by J. N. Chaney
Hendrose stepped away as Warren manipulated Lukov into a sitting position. He held him there as the rest of the refugees approached one at a time to speak with him.
Lukov looked each in each of their eyes while holding their hand and asked them all the same questions. “Name, origin planet? Are you spy for Commonwealth of Worlds? Are you spy for Grand Republic of Unified Systems?”
After asking each of the refugees the same questions, Lukov turned to Warren. “Am ready for new body now.”
Warren motioned to the other two cyborgs who carefully picked Lukov from the ground, one hooking his arms under the man’s armpits, the other holding on to his ankles.
“Get him to the Ruthless,” Warren said. “In the medical bay, you’ll find some Cyborg Data Cubes. Back him up to the War Computer and the CDC, then give him the CDC. In case something happens to the ship, I want to make sure we can bring him back someday.
“Hendrose will join you shortly.”
Hendrose looked deflated. “What do you want me to do right now?”
Warren nodded to the refugees. “Find these people a place to stay. We’ll worry about assigning them duties later. For now, I bet they need some rest. Today’s been rough on everyone.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have a date with a certain grenade-fondling spy,” Warren said.
30
DeFranc had found an empty house near the far end of Dome-1, close to the entrance to the hangar. It was clear at once why nobody had claimed it. Of all the Reotian homes Warren had seen, this one had to be the worst.
It was a single room with nothing but a privacy screen blocking the toilet from view. It looked like DeFranc had torn curtains from the windows and used the fabric to tie the guy to one of the only two pieces of furniture in the room: a chair. The other piece was a table. Both were made from scrap metal.
“I don’t think this guy’s ready to talk yet,” DeFranc said, fisting a hand on one hip and looking at the man with disgust.
Her captive was crying, bleeding from the mouth, and had two black eyes.
“Well, I guess I can always come back later,” Warren said, turning to leave.
“No!” the man said, his voice hoarse. “Please. No.”
The two cyborgs exchanged a quick glance.
“I don’t mind if you have something else to do,” DeFranc said, a playful note in her voice.
The captive whimpered. “I’ll talk, I swear.”
“Then talk,” Warren said. “The second you lie to me, I walk away and leave you alone with her. Start with your name.”
The man glanced at DeFranc, who gave him a coy smile and touched the dimple on her right cheek with the tip of her index finger.
“Elliot Morgan. I’m here on orders from the Grand Republic of Unified Systems,” the man said, speaking rapidly. “I was sent here to check on an associate.”
So much for the stigma that spies were hardcore. Warren resisted the urge to shake his head. It hadn’t taken much to get the man talking. There was something to be said for his cyborg body. A little pain wouldn’t have made him betray anyone.
“Republic Intelligence,” DeFranc said, flicking a glance at Warren. He nodded back, having gathered as much.
Warren leaned and studied the man as he asked his next question. “What was your mission—specifically?”
“To locate and ascertain the status of an asset we have here in the colony.”
“What’s that asset’s name?” Warren asked.
Morgan’s eyes met Warren’s and went still, concentrating on the cyborg’s face. “I don’t know,” he said.
He was hiding something.
“Okay, DeFranc, let me know when he’s willing to tell the truth, will you?” Warren said, straightening once more. “Try to avoid killing him if you can.”
“I swear I don’t know,” the spy babbled. “I have a signal. It’s supposed to bring him to me. No, two signals. I have two different signals. If the first doesn’t work, I’m supposed to try the second. If that one doesn’t work, I am—or was—supposed to take his or her place. That’s it, I swear!”
“How many assets are supposed to be here?” DeFranc asked.
“One,” he replied. “Just one.”
“You sure about that?” Warren asked.
“Yes.” A bead of sweat began to form on Morgan’s forehead from all the stress. “Absolutely. I’m supposed to find him or her, find out what they’ve been doing, or if they’re dead, and pick up wherever they left off. That’s it. Find them, find out what their plan is, help them finish it, or do it myself.”
“And if you picked up where they left off, what then?” DeFranc said, speaking slowly. “Sabotage?”
Morgan jerked back as far as his bonds would allow him when the cyborg bent down, bringing her face close to him.
“Yes, probably” he whispered. “It was our contingency plan in case a rebellion started here. We’re supposed to try to turn the population against them or kill their supporters off. Whichever seems like it will work better. If that’s what he’s doing, then that’s what I would have done. But I won’t anymore. I don’t even like the Republic. I never wanted this job. I’m really a good person. You have to believe me!”
“Yeah, right,” she said before slapping him hard on the cheek.
The man’s eyes rolled around in his head for a moment before he started crying again.
“What do you plan to do with the stolen mech arm?” Warren asked.
“The what?” he replied, eyes darting between the cyborgs. “Mech?”
“The mech arm,” DeFranc repeated. “The one the other spy stole. The one you came here to do—whatever—with. Don’t play dumb.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protested. “I don’t get told anything until I arrive. No orders came in about a mech arm.”
Tears leaked from his bruised eyes but Warren was unmoved. Still, he didn’t think the guy was lying. So, the meeting had been a waste of time. “One last thing. How were you communicating with the spy? How did you know he or she wasn’t already discovered and dead?”
“I hadn’t gotten the chance to check in,” he whispered. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Get him ready to lock up,” Warren said to DeFranc, stepping away once more. “And do be rough.”
“Will do,” she said.
“Wait!” the spy shouted. “I can give you the signals to make contact.”
Warren smiled over his shoulder as he reached the door. He didn’t trust that the spy wouldn’t give him false information that would tip the other one off. “I already know the location, or close enough.”
Outside, Warren paused to think. One thing worried him more than anything else. A destroyed mech’s arms had been stolen. They were the launch devices for the microrockets that had caused him so much damage, which he’d still not received repairs for. If the spy had gotten hold of them, there was no telling what he could do.
Opening a private channel to the cyborgs who’d taken Lukov to the Ruthless, Warren asked, “How’s our Russian friend doing?”
“We got him transferred both to the war computer and the CDC,” the cyborg replied. “Hendrose is here now. He’s fixing Lukov up.”
“How long until he’s operational?”
After a short pause, the other cyborg answered. “Hendrose says it’ll be about a half hour.”
“That’s fine,” Warren said before closing the channel and opening a new one to Cooper. “I need you to find three more cyborgs. Pull them off other non-essential duties and bring them to the Water Reclamation Plant in Dome-2. Be discreet. We’re going to try to find the spy.”
“The spy is in Dome-2?” Cooper asked, already moving.
“If not, I have a way to draw them out. One more thing—he may be in possession of a mech arm or two. If he’s the one who stole them, he’ll likely turn them against us. Trust me—you don’t want to get nailed by those things.”
Warren s
ent him a data package of his current status, an image of the weapon, and what he hoped would be an accurate recording of the kind of pain the weapon had caused.
“Damn.” Cooper whistled. “That’s some nasty shit. Yeah, that’s definitely anti-cyborg shit right there. I’ve got Oplin, and Rigby with me.
“Good,” Warren said. “Let’s get there and find our spy.”
The center of the building was open, allowing maintenance personnel to have easy access to the pipes on both sides and overhead. Everything was polished and glittered like new.
“So where’s the spy?” Rigby asked.
“I’m not sure,” Warren admitted. “But I’ve received credible intelligence that there’s an entrance to a tunnel hidden somewhere in here. Everyone look around. Let me know when you find it.”
After several minutes of searching, Oplin found the ingress and sent an image to everyone else.
It had been hidden under a short stack of sheet metal. It was heavy, but it didn’t look too heavy for a young spelunker to have moved it himself.
Warren had expected a scene resembling a movie jailbreak. Maybe a rough-edged hole in a wall or the floor—something that represented determination and patience, and probably a lot of worn spoons. He hadn’t been disappointed.
The hole had been cut into the floor. Based on the markings, the spy hadn’t used a spoon. Instead, it looked to have been some kind of laser cutting tool. Past the twenty-five centimeters of concrete was a dark hole.
“Track my movements,” Warren said. “There’s supposed to be a box at the end of this tunnel. The spy’s been using it to help him climb out of the tunnel into one of these nearby homes. We don’t know which one and I don’t want to run through them kicking doors down. These people have had enough of that already.”
“You’re not going to fit,” Rigby said, standing with her hands on her hips.
Warren glanced down at the hole again, measured it with his cybernetic eyes, and compared it to his chassis. “I will if I keep my arms out in front of me,” he said.
“And what if you need to fight? You won’t do well in your current state.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he replied.
Rigby let out an irritated breath. “Boys. I’m much smaller. Let me do it instead. Once we know which place it is, I pop up, scare whoever’s inside, whoop his ass, and call it a day. Besides, boss, you still haven’t gotten repaired yet. If they attack you may have trouble.”
Warren looked down at himself and realized she had a point. “Fine. You’re not going to have room to use your rifle, though. I’ll take it. Use your pistol.”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a nod. “I’ve got this.”
“Capture him if you can,” Warren said. “But don’t let him kill you first.”
After Rigby passed over her rifle, she climbed into the tunnel head-first and quickly vanished into the darkness.
Warren ordered the rest of the team to split up and hold key positions in case the spy tried to run. Cooper would keep an eye on the group as overwatch and Warren felt they were as set as they could get.
He dialed into Rigby using the shared connection and saw what she did. She’d activated her night vision, but it didn’t help much after the first ten meters. There wasn’t enough light underground to amplify, so she turned on a small light located on her helmet to the lowest setting. It was plenty of light for her to see at least ten meters ahead of her.
Warren found it easy to keep the connection, even through the iron-rich soil of Reotis. She was three meters underground and it looked like the tunnel was no wider than the entrance. Whoever had dug it had only moved enough stone to get through—not to make it comfortable.
“Continuing forward,” Rigby transmitted. “Thank goodness I’m not claustrophobic, or this would really suck.”
Warren sensed her anxiety and got the joke. “Yeah, thank goodness,” he said as he slowly opened the back door to the water reclamation plant.
Outside the plant were several houses of reclaimed parts from previous battles on the planet’s surface. Warren recognized at least one wing from a CWS-14 fighter. Though it had been patched to provide the resident with a measure of privacy, the battle damage it had suffered was evident.
Two of the houses were occupied, so Warren veered a bit off course to go around the far side of the third in order to help avoid detection.
Cooper, he saw, had taken a position on the top of the water reclamation plant. It would give him a good view of the team and afford him a solid vantage point to provide support.
Past the third house, Warren found himself facing a street. There were four vehicles parked along the far side, but none of them appeared to have been moved recently. The amount of dust that had settled on them would’ve been disturbed by people brushing against the surface as they walked past, or leaning on them to pull a pebble out of their shoes—things like that.
Rigby was still moving, though, so Warren followed her.
“Ooh,” a small voice said from a second-story window nearby.
When the cyborg lifted his head toward the sound, a young boy, maybe five years old, was staring down at him with keen interest. The child pointed a pistol at him that was clearly not a deadly weapon. It looked like someone had crafted out of pipes and wires. He made a “pew” sound, lowered it, and looked expectantly to the cyborg.
Warren knew the boy wanted to play, and he wanted to play, too. But he couldn’t encourage the behavior—not when there was a risk of the boy trying to join him during his prowl. He decided to make it up to the kid later. It was encouraging to see the youth not showing fear when they saw a cyborg.
“Contact,” Cooper said, sending a visual image of two teenage boys leaving a house further up the street.
They were about Linus’s age, and might have been his two co-spies. Warren couldn’t be sure, though, so he hurried across the street and hid between two close-set houses.
Through the feed provided by Cooper, Warren could see both boys stop their conversation, look where he’d been standing, and wait.
“Easy,” Cooper said. “I think they heard that.”
Warren focused his hearing in their general direction and waited.
“What was that?” the first boy said.
“Why, you scared?” the second taunted, the way young men liked to goad each other.
“No, I swear I heard something. It sounded like someone running. I think someone’s sneaking over there near Brian’s house.”
“Maybe it’s Brian?”
“Maybe,” the first boy said slowly. “Let’s go check it out.”
Warren took a quick inventory of what was between the buildings as he planned his escape route. If the boys saw him, they might want to talk—at least among themselves. If they got there and found no one, they might dismiss the entire event as part of their vivid imagination and let it go. Warren didn’t want them to talk about it. If they did, it might alert the spy before they could find him.
“Found the box,” Rigby said.
“Already?” Warren asked before he bothered to check her feed. She’d found it and was looking up at a bit of light coming through the hatch at the top. The house the tunnel ended at was the one at Warren’s right.
“They’re heading toward you,” Cooper said, drawing the attention back to the kids.
Warren could hear the careful, slow footsteps of the boys as they approached. They were stealthy, but their breathing was louder than the small stones being crunched under their feet. There was no avoiding it. They’d have to see what was about to happen. If they weren’t part of his spy network, they would be soon.
“Let’s do this,” Warren said over the comm. “Take the other side. Look for any way the spy might escape.”
Oplin was at the building in less than ten seconds and had checked both of the other sides only a few seconds later. “I’ve got two windows and what looks like a hidden door. Sneaky bastard, ain’t he?”
“Yeah,” Warren
said. “Rigby, you ready?”
“Ready,” she said.
“On three.” Warren hurried to the street-side corner of the building and stepped out in front of the two boys who were trying to sneak up on him. Both started to yell, but clamped their mouths shut tightly when they saw the rifle in the cyborg’s hand and the single finger in front of his lips.
Warren pointed to one of the nearby parked vehicles and motioned for them to take cover behind it, which they did. Both boys peeked out from over the vehicle’s hood and waited to see what exciting thing was about to happen.
“One,” Warren said as he crept toward the home’s front door. He didn’t detect any cameras or strange electronic signals anywhere.
“Two.” Warren placed his hand on the doorknob and gave it a careful experimental twist. It was locked.
“Three.” A hard kick knocked the door off its hinges and into the wall behind. The crash was loud—which should have been enough to startle the spy if he was home.
Rigby burst in from the hidden space, which also tossed a patched couch high into the air. She spotted it coming back down but batted it away with a powerful blow from her cybernetic hand.
While she kept watch, Warren kicked open the only other door in the home. “Clear!”
As Rigby climbed the rest of the way out of the tunnel, Warren stared at the scene before him. The smaller room was a bathroom, but it looked like the owner had moved the walls out a bit to have more space inside. Not only was it a place for a full-human to relieve themselves, it was now a workshop.
On a shelf across from the toilet and next to the tiny shower were the remains of the CoW mech arms that had been stolen. The spy had expertly disassembled them.
“What are we looking at?” Rigby said from his right.
“A whole lot of trouble,” Warren replied. “It looks like the launch mechanisms for the micro-rockets—the ones that tore me up and paralyzed my foot—are gone.”
31
“What can he do with those micro-rockets?” Rigby asked.
