“No. I don’t know why it happened.”
“It just strikes me as strange that the Terrans should choose you to go with this extraordinary vessel…”
“I volunteered.”
“Were you the only volunteer?”
Kane’s lips narrowed. “No.”
“Well then, chose you from a pool of volunteers to be part of a vital mission and entrusted this astonishing craft, the Leviathan, to you. They did all this, gave you such a responsibility and never tested you for compatibility with it?”
“They tested me.” Kane seemed to be growing, in his own way, as angry as Lukyan under this inquisition. “I was fully compatible.”
“So what went wrong when it came time to do it for real?”
Kane’s voice was tight and Katya half expected him to refuse to answer or even to strike Tokarov. “If I could tell you,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I would tell you.”
She was getting a little angry herself. All this bunch of so-called “adults” was doing was making enemies of one another when what they really needed to be concentrating on was how to get out alive.
“Leviathan!” Her voice sounded less impressive echoing around the chamber than she’d hoped, but it still stopped the men bickering. They looked at her in bewilderment. “When one of us is selected, what will become of the rest?”
“They will be without function. They will be stored until a function arises.”
“Clarify stored in this context.” Katya had spoken to enough artificial intelligences to know the terms it was easiest to communicate in. At the moment, the Leviathan was clever in military AI terms, but nowhere near as intelligent as it would be when it got its human… component? Victim? At the moment, it could be fooled easily enough if you were careful and clever.
“Confined to living quarters.”
“Those were designed for one person,” groaned Kane behind her. She ignored him.
“What if we had a function to fulfil for you? Would we be allowed to leave then?”
“That would be dependent on the priority of the utilisation.”
“We will attempt to recover drone six for you,” said Katya. “You cannot build new drones, each one you lose must be a serious drain on your resources. We can try and get it back.”
She heard Tokarov make a pleased little “Heh!” sound and Lukyan said, “That’s my niece.”
“That is of utility,” said the Leviathan.
“Then we can go? And try and get it for you, that is?”
The Leviathan didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“What?” She thought she heard herself echoed by at least two of the others. “Why not?”
“Recovery of drone six is of a lower priority than locating a replacement for Kane, Havilland. A human is required for maximum efficiency. This is the higher priority.”
Katya wasn’t beaten yet. “Kane, when you sat in that seat, when the interface with the Leviathan failed, were you forced into it?”
“I had no choice.”
“But that Medusa sphere up there was a surprise to you just now. It didn’t force you into the seat at gunpoint, so why did you sit down?”
“Because I had no choice. I couldn’t leave and there was nothing else to do except grow old in here. It kept demanding I took the seat, but I was never forced to. I just…” he closed his eyes and hung his head, “wanted to get it over with.”
“Fine. Thanks.” She turned to face them all. “I’ll stay.”
“Katya..?” said her uncle, appalled.
Kane’s eyes had snapped open and he stared fiercely at her. “You must not. The process is irreversible.”
Katya shook her head, they just didn’t get it. “I’m not going to sit down in that ugly great heap of a chair. I’m just going to stay here for a while — like you did, Kane.”
Tokarov was looking at her curiously. “For how long?”
They really didn’t get it. “Until you figure out a way to rescue me, of course. I’ll be fine. I’m patient.”
Nobody seemed very impressed. “That’s not a very good idea,” said Kane, “you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
“If you’ve got a brighter idea, let’s hear it,” she countered.
“I’ll stay,” said Lukyan.
“Uncle!”
“No, Katinka. You are young. I’ve already lived, seen a lot. Perhaps too much. I’ll stay.”
“What rank were you, Captain Pushkin?” asked Tokarov. “You’re a veteran, aren’t you?”
“I am,” replied Lukyan, but he did not swell with pride the way Katya had seen in the past. His great patriotic war was starting to look like it had only been paused, not won. If the Russalkin had won, it was only through default. “I made chief petty officer.”
“And you’re in the reserve?”
Lukyan nodded.
“Then, by the powers vested in me by the Federal Maritime Authority, I recall you to duty, Chief Petty Officer Lukyan Pushkin.”
Lukyan looked confused. “But, why?”
Tokarov smiled wearily. “Because now you’re under military discipline. And I outrank you. You’re not staying, Pushkin. You’re leaving with Kane and Katya. That’s an order.”
“I…” The desperate need to find some flaw in what Lieutenant Tokarov had done was clear in Lukyan’s expression just as the failure to find that flaw was evident a few moments later. “Yes. Yes, sir,” he said numbly.
“Oh, no,” said Katya firmly. “This was my stupid idea. I’m the one who should do it.”
“As you said yourself, Ms Kuriakova, all I have to do is sit around and wait to be rescued. As long as I don’t sit in that chair.” He smiled again as he jerked his thumb at the interface chair.
Once it had its volunteer, the Leviathan released the others to return to the Baby so they could locate, repair and return the damaged combat drone. Even succeeding in this deceit and escaping did little to lighten their mood. Even Kane whined like an old woman about the state the craft’s internal corridors were in since he had left a decade before. He had found some dirt by the door leading back into the docking bay and had carried on as if it mattered, as if the Leviathan should have spent some time spring-cleaning before deciding to kill everybody on the planet. Katya had been very glad when they’d finally managed to get him through the door and back inside the Baby.
Katya finished strapping herself in and, while she waited for the others to finish, looked over her shoulder at Tokarov’s empty seat. “He’s a brave man.”
“He’s paid to be brave,” said Lukyan gruffly. “It’s his job to be brave.” He still seemed to be smarting over the way Tokarov had outmanoeuvred him.
“I hope he realises how brave.” Kane secured his restraint buckle and leaned back in his seat with an air of infinite weariness. “I’m not sure he does.”
Lukyan snorted and started going through the checklist. “All he has to do is confine himself to the crew quarters and wait. He’ll be fed. There are amusements there?”
Kane nodded. “Texts. Dramas. Thousands of them.”
“Then he won’t get bored. This is not bravery. He is in no danger.”
Katya couldn’t believe her ears. “Uncle? Are you serious? We have no guarantee that will ever find a way to get him out of there. He could die an old man in there. Just because nobody’s shooting at him doesn’t make it any less courageous. He’s let himself be locked up in a prison that might never release him.”
Lukyan grunted dismissively, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.