking away he asked, “So, you tell me that Simonee Saran only stole the keycard because Mason threatened my daughter’s life. Is that right?”

Carlos spread his hands, voice smooth. “Of course—she acted out of love. She’s no threat.”

Karalius spun the screen towards them—Simonee took up the center. Behind her—Dalia, bound to a chair with zip-ties. Beside them, a spherical pod with a thermite rig bolted on top. Karalius tapped the desk. The image started to move.

“My name is Simonee Saran…” the recording began.

Carlos’s grin died. “Oh… no bueno.”