by J. N. Chaney
“Yes, yes, of course,” he replied. “But one thing before you go… did you take care of… it?”
“Sure did,” said Rigby, standing. “We attached the AI to the EV system. It’s responsible for making sure all the environmental units stay online, and nobody suffocates to death.”
“She’s kidding,” Warren said, interrupting whatever Sparky was about to say next. “I disconnected it from all that equipment. Rigby locked it away where nobody can get to it. It’s safe.”
Sparky laughed nervously again, then winked and shook a finger at Rigby. “You’re a clever one. Had me going there for a while.”
“Thanks,” she said, giving Warren a mischievous grin. “See you later, Sparky.”
Once the cargo gate was lowered and both cyborgs were outside the ship, Warren spoke across their private channel. “Why do you do that to people?”
“What?” she asked.
“Tease them.”
Rigby laughed. “I don’t know. I’m good at it. It gives me a charge. Lots of reasons. Plus, I think he needed it. That guy’s wound a little tight, wouldn’t you say?”
“He is,” agreed Warren, shaking his head at the day’s events. “I need to go check on these refugees. I want to see them come in and get a feel.”
“Go ahead,” she replied. “I’ll keep an eye on Sparky and see that he’s not interrupted. I’ll make sure he actually walks away from his work and gets some sleep, too. Something tells me if we left him to his own devices, he might be up for days.”
“Thanks,” Warren replied.
The two locked eyes for several seconds—an unspoken something passing between them—before Warren turned and walked away.
9
The refugees were a sorry lot. Men, women, and children had all been crammed into a vessel that looked like it had been made from spare parts and might catch fire any moment. Pieces stuck off of the six-meter craft at odd angles, making it difficult to spot which of the three ends was the bow. Luckily, it was parked about fifty meters from the Dome-1 airlock, far enough away enough to save the structure from any damage if the thing spontaneously detonated.
The first few were still removing EV suits Lukov and the other cyborgs had provided. These first six were all children. They looked half-starved and exhausted. Dozens of Reotian women had already gathered outside the area the cyborgs were protecting. Several must have anticipated the new arrivals’ needs. Their arms were loaded with buckets of food, bottles of water, and clothing.
“This batch looks pretty rough,” noted Rigby. She was helping one of the children, a young boy maybe ten years old, remove his EV suit’s boots. She looked like she was afraid of breaking the frail boy. Warren couldn’t blame her—the kid’s arms and legs looked like twigs. He wore a shirt and although it looked clean, it was threadbare and hung from him like it was made for someone bigger. “Should I get one of the docs over here to check them out?”
“Yeah, do it,” replied Warren. “They might be sick, too. The last thing we need is for some kind of infectious disease to spread through the colony. Let’s move everyone to the brig and quarantine them there until one of the doctors gives them the all-clear. In fact, let’s do that with everyone who comes in from now on.”
“Roger that,” she said, offering the little boy a sad smile. He quickly returned the smile before huddling with the rest of the children in the center of the clearing.
“Heading out for getting the next batch,” announced Lukov, gesturing to several other cyborgs. Four left through the airlock.
“No!” one of the children, a girl of maybe thirteen years, shouted. Rigby stood and took a step back. The child was baring her teeth and looked like she was ready to fight, standing with her arms out to her sides, shielding and protecting the others from the cyborg.
“Sorry,” said Rigby. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Just—just don’t touch them,” the girl said. She was courageous. The other children hid behind her as though she’d been protecting them for a long time. Maybe she had.
Rigby gave Warren a pained look.
“Don’t bother,” he told her. “Let’s wait until an adult comes out. They’re too scared. Probably been living in fear of cyborgs for a long time. I doubt any of those kids knows a time before cyborgs. It’s okay.”
Rigby nodded and backed away to the perimeter of the clearing. He noticed her bottom lip was sticking out a little and imagined that if she could cry, she would have. Ever since the Cyborg Corps had gained their freedom, Warren had noticed changes in their personalities. He guessed that they were struggling some with being able to express emotion now that they weren’t under the war computer’s control.
Warren used the scene before him as motivation to continue what he was doing. He had to make sure Reotis was secure, so that if anything happened to him and the other cyborgs, the people would remain free. The colony couldn’t bring in the entire galaxy, though. There wasn’t enough space, and there weren’t enough supplies. Eventually, other planets would have to be freed. If he could find a way to do it, entire populations could remain where they were instead of having to take hazardous journeys in makeshift vessels. Some could take in their own refugees until both the Republic and Commonwealth were crippled enough to become irrelevant. No more skinny kids. No more slaves.
The next group came through the airlock when it opened. A couple of them looked short enough to be children, but the others were taller. As they removed their EV suits, Warren’s suspicions were confirmed. He stepped forward and, while still maintaining what he hoped would be a less-than-intimidating distance of about four meters from the refugees, waited.
One of the adults looked up from the child he was helping then motioned to a middle aged woman. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her dark skin was covered in lines of soot. The gray flight suit marked her as the pilot who’d flown what was left of their ship. She glanced at the rest of the cyborgs and the people standing behind them before kicking off her EV boots and marching toward Warren.
“You in charge of this place?” she asked.
“I am,” said Warren. “Welcome to Reotis.”
“The kids need a doctor,” she said, hooking her chin at the refugees. “The old lady isn’t lookin’ so good either, but everyone insisted she be sent along. I think she’s an elder of some kind. Something official like that. The man—he’s their father, or so he says. Don’t know for sure. Didn’t ask. What’s your name?”
“I’m Warren Prescott. First Cyborg Corps. Reotian Defense Force.”
The woman nodded. “How’d you do it?” she asked. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be controlled or something? Some war computer?”
“The details aren’t important right now,” replied Warren. “But suffice it to say, we’re no longer under the control of any war computer. We’re free. Where are you from?”
“Turano,” she replied. “Commonwealth world. It was supposed to be this paradise—a place to get away from it all. A future vacation spot everyone was going to want to come to someday. They promised everyone luxury housing, plenty of space, and a bit of autonomy. You know, run things our way, more or less. It was good, for a while. I think the CoWs were using it as a front—something to show in their propaganda films. A paradise awaiting anyone who wanted to leave the Republic. Yeah—as if.
“Well, I fell for it. So did a lot of other people, including some of the ones I brought with me. You’ve probably got your hands full here, but there are a lot more on the way if they can find a way to get here. CoWs are probably going to figure out how we got past their defenses to prevent anyone else from leaving, though, so we might be it. Damn shame, too. They made me bring the kids. Wanted to give ‘em a better chance than they’d have there. Honorable, but it’s too bad I didn’t have something other than that piece of shit to fly all the way out here. By the way, I wouldn’t try moving it. Might as well scrap it.”
“Noted,” replied Warren. “I’ll get someone to wo
rk on it soon. Is there anything in the craft you need us to get for you?”
“Yeah, a crate,” she said, turning her eyes toward the airlock. “I have no idea what’s inside it, but they insisted we bring it along with us. Said it was of dire importance. I told them where to stick it, but they said no crate, no kids, so we brought it. The thing’s in the cargo hold. Big blue polymer box. Can’t miss it.”
Warren sent a message to Lukov informing him of the mysterious box and urging caution. The Russian said he’d be careful as he and two others began hurrying to the airlock.
“So, what’s next?” the woman asked.
“Next, you stay here until Lukov can interview you. He’s—“
“We’re getting interrogated?” she interrupted.
“No, not exactly,” said Warren. “In order to maintain our security, Lukov will ask you some questions. So long as you answer honestly and aren’t here to cause chaos and disorder, everything will be fine. You won’t be released into the population until one of our doctors checks you out, though. Same goes for the kids.”
“Fine,” she said with a nod and returned to the others.
“Something is unexpected,” transmitted Lukov. “The box is not for transporting of the cargo.”
“What was in it?” Warren asked.
“Shep King,” he replied.
“A person?”
“A cyborg,” Lukov corrected. “Second Corps. He wishes to be speaking to you. He is not armed, but he does have the injury. Both legs are having damage, as well as one arm. Is complying with the orders.”
Second Corps? Warren could hardly believe he’d understood the Russian correctly, but he had. Last he’d heard, Second Corps was tied down at some planet, unable to extract themselves from the situation. But that had been weeks ago. Anything could’ve happened since then.
“Bring him inside,” Warren ordered. “Take him to the interrogation room.” There was no formal interrogation room. Instead, there was a house they’d used to grill a spy who’d injured Lukov with a grenade not long ago. It’s where the cyborg Anna DeFranc had convinced the man to talk, to tell her everything he knew. Nobody had bothered to clean up the mess, so it wasn’t currently occupied. Warren added it to the list of things that needed to be done.
“Am bringing him in now,” replied Lukov. “I will be interview the refugees. Am sending Cooper and Oplin for escorting him.”
Warren turned and walked briskly to the interrogation room. Someone had added a padlock to the door. He didn’t have a key or the time to find out who did, so with a quick flick of his wrist, he broke the lock and let himself in.
The center of the room was still occupied by the single chair DeFranc had tied the spy to while she’d motivated him to speak. Warren hadn’t asked her what had occurred before he arrived or after he left, but based on the amount of blood, it hadn’t been good.
“Where do you want him, boss?” asked Cooper. “In the chair?”
Warren nodded and stepped out of the way as the other cyborgs brought the one named King in and sat him down. He hadn’t resisted, but they weren’t giving him a chance to, either. The cyborg was wearing nothing but rags. His shoes were still in decent shape, but they weren’t the ones he’d been issued.
“Who stuck you in that box?” asked Warren. Based on the cyborg’s confused expression, it wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.
“Our leader, General Clem Kaplan, sir,” replied King.
“General?” asked Warren.
“Of course, sir. He’s our leader. And you are?”
“Call me Warren,” he replied.
King’s face twisted into an unrecognizable expression, and he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Cooper and the other cyborg stepped a little closer. “Seems a bit… informal, sir.”
“Yeah? Good. That’s how we do things around here.”
The cyborg glanced at his two guards, apparently looking for confirmation or to be let in on the joke if it was one. When the others offered him nothing but a stony stare, his gaze returned to the cyborg standing in front of him. “As you wish, Warren.”
“Good. Now, why did General Kaplan put you in the box?”
“To get me here,” he replied. “My mission is to seek you out and convince you to aid the Second Corps if you’re able to. The situation is dire but stable. We’ve heard about what you’ve accomplished here, and if it’s true, General Kaplan says you should have enough resources to help.”
“Help what?” asked Warren. “What’s the situation on Turano?”
“It’s somewhere between bad and shit, sir,” replied King. “Our freedom event went well enough, but the Republic had agents on board—not just the crew. We caught them, but not before they sabotaged critical systems in our ship, the Conquest. The cruisers weren’t designed to land on a planetary surface, and we proved it.
“Most of the crew and all the cyborgs were able to escape. We had to leave some of the squishies behind—but not for lack of trying. The explosions breached the containment tanks and lit the fuse on a bunch of missiles. There were whole floors we couldn’t access because of the radiation and fires. Some of the idiots decided to go down with the ship or something. I’m not real clear what was happening on the other decks. I was trying to save who and what I could, but it didn’t go well.
“Then came reentry. Some of the ships and escape pods got damaged and outright blown to hell on the way down. Others made it down but came in too fast. Lost a lot of people that day, both cyborg and human.”
“And without the Conquest, there was no way for you to create new biologicals,” Warren finished.
“Affirmative, sir,” King replied.
“What of your war computer?”
“CoW Slicers burned a hole right through the middle of it. We found some of it a few days later. A few cyborgs stayed behind to try to keep it secure while the rest fanned out to try to find somewhere to hold up. When the CoWs got close, the guards scuttled it. Better that, than having it fall into CoW hands. The last thing we need is for them to get hold of that bit of tech. They have enough already.”
No war computer meant no backups. No cruiser meant no new bodies. If a cyborg from Second Corps was destroyed, they were as good as dead. They were mortal.
“Enough?” asked Warren.
A shadow seemed to form over King’s eyes as he lifted his eyes to meet Warren’s. “Lots of tech, sir. Shit they’re not supposed to have. Shit they have no business messing with. Unless the Repub’s been lying to us this whole time, the Commonwealth has far better security and scientists than we’ve given them credit for.”
“Elaborate,” said Warren.
King nodded and stared at his feet for a couple of seconds, then began speaking. “Mechs,” he said. “Big man-like machines that carry rifles. They shoot little rocket-propelled grenades out of their shoulders and clouds of radioactive micro-rockets from their forearms. Damn things will burn a hole right into your brain.” King tapped the side of his head to emphasize his words.
“We’ve already experienced those,” said Warren. “You didn’t see it because you were stuck in a box, but the remains of a Commonwealth mothership are currently being scrapped a kilometer outside the colony. What else?”
“Rocket tanks,” he said. When Warren didn’t interrupt, he elaborated. “Big things, four meters high, twelve meters long, with two pods—one on each side of the central cockpit. Tracked vehicles they use to knock down buildings, bunkers—anything like that. They’re usually escorted by human ground troops. Each pod carries twenty-five armor-piercing rockets. Even wearing our battle armor, we don’t stand a chance against them. All we can do is hunt for their supply depots and garages and destroy them there. It’s never that easy, though. We usually end up losing someone.”
“How many cyborgs are left from Second Corps?” asked Cooper.
King remained seated but slowly turned to eye the other cyborg. “Do you always speak out of turn?” he asked.
Cooper
raised one eyebrow and looked toward Warren. “What’s this fool talking about?”
“He thinks you’re being rude,” said Warren. “He doesn’t get that we don’t run things the same way General Kaplan does.”
“Oh,” said Cooper. “Do you think I should say it slower?”
“No. I think he gets it now. But in case he doesn’t, I’ll try to make it clearer.” Warren bent at the waist until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the new arrival. “We aren’t as formal as the setup you seem to have over there on Turano. I would appreciate it if you did not disrespect my cyborgs. I’m their leader, not their god. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, sir,” King replied.
“Then answer his question.”
King nodded and began speaking again. “Of the one hundred we started with in Second Corps, only sixty-two cyborgs remain. I have no idea if that number is still accurate, but before I left, that was the number we’d verified. Without a war computer, we just don’t know how many others there could be. Some might be injured or trapped somewhere they can’t get to the rest of the team. Some are out on patrols. Others are on guard duty and won’t be relieved for days, so there’s no way to tell without someone running around to do a survey or bringing everyone back to do a headcount.
“General Kaplan says the CoWs are going to bring more forces to the planet to find and eliminate all the survivors,” continued King. “He says once they do that, they’re coming here. If you don’t help us, you might find an armada at your doorstep. In fact, they’re probably probing your defenses as we speak.”
10
If Warren had lungs like a full human, he was pretty sure the news would have made him hold his breath. The Commonwealth could be probing his defenses, and what was he doing? Interrogating someone who probably didn’t mean Reotis any harm to begin with.
