by J. N. Chaney
A minute later, Linus lifted his welding mask and checked his work. “How’s that?”
Rigby squinted up at the weld. Warren could’ve looked through her eyes since all the cyborgs shared a common communication protocol, but they’d decided to limit its use to wartime only. Otherwise, being able to see what everyone was looking at, always knowing where they were, and hearing everything everyone said seemed like an invasion of privacy.
Warren could reactivate instant communications if they were invaded. If he was incapacitated, two other cyborgs, Lukov and Cooper, could do it as well. The privacy was welcome and almost made him feel like he was human again.
“I’ve seen better,” Rigby said, “but it’s not bad for a beginner. It won’t break, but it’s kind of ugly. And don’t make that face at me. You’re not that sensitive. Now, keep going. There’s a lot left to do.”
Linus smirked, flipped his welding mask down, and got back to work.
An older man with a long gray ponytail stopped a meter from Warren with a data tablet in his hand and waited patiently for the cyborg to notice him.
“What have you got for me, Rooster?” Warren asked, referring to him by the nickname he preferred.
“Just an update,” he replied. “The Camel’s back from another run. Looks like we’ve still got another seven or eight hundred tonnes worth of CoW ship to chop up, but there might be a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Warren asked.
“Well, it seems a member of the salvage team’s an engineer. He’s worried that if we keep stacking all the metal in one place, it could cause an earthquake or something. Maybe cause the ground to shift, crack open, that kind of thing. It could possibly expose Dome-6 to vacuum if that happens.”
“I see,” Warren said. “Does he have another idea?”
“Yeah,” Rooster said. “He thinks we should either be stacking the metal further away from the dome, or into smaller, spread out piles. Frankly, I think he’s worried about nothing. This planet’s mostly rock, except for a few meters of loose sand. So, what do you want us to do?”
Warren thought about it for a moment before answering. “Who’s the engineer?”
“Guy by the name of David Case,” Rooster replied. “I don’t have any way of verifying he is what he says he is, but he knows a lot of words I don’t. And he seems confident about what he’s saying.”
“He’s new, right?” Warren asked.
“Yeah, arrived just a few days ago,” Rooster confirmed.
“I say we go with his advice. It’ll be a good way to make him feel like part of the team.”
Rooster shrugged. “Just wanted to run it past you first. It sounded odd, and we just got rid of the last spy in the colony.”
“Lukov is checking everyone who comes in for deception,” Warren said. “He doesn’t believe any enemies have slipped past. Plus, we have civilian security now. It’s their job to watch out for them. I do appreciate your caution, though. By the way, I meant to ask, what’s our missile count up to now?”
Rooster consulted his tablet before answering. “So far, two hundred and sixty-eight. Based on the ship’s design, we expect to find at least one more magazine—maybe two. No idea if it’ll have anything left, but I’ll let you know.”
“Hopefully it’s better than the eighty-two the Commonwealth left behind the last time the Republic kicked them off the planet,” Warren mused. “Our ships can only carry one at a time, but I’d rather have too many than too few.”
Rooster nodded. “Anything else before I go?”
“I don’t think so,” Warren replied, turning to watch Linus inspect the weld he’d just finished. “Let’s keep it moving, though. We don’t want the Republic or Commonwealth sneaking onto the planet and taking anything important from the wreck they can use against us.”
“On it, boss,” he said before leaving.
“That piece should be good and steady now,” Rigby said. “You can let go.”
Warren carefully relaxed his grip on the metal wall he’d been holding in place for Linus. He gave it a second before lowering his hands to his sides. The weld looked like it would hold.
“It’s good?” Linus asked, eyes wide.
“Looks good to me,” Warren said. “It hasn’t fallen down and squashed anyone yet. So, good job.”
“Thanks,” Linus said, beaming at the cyborg.
Another civilian stepped up—a hard-looking man with about three days’ growth of beard. “This would get done a lot faster if you let me and my crew handle the welding,” he grumbled.
“I believe you,” Warren said. “You’re new, right?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Arrived about five days ago from Kablin. What of it?”
“Warren already explained this,” Rigby said. “Everyone needs to know how to do this. It’s a basic skill, and it’s required if you people want to not only be able to survive, but thrive. He needs experience.”
“Yeah, I get it,” the man said, “but there are others who need experience, too. Namely, the few who came with me. We’re hard workers. We were in the mines on Kablin. Tungsten. It’s hard work, but we didn’t complain. Held out there for months while the fighting was happening on the surface.”
Warren turned to face the man, a hard look in his eye. To his credit, the refugee, now a citizen of Reotis, didn’t back down. “Yeah, I get it. Tell you what. How about I put you with one of my foremen? Once he vets you, we can get you and your people set up with jobs.”
He scratched his short beard, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I can deal with that. In fact, how about I take your boy under my wing? I can teach him the basics and have him on his own in no time.”
“Works for me,” Warren said. “What’s your name?”
“Carl Bertrand, but you can call me Digger,” he replied. “That’s what most of the others call me.”
“Okay, Digger,” Warren said, “I look forward to seeing your work.”
Satisfied, Warren set off to deal with other colony needs.
2
The colony on Reotis consisted of six domes, with Dome-1 being the largest. They were constructed of a dense, transparent material known as aegonite, and each protective layer was just over a meter thick. It sheltered the colonists from small meteorites, Republic bombs, and Commonwealth missiles, and it allowed them to run generators that maintained breathable air.
Some of the people who initially built the structures still lived in the colony. According to them, the Republic had brought enough raw material for Dome-1 and had mined the rest from the planet itself. Though the mining equipment was long gone, most of the 3D printers in the hangar were original to the project. Within them was the data needed to create new mining rigs and equipment.
“Curet, do you copy?” Warren transmitted across the gun-defense channel.
“Curet here,” the full-human gun chief said. His voice was free of the static typically associated with communicating between the advanced cyborg devices and the primitive transceivers mounted to the particle cannons. The heavy weapons were spread across the surface of the planet, and, along with Wraith Squadron, were the only real long-range defense the colony possessed.
“I’m checking on the status of the gun emplacements,” Warren said. “How many are complete?”
“Of the sixty-four deployed cannons, sixteen have been armored and dug-in. We’re having trouble with the camouflage, though. The glue the techs made for this is taking too long to dry, probably because it’s so damned cold out here. I’ve got gunners sitting on top of their armor right now, literally holding rocks in place while waiting for the glue to harden. They’re bored and frustrated, and if I don’t find a way to speed this up, they might petition to have me replaced.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Warren said with a small laugh. “I’ll speak to the techs and see if they can come up with something that’ll dry faster—maybe a new formulation.”
“Thanks,” Curet said. “It’ll save us a lot of time. Other than
that, everything’s going fine. I’ve got two of my gunners in the hangar printing spare parts. Every gun will have a few, and if necessary, the runners can move spare parts between them. Eventually, though, I’d like to have bunkers to hold the spares in, but that’s going to need to wait.”
“Sounds great,” said Warren. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“You know I will,” replied Curet.
Besides providing building materials for housing within the domes, the destroyed Commonwealth of Worlds, or CoW, vessel was also supplying much-needed elements that were extremely rare on Reotis. Things like gold, silver, and nickel were abundant, but other elements such as carbon and iridium—an essential mineral for all CoW tech—were rare. Luckily, the enemy had been thoughtful enough to drop some off.
“I am detecting new signal,” announced the cyborg named Lukov. The former Russian Spetsnaz soldier rarely gave any warning he had something to say, preferring the direct approach whenever possible.
“New signal?” asked Warren, drawing the attention of Rigby. “From where?”
“I am not knowing for the certain, but it seems to be coming off the moon. Perhaps your former suspicion was not too close from truth?”
Warren locked eyes with Rigby for a moment. With all the bustle of the new refugees, the repairs that needed to be done, and the discoveries the salvage teams were making, the mission to the moon had been pushed back. It was tough to focus on something so far away when there were immediate needs staring you right in the face.
“Any idea what it is?” asked Warren as he added Rigby to the channel. “Was there a message? A voice?”
“No, not a voice,” replied Lukov, sounding less than convinced. “More like encoded message. Short. Loud. Maybe a transmission of burst? Maybe encryption. Did record, but did not send to war computer. Awaiting authorization.”
The war computer, located deep within the Ruthless, was the most important device the cyborgs had. It had also once been their slave master—the device that would punish or take control of them if they didn’t obey its directives immediately. The war computer contained backups of every single one of their memories—the only part of cyborgs that survived if they were destroyed. Even though the machine had been used to control them in the past, it now served as a tool. The cyborgs used it to provide themselves with instant communication, the ability to look through each other’s eyes, and much more.
“You were right not to load it into the war computer yet,” said Warren. “We can’t take any chances with the machine, in case the message contains a virus. Hold on, I’ll let you know when to upload it.”
Warren closed his eyes, which was necessary sometimes when he interacted with the war computer, especially for complex tasks. The artificial intelligence built into the machine was advanced and required his concentration. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes. “Okay, go ahead and upload it. The war computer has prepared an isolated area for you to use. If there’s a virus in there, it’ll only affect the area given to it instead of everything.”
“Upload is made complete,” replied Lukov after a slight pause.
“Sounds like we need to move our moon mission up on the schedule,” said Rigby. Her forehead pulled together and a small frown pulled at the corners of her lips.
“Sounds like it,” agreed Warren. “We need to get up there to see what created that transmission.”
“What if we repeat the signal back to it?” suggested Rigby. “See if we can get it to transmit again?”
“Sounds risky. If whatever’s up there isn’t expecting that kind of transmission from the planet, it might set off alarms. The last thing we need is for it to initiate a new attack against the colony or self-destruct. No, I think we need to make a personal visit. Let’s go see what ships are available and make a plan.”
Warren led the way from Dome-6 back to the secret underground hangar the Reotians had built. Within, most of the technicians were busy using the large 3D printers, creating parts others would need. A line had queued up for each of them. So far, everyone appeared to be patient, waiting on the gunners to finish making their spare parts.
“We’re not going to take Stingers, are we?” asked Rigby, referring to the arrowhead-shaped CoW fighters they’d used in the recent battle.
“Nope, they’ll never make it all the way to the moon,” replied Warren. “Short-range only. We’ll need to take one of the supply shuttles.”
Rigby scanned the room with her eyes and made a soft, huffing noise. “The salvage team still has the Camel,” she said. “It’s the only one big enough to bring a decent-sized force there. Want me to reassign them or have them hold off until we get back?”
Warren shook his head. “No, we need them to keep working. Even if we swap the civilians out with cyborgs to speed the process up, it’ll still take at least a month. I’ll take one of the smaller ones and head up there to see if I can find the source. I don’t need to destroy it just yet. I don’t even need to land. Just need to get up there and see what’s what.”
“That simple, huh?” asked Rigby, sounding less than enthusiastic.
“It’ll be fine,” replied Warren. “I don’t even need to land. I’ll fly around and take a peek, find the source, then come back and decide what to do about it.”
“Okay, sure,” she replied with a shrug.
Warren could tell she still wasn’t convinced, but he let it go. Rigby and the others had been through a lot recently. Besides being freed from what amounted to slavery, they’d fought against a Republic cruiser, and just when they thought they’d won, a Commonwealth ship had shown up.
Cyborgs didn’t die in the traditional sense. They could be destroyed, just like anything else, but so long as they had a war computer and Cyborg Upkeep and Production unit, or CUP, and a new biological, they could be reset, good as new. The one ill effect they did suffer was the loss of their memories since the last backup. In a way, being killed as a cyborg was worse than death. They were aware of so much, but once a memory was gone, it was usually permanent.
“You sure you don’t want to send someone else?” asked Rigby.
“Why?”
“I mean, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to send the leader of Reotis,” she said. “What if something happens to you? Resets aren’t perfect, you know. What if you forget everything again?”
She was referring to Warren’s initial inability to remember about 400 years of his history. Others had helped him fill in the gaps and most of it was back now, so he wasn’t too worried.
“It’s rare anything like that happens,” he said, waiving the concern away. “Also, the Reotians don’t need me standing around all the time like some kind of gargoyle—staring at them like I’m gonna start cracking a whip. Besides, aren’t you feeling cooped up in here? Everything’s red—except the stuff the Reotians paint. The dirt, the sky, everything.”
“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “But you’re taking me with you. Each of these shuttles can hold two people—a pilot and a co-pilot. We could squeeze another four in the back, but they’re not really—“
“Nope,” interrupted Warren. “Like I said, this isn’t a combat mission. It’s for recon. That’s it. We’ll head up there, take some pictures, and be done with it. If it turns out there’s something to destroy, we’ll make a plan and destroy it. We’ve still got the Ruthless in orbit if we need it.”
“We can’t use our cruiser,” she replied. “It’s the only way we have of going faster than light—not that I plan on leaving anytime soon. But if we need to, there’s no other way. Taking it anywhere isn’t worth the risk.”
“I know,” Warren said, attempting to use a soothing tone. She’d been killed by the spy a couple of weeks ago and had to be reminded of everything that had happened since her last backup. The news of what had transpired had shocked her. She’d found it difficult to believe she was free of the Republic’s control. Her body still contained a compulsion chip, but the war computer could no longer use
it to force her obedience. He’d sat with her as she watched the events recorded by her fellow cyborgs and listened to her whispered curses as she took it all in. The whole thing had unsettled her, and it appeared she was still recovering.
“So just you and me in one of these little shuttles?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” replied Warren, turning his attention to the six ships lined up against the back wall of the hangar.
Her next words came in through a private communications channel. “What about Craig?” she asked.
Edward Craig was another cyborg. Unlike the others, he hadn’t taken his role as the fist of the Grand Republic of Unified Systems well. Each of the cyborgs across all seven Corps had been forced to kill without mercy. But a few, like Craig, had suffered even more than their victims. War was always easier for those who could compartmentalize their feelings or convince themselves it was right. Craig could do neither. Every time he’d been forced to execute an innocent person, it had wounded his morality deeply. It eventually got to the point where he was getting himself killed on purpose, hoping to make maintaining his cybernetic body too expensive. If he’d succeeded, the Republic wouldn’t have bothered loading his memories into another body. He’d be dead forever. They called it a deletion.
“I think Craig is making more progress. I’ve been working with him. I back him up to the war computer every few days—whenever it seems like he’s made some progress. He saved my life. He saved the whole colony and deserves our support.”
Rigby nodded, then turned back to the neat row of transports. “I say we go fully armored and loaded for battle—just in case. I can gather the supplies if you want to check on things before we leave.”
“I’ve got more than a few things to check on, so take your time.”
Rigby nodded and headed to the warehouse near the shuttles on the far end of the hangar. With the immediate threat of spies eliminated, the huge double doors were open, but a cyborg guarded the entrance. He watched Rigby approach and nodded as she passed him.
