by J. N. Chaney
“It’s true,” Hendrose replied.
“Do you have evacuation shelters?”
“Just the hangar and warehouse. It’ll be a tight fit, but I think we could manage. And with the EV system back online—”
“No, we can’t do that,” Warren cut in. “Grouping everyone in one place would be a bad idea. If a saboteur does something drastic, he could take out the entire population at once. It’s best to keep everyone split up. Unless a dome gets breached, we’ll need to keep everyone where they are. Shelters will be the next major construction project.”
“Dammit,” Craig muttered. “I just realized I know how to properly cook a filet mignon. It’s too bad I don’t have proper taste buds to enjoy it. Or a cow to cut it from. Sometimes knowledge sucks.”
Warren laughed. “Yeah, let’s try to focus, Craig. More important things than food right now.”
“Yes, can we get back to the emergency at hand?” Hendrose asked, sounding testy. “What are you going to do? You said you had a plan.”
“The plan is simple. We wait for the Republic ship to drop close enough for us to blow it up. If that doesn’t work, and they land troops, we destroy them by fire and maneuver. We have the advantage.”
“You say that, but what does it mean?” Hendrose grumbled.
“First, we’ve got real-time comms,” Warren explained. “Not only can we speak to each other anywhere within range of our war computer—a thousand klicks or so, but we can relay even further. We’ll be able to link our thoughts in a way full humans can only imagine. It’ll be like we’re operating as a single organism. And we can ignore the war computer’s recommendations.”
“Why wouldn’t you listen to the war computer?” Hendrose asked.
“Because of all the bullshit it made us do before,” Craig spoke. “Because it made us kill captives, even after they’d surrendered. We had to kill women and children—non-combatants who didn’t deserve to die. So, what’s next?”
“Next, is something you’re not going to like,” Warren said carefully. “You have just as much knowledge and skill as the rest of us... but seeing as you’re already on the ship—”
“Aww, you’re putting me on guard duty?”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” Warren said. “Sorry.”
“Why not him?” Craig asked as he hooked a thumb at the tech.
“Because, although I trust him, he’d be no match against two or three trained soldiers running through the ship destroying everything they can get their hands on. Also, I don’t know how long this battle is going to take. He needs to sleep. We don’t.”
“I won’t fall asleep on guard duty,” Hendrose said defensively. “And although I’m no cyborg, I know how to shoot a rifle.”
“I’m not trying to say you aren’t an asset,” Warren said. “Just stating a fact, doc. We’re mostly machines. You’re mostly not. It’s a matter of utility, nothing personal. I’m also not saying we don’t need civilians, because we do. All of you. Our roles are different, but none are more important than the others.”
Hendrose nodded, visibly placated by the explanation.
“So, can you let me in on the plan?” Craig asked. “Information is something cyborgs don’t usually get.”
Warren nodded “The Commonwealth has left a lot of stuff behind. The thing I’m most interested in is their CWS-14 fighters, which are being stored in the warehouse. They’re flying tubs, but they’re tough.”
“Yeah, but they’re ancient,” Craig mused.
“They’re primitive, but they’re useful,” Warren agreed. “Anyway, the plan is to discover who’s in command of the Republic ship. If it’s 2nd Corps, we might be in luck. Hendrose said he got a message to them, letting them know we were free. If they got an offer to do the same, I think they’ll jump at the chance to join us.”
“That’s right,” Hendrose confirmed.
“If so, then I’ll go aboard and verify it. Then we’ll welcome them with open arms. If they aren’t free, or if they get aggressive, we can assume their plan failed. In that case, we’ll engage their ship, disabling as many of their weapons as possible without destroying everything. Then we’ll ask for their surrender.”
“If they don’t surrender?” Craig asked. “I’ve never heard of a single Republic ship surrendering.”
“Me neither, but there’s a first time for everything,” Warren said. “Besides, I can be very convincing.”
Craig frowned and his shoulders slumped. “Are you seriously going to make me miss all the fun? I’m just starting to feel alive again.”
“Sorry,” Warren said, trying to sound solemn. “Tell you what, I’ll set up a rotating shift for who’s on guard duty. And no matter what, during the next attack, I’ll make sure you get your chance to kick someone’s ass.”
Craig’s face brightened. “That sounds like a deal. Will I be able to listen in on the battle?”
“You can do better than that,” Warren said. “Check your HUD.”
Craig’s eyes drifted to some far-off point for a moment. “Damn, it’s I can see everything through everyone else’s eyes at once. It’s a bit disorienting.”
“Yeah, we’re going to have to get used to it. And we’re going to have to learn how to quickly filter stuff out. It’s better than we had before, though.”
“Right,” Craig said. “So stay here and make sure nobody fucks with anything until you’re relieved? Does that about cover it?”
“Exactly,” Warren said. “I get killed out there—”
“Don’t even say that,” Craig interrupted as he turned away and raised a hand to block whatever words might be headed toward him.
“It has to be said,” Warren replied. “Until I get reset, Lukov will be in charge. After that comes Cooper. If all three of us buy the farm, the rest of the cyborgs will have to figure it out themselves. Try to maintain the peace among them if it comes down to that. Will you do that for me?”
Craig nodded slowly and pressed his lips into a thin line. As Warren had suspected, giving the man real responsibilities and empowering him had helped his mood more than anything else could have.
Warren inclined his head and motioned for the others to follow him. The ship had better weapons, but would only serve those on it. He had a responsibility to more than cyborgs now. The Reotians were counting on him.
It was time to get back to the hangar and prepare in earnest.
“What do I do?” Hendrose asked when they were back.
“Make sure the doctor has everything she needs. If she doesn’t, get it for her. I believe the battle will go our way, but we still have at least one saboteur running around, so anything could happen.”
“We have two doctors,” Hendrose said. “One in the hangar, and one in Dome-3, but I’ll check on both of them.”
“Good. Find a tech who’s as good as you are,” Warren said, feeling more comfortable giving orders. “Send that person to Dome-3 instead. After you check in with the doctor, find some help and get the fighters warmed-up. Just try to avoid pulling anyone off gun repairs. There’s a chance we’re going to lose some in this battle, and I want to be able to replace them as quickly as possible.”
Warren hurried to the communications room where he was met by Cooper. He motioned for the other cyborg to keep his excitement to himself, but he’d already started talking.
“I can’t believe how much stuff I know how to do now,” he whispered. “I can fix anything mechanical, I think. I mean, I’ve always been able to fix things, ever since I was like ten. But now I understand mechanics on an engineering level. Did you notice we can—”
Warren cut him off by holding up a hand. “Not now. I know it’s overwhelming but you have to put that away for a bit.”
Cooper nodded, straightening as his face went serious.
Warren inspected the equipment for a few seconds and motioned to a nearby civilian woman. Based on her lack of confusion and the relatively clean blue jumpsuit she wore, he pegged her as a tech of some kind
. “What’s this transceiver used for?”
“That’s the backup for Dome-1,” she replied. “It’s not being used right now.”
“I’m repurposing it,” Warren told her. He adjusted the dials and tapped a few commands into a digital keypad. “This is the new shared common frequency. I’ve already entered the new encryption code and sent it out to the other stations. We haven’t detected any new spy stations on the planet since the last one. Make sure this transceiver is always turned up loud enough to hear over the others.”
“Okay,” she replied hesitantly as she sat back down at her station.
“Curet, do you copy?” Warren transmitted.
The engineer came on a moment later.
“Sure do,” Curet said. “I mean, yes, Sir. Is that right?”
“Close enough. Do you have any encryption capabilities on the comm devices for your guns?”
“No,” Curet said, sounding annoyed. “This is old Commonwealth crap. It’s barely good enough for us to talk to each other. We’re operating at full capacity just by designating targets. Anything extra might fry a gun’s systems.”
“Fine,” Warren said. “Everything else is going encrypted. The cyborgs will have to act as intermediaries. We’ll make sure you hear anything you need.”
“Okay,” Curet said. “You sound stressed. Do we have incoming?”
Damn, Warren thought. He hadn’t sent that information out to everyone. It was his first communications failure.
“We do,” Warren said as he inspected the data streaming into his HUD. He gave a description, the coordinates, and trajectory to his Gun Chief.
“Wow! That’s pretty far out there... isn’t that our max sensor range?” Curet asked.
“Yes,” Warren replied after checking his HUD. “It’s like they know where we’ve got defenses set up.”
“All they really ever needed to know was our maximum capabilities. Everything after that is just a bonus,” Curet said.
“Right.” Warren dragged the word to show his annoyance at the interruption. “So that means everyone needs to keep their heads on a swivel. One of my cyborgs will let you know if the ship does anything new. For now, your guns are the backup plan. If they get past us, it’ll be your job to keep Reotis safe.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Curet said.
Warren brought up a roster of all the cyborgs in 1st Corps. Out of the 100 who’d been assigned to the unit, only 98 were active. The other two existed only as data in the war computer, ready to be reset at any time, but now was not the time.
Of those 98, only three had any real flying experience outside of training simulations and data transfers. Even worse, none of those pilots had any first-hand knowledge of how to fly in zero gravity. Baker, Rigby, Oplin, they’d all exclusively flown atmospheric crafts. He’d loaded everyone with the module that would allow them to operate the ships but knowing how to do it and having experience were two different things.
He sent a message to the three experienced pilots and a random 16 other cyborgs to meet him at the entrance of the warehouse.
Two minutes later, everyone was at the hangar standing together. It wasn’t the most orderly grouping of warriors he’d ever seen, but Warren felt charitable and dubbed the group a formation. Lukov and Cooper were among them, a yin and yang of petulance and affability.
A thought occurred to Warren as he took a moment to inspect his pilots. They were all watching him with patient curiosity, a trait born from a millennium of war. “Why are no alarms sounding?” he asked.
“Sorry,” Cooper said, not sounding the least apologetic. “I was waiting until the Republic ship got a little closer.”
“New policy,” Warren transmitted to all the cyborgs. “If we can detect an enemy ship, we need to make sure we sound the alarm so the civilians know, too.”
Two seconds later, the thrumming of the alarm began.
“We’re here,” Jenita Rigby said, gesturing to the others. “Now what?”
Warren took a moment to size her up. She was one of the few female cyborgs in 1st Corps and sometimes her mannerisms confused him. He’d never worked with women in the Ranger battalions and he still hadn’t fully processed the newly reintegrated memories enough to know if he’d worked with Jenita a lot. Somehow, he knew that he’d always had trouble reading her. He never knew whether she was being serious or merely busting his chops.
“Now, we’re going to take the fight to the enemy,” Warren said.
“I like the sound of that,” Francis Baker, the cyborg with the most combat experience, said as he pretended to crack his knuckles. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a proper fight. How’re we doing it?”
Warren punched in the code to unlock the main warehouse door. The entire wall split down the middle, falling dust revealing how long it had been since anyone used it. A section of the wall disappeared into the mountain on each side, rumbling as it did. When it was done, Warren gestured toward the Commonwealth fighters.
“We’re going to fly those rust buckets?” Baker asked in disgust.
“Lighten up, Francis. That’s what Warren said,” Jon Oplin snapped. “Personally, I can’t wait to poke some holes in that Republic ship. This is gonna be fun.”
“Yes, it will,” Warren agreed, staring at the man. He knew that Oplin used to be an acclaimed stunt plane racer, flying some of the fastest birds the world had seen. Until he wrecked, which led to him becoming a cyborg.
He looked at his men, realizing they each had a similar story. Maybe the people responsible for them being there were long gone, but the Republic had done worse. It was time to fight back for once.
24
It took Warren three tries to find a fighter that was in good enough shape to risk flying. He wasn’t worried, though. All he needed was one that wouldn’t blow up, catch fire, or lose power the second he escaped the planet’s gravity. On Reotis, they didn’t have to overcome friction; there wasn’t enough atmosphere to cause any. Still, it was tough to find one that met the most basic safety checks and was able to move under its own power.
“Dammit, we don’t need this crap right now,” he muttered to himself as he worked methodically through the assembled fighters.
Hendrose had only managed to find one other tech besides himself to prepare the craft, which had drastically stalled their progress. There were simply too many projects and too few people to get the work done. Worse still, they’d fixed another fighter, only to have it catch fire as soon as they’d powered it on.
Warren checked the ship that had caught fire. It was operational, but the burn marks were more than stains. They felt like an omen—a warning against trusting it for something so critical and essential to the colony.
The other cyborgs had given it the nickname Crispy. Hendrose assured him it looked worse than it was, but he couldn’t in good conscience allow anyone to fly the thing. The setback meant one less backup ship.
We really ought to name the squadron, he told himself, adding it to his ever-growing checklist of duties that needed his attention.
“Dammit,” Cooper said as a shower of sparks drove him out of another ship’s cockpit. “This one’s bad, too. How does the Commonwealth get anything done when they’re flying around in these? They’re one step above trash cans.”
“You’re not kidding,” Rigby said, sounding nervous. “How long are we going to be out there?”
Warren thought about it for a second before answering. “Probably just a matter of minutes. No more than an hour, though. Regardless of how things go, it’ll be over long before any of us have a chance to get bored.”
“I found one that looks pretty good,” Baker said from a few rows over. “It’s got a small hull breach—nothing major—and it’s on the weak portion of the fuselage, anyway, just under the opening to the hatch. According to my readings, I’ve got just over two hours of air stored for my biologicals. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re right,” Warren said. “These ships are prett
y shitty. Okay, Baker, you fly that one, but if you start running out of air, I order you to head back. I don’t care what situation we’re in, or how close you are to winning the day—head back.”
“Why?” Baker asked. “If I’m running out of air, I should just take this thing and fly it up their ass. You know, arm both missiles—if I still have them—and give them an explosive enema.”
Several other cyborgs transmitted their laughter.
“Because I said no.” Warren sounded as stern and officious as he could. “We have a limited supply of these heaps, and we need to keep as many as possible. I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any other way to project our strength. The Republic treated us like we were expendable. We were tools—thrown at their enemies like grenades. Every single one of you is important. You’re not just a tool anymore. You’re people, and our mission is to protect the Reotians. They took us in and freed us from our chains. We owe them, and I plan on protecting them, their children, and their grandchildren, if given a chance. These people have suffered too long at the hands of both the Republic and the Commonwealth.”
“We haven’t had a chance to make sure everyone is backed up yet,” Cooper broke in, surprising Warren.
He nodded in thanks before continuing. “He’s right. And with the enemy so close, we can’t do it now. We’ll fix that the first chance we get. Everyone will have the opportunity to be backed up as often as they like. First, I’ll try to establish comms with the Republic ship. If it’s 2nd Corps, they might be free like us. If they say they are, I’ll go aboard and verify. If not, we shoot to disable. Alpha flight will go for their engines. Bravo will take care of their defenses.”
“So, what are we calling ourselves?” Cooper asked. “You know... our squadron name.”
