by J. N. Chaney
“How do we know which are which?” asked Rigby.
“Even more important, how’d you get these video files?” asked Oplin.
“From a cyborg named Shep King,” replied Warren. “He’s from Second Corps. He stowed away on a ship of refugees. He’s here now, and he’s pretty beat up. Hendrose is fixing him. I’ve got a couple of cyborgs guarding him. Unfortunately, it gets worse.”
Warren took a few minutes to fill them in on the artificial intelligence pod, how many systems the Commonwealth of Worlds currently controlled, and what he and Rigby found on the moon.
“They can’t have a good grip on any of those systems,” whispered Baker. “I mean, the Repub’s already stretched thin with what, a hundred systems?”
“One hundred and twelve by last count,” said Rigby.
“They’re probably not good systems,” noted Willy. “Probably just some bullshit stars out in the middle of nowhere. One planet. A crap tonne of asteroids. Just someplace to plant their flag.”
“Agreed,” said Warren. “But the fact they’ve claimed so many systems is the disturbing part. It forces us to ask why. Why are they expanding so quickly? What’s their goal?”
Everyone, including Sparky, glanced at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have an answer.
“Another question,” said Baker, raising his hand. “Why’s King here? I remember him from a ways back. Good cyborg. Good guy. Why isn’t he fighting alongside the rest of Second Corps?”
“Because they’re losing,” said Warren. He took a few minutes to explain the situation Second Corps had found themselves in, according to King.
“Are we going to help them?” asked Baker.
“That’s the question we’re here to discuss,” replied Warren. “What do you want to do? As for me, I’m on the fence. Our first responsibility is to Reotis and her people. But at the same time, Second Corps are our brothers and sisters. Just because their mutiny didn’t go as well as ours doesn’t mean ours is any more righteous.”
“Plus, keepin’ them in the fight means the CoWs have to split their attention between us and them—and any other Corps who’ve managed to free themselves,” noted Willy. “But this place… I mean, we’ve done a lot for it, but we’re still the best defense they’ve got. This could all be a plan meant to remove us from the planet, right? A trick to make Reotis vulnerable again.”
“What if only half of us go?” asked Rigby. “The other half stays here and—“
“Will not be enough,” interrupted Lukov. “Fifty is not enough to secure planet alone. Maybe is not enough to make Turano free of CoWs. No, I believe the time is now for the Reotians to make themselves safe. It is time for opening the armory.”
“What, just handing them guns?” asked Oplin with a laugh. “Yeah, right. You’ve seen how they’re fighting amongst themselves. Imagine all that, the drugs that keep comin’ in somehow, and guns all mixed together.”
“They’re only doing that because we’re here,” said Rigby, waving the concern away. “Once we tell them we’re leaving, they’ll come to their senses and realize how they’ve got to stick together. There’ll probably still be a fight here and there, but not much.”
“Or they’ll revolt and ask us not to return,” countered Oplin.
“Then they do. So what? We’ll go free another planet. I don’t mind. You scared?”
“Enough!” Warren both said and transmitted. The bickering stopped, and all eyes turned to him. “You’re complaining about how the Reotians will fight among themselves? Well, you’re not really setting a good example, are you?” He waited a few seconds, but nobody replied. “This is why I asked you here. I trust all of you. We’ve battled together, even after being freed, and you’ve displayed your battle prowess, wisdom, forward-thinking, and teamwork. This needs to be decided here and now. Either way, we’ve got to prepare. So, what’s it going to be? All in favor, raise your hand.”
One by one, everyone raised a hand, including Sparking. Then, Warren raised his own. “Let’s get to it, then.”
12
Lukov’s job was to gather his security team one or two at a time and brief them. They’d come up with a plan to move some of the cargo ships around, ostensibly for bringing scrap metal in for the construction or repair of buildings. He wasn’t sure how he’d frame it yet, but Warren trusted him to come up with something believable.
The security personnel would use the ships to scan random colonists as they walked past. As each person was examined, his or her identity would be verified and logged. Lukov believed they could get most of the population scanned within a day or two and pick up the stragglers one at a time later. Though the Commonwealth cyborgs could hide from the naked eye, nobody doubted the ships’ sensors could detect them, especially at close range.
Warren had assigned himself to stick with King. He trusted the other cyborg to a point, but not enough to leave him alone. He also wanted to see what other information the soldier might have.
“Hello, sir,” said King as Warren entered the brig. He was lying supine—one arm and one leg disconnected while Hendrose worked on the sockets.
“King. How’s he coming along?” he asked Hendrose.
“Slowly,” replied Hendrose, sounding frustrated. “This guy’s been through some shit. Bullet holes, slugs, and background radiation, which, luckily, isn’t enough to nuke me so long as this doesn’t take too long. I may never have kids, but—“
“If it’s dangerous, go get yourself an EV suit, doc,” interrupted Warren.
The tech nodded and moved away to go track one down.
“Hardheaded, that one,” noted King.
“And brilliant,” replied Cooper. “He’s one of the smartest we’ve got, and he helped us earn our freedom.”
King didn’t respond other than to turn his eyes toward the ceiling and frown.
“I have more questions,” said Warren. “First, any chance you’ve got a map of the battlefield at Turano? Locations of enemy gun emplacements, anti-aircraft weapons—things like that?”
“Only what I’ve seen,” he replied. “It’s not much, but from the reports I received from others, I can tell you there’s no real orbital defense. We punched through that on our way in.”
“How’d you lose your war computer?” asked Warren.
“That came later. The CoWs have railguns. Blasted a hole through our ship before we even saw it was there. Took out a few squishies and two cyborgs at the same time. Nothing left but machine parts and guts. It was a mess.”
“Besides that are their Ghosts, short-range beam cannons they’ve got mounted just about everywhere, and snipers. They’ve got other things as well, but most of it seems to be civilian stuff they co-opted into military use. Typical CoW bullshit.”
Warren considered his words for a moment, allowing it all to soak in before making his next decision. “Do you have the knowledge modules loaded?”
“The what?” asked King, turning a questioning look to Warren.
“Thought so,” he replied. “You’re about to receive a connection request from our war computer. Accept it.”
A few seconds later, King’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He made a gasping noise before it turned into a wide smile. “Damn, sir. Where’d you discover this?”
“It was all part of the plan,” Warren replied with a chuckle. “Not all of the information is useful, but one thing it allows is instant communications between cyborgs. So long as the war computer is in range, we can send each other messages, real-time data streams, video, audio—the works.”
“We could’ve used this back on Turano,” said King, his smile fading to a frown.
“You’ll have it once we get there,” Warren assured him. “Now, send me everything you have—maps, enemy emplacements, images of their weapons—all of it. Send me the coordinates of Turano, too.”
It took a few seconds for the other cyborg to figure out how to make it happen, but once he did, Warren’s brain was flooded with images and names.
“That what you were looking for?” asked King.
“That and more,” Warren said. “I’m going to get the war computer chewing on this information. I’ll see what plan it comes up with and tweak it as necessary. So tell me about General Kaplan.”
King made a pained expression. “The General is a good man,” he replied carefully.
“But?” prompted Warren.
“But he knows he’s the only reason any of Second Corps is still moving around and it’s gone to his head, sir. No disrespect intended, but there might be a little bit of a struggle for you to put whatever you’re planning in place. He might want to fight about it.”
Warren had expected as much from the way King acted about Cooper but didn’t want to voice his opinion out loud. One of his recovered memories was of a Marine Sergeant. The guy was an absolute dick who’d lost most of his platoon during a firefight. Even though Warren and his platoon had arrived fully armed and equipped to pull his ass out of the fire, the guy had tried taking command of the Army platoon. The confusion he’d caused had cost two lives—one from each of their platoons. Warren didn’t want that to happen again.
“Warren, this is Lukov,” the Russian transmitted.
“Go ahead,” he replied.
“Am forward a request from Dr. Fordell. She is not appreciating our leaving to make help with Second Corps.”
Warren closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, buddy, but I need you to handle this one. Did you explain to her why we’re doing it?”
“Negative. Is no secret?”
“Not anymore,” replied Warren. “It’s natural they’re going to wonder why we’re doing what we’re doing. Even though we’d tried to ease them into this, it’s time to take the bumpers off and smash them with the news. It’ll speed things up, too.”
“I will tell this to her and the others. Will it not impact ability to find Ghosts if they are maybe here?”
“Let’s hope not,” replied Warren. “How many ships do you have scanning people?”
“Seven of the eight smaller ships,” he replied. “Sparky is making argument over last, so I did not take.”
“Yeah, he’s working on the data I received from the AI on the moon. Let’s leave him be for now.”
“Warren,” transmitted a cyborg named Garin Corsa. He was one of the two standing guard duty outside the brig.
“What is it, Garin?”
“There’s a human out here. Says he needs to speak with you. He looks pissed.”
“Did you ask him what it’s about?”
“He’s a new arrival, and he says he needs to speak with you personally. He won’t tell me what it’s about.”
“If he won’t tell you, then it must not be that important,” concluded Warren.
“I’ll tell him,” Garin said with a laugh. “This ought to be fun.”
The interaction brought up another thought in Warren’s mind. “How are the civilians on the planet reacting to the cyborgs?” he asked King.
“About how you’d expect,” he replied. “Most think we’re the devil, there to enslave them, eat their babies—typical Commonwealth bullshit they tell their citizens. Their government has them thoroughly brainwashed. Some have come to our side, and more just want to be left alone. Some are kind, but when their government catches them being anything but hostile, they’re disappeared. Most are taken to a nearby reeducation camp. They take it pretty seriously. Call ‘em traitors and hang ‘em for everyone to see.”
“How many prisoners do they have?” asked Warren.
King turned his head and eyes toward Warren. “I didn’t count them if that’s what you’re asking. They keep their prisoners locked up in these tall buildings, like factories. That place is locked up tight. Guard towers all the way around. Spotlights. Machine guns. The works.”
Warren added the information to the war computer so it could adjust its plans. A jailbreak might be just the distraction they needed if the situation got dire. Plus, those who were freed might join their side. If nothing else, it would be an excellent way to distract some Commonwealth troops. Likely, they considered anyone locked up in their reeducation camp to be politically dangerous. The last thing they would want is for their ideas to start infecting the local population. Speaking of which…
“Any idea what the population is on the entire planet?” asked Warren. “Is it just one settlement?”
“Definitely not just the one settlement,” replied King. “We saw no fewer than ten major settlements coming in. Plus, they’ve got a smaller one on their moon. Some kind of mining colony up there. Probably iron, from what I gather. They still use a lot of the stuff, especially in their building construction.”
“What about—“ Warren’s thought was interrupted by a message appearing on his HUD.
CORSA: KIA
RETRIEVAL DATE: 2486,02,19
Then another.
MEHTA: KIA
RETRIEVAL DATE: 2486,02,17
All three cyborgs glanced at each other, frozen in shock. Then the steel door to the building, which was being used as a brig, exploded inward.
13
Warren dove further into the room, knocking King to the floor. He’d apologize later, but for now, there was killing to do.
Cooper was dragging the one-armed, one-legged King to the back corner of the room, hopefully out of the line of fire.
“Hiding, cyborg?” a man said from the other end of the building, about fifteen meters away. The distinct click of a rifle being charged was unmistakable. Whoever he was, he’d taken it from one of the guards outside. The Commonwealth weapons, which the insurgents would be getting, rattled more than they clicked.
Warren hadn’t heard any gunfire, though. No yelling. No grenades. Nothing that could have explained how both cyborgs had been killed.
“It’s one of them,” transmitted King. “A Ghost.”
Even though the transmission had been electronic, the cyborg had managed to throw enough emotion into it to let Warren know how serious he was. And how frightened he was.
Although the idea of taking the cyborg to the Ruthless to back him up had gone through Warren’s mind, he hadn’t done it yet. Warren didn’t fully trust him, and the cyborg still needed repairs, which were easy enough to do here within the colony. If all went well, he would’ve taken him for a backup afterward. Now he wasn’t sure he’d have the opportunity.
“We can’t stay here,” Cooper said over their private channel. “We’re sitting ducks.”
Warren unholstered Cooper’s pistol and offered it to King, who took the weapon and checked to make sure it was loaded before giving Warren a firm nod.
“All we need to do is keep him busy,” said Warren. “Someone will be here soon. Then we have him in a crossfire.”
“Come out, come out,” the man taunted.
THREE HURRIED TO YOU
The message was from Lukov. This Ghost had just taken out two cyborgs who’d been guarding the entrance to the brig. Apparently, it had done so without the use of any firearms. Warren wasn’t sure how, but that was a question for another time—if he survived.
Most important was King’s survival. Without him, he wouldn’t have the details the cyborgs would need when they arrived on Turano. There wouldn’t be anyone to make the introduction with General Kaplan. Little details—questions Warren hadn’t thought to ask—would go unanswered. It could mean the difference between victory or defeat. No way he was going to let some Commonwealth cyborg knock-off ruin his plans.
Cooper was wearing combat armor, but Warren wasn’t. Luckily, Lukov had finished interviewing all the civilians who’d arrived recently, so the rest of the cells were empty. It was him and Cooper versus one Ghost.
Ting, ting.
The grenade bounced and stopped near the edge of the doorway. For a split second, it looked like Cooper might try to grab for it, but Warren was faster. He raised his pistol and centered the targeting reticle, which appeared in his HUD on the device, then
aimed a little higher and pulled the trigger. So long as it wasn’t a direct hit, and so long as he didn’t nail the thing in its detonator housing or with a direct shot, there was little chance of his bullet causing the thing to explode.
The grenade skittered away, but Cooper had already committed. When it detonated a half-second later, it blew him back into the cell. He slid a half meter and dropped his rifle, then clutched his face.
Warren felt like he’d caught a few pieces himself, mostly in his hands, but he cut his pain receptors down to ten percent and leaped from the cell. The Ghost was waiting for him, blood pouring from dozens of wounds on his face and body. When Warren tried to bring his pistol to bear, the Ghost dropped his rifle and grabbed the weapon with both hands.
The struggle only lasted a second before Warren pressed the magazine release button, dropping most of the ammunition to the floor. All that remained was the one in the chamber. He followed up with a stomp to the Ghost’s foot and then an elbow to the face.
If his opponent had been human, the stomp would have broken every bone in his foot, and the elbow likely would have killed him. The cybernetic opponent seemed unfazed, though, and returned the elbow with a headbutt, setting off alarms that filled Warren’s HUD.
There was no time to clear the messages. The Ghost tried to yank the pistol from Warren’s grasp, then shoved him into the closed door of the next cell. It buckled but held until the Ghost did it again, thrusting Warren through the break. He stumbled in after Warren and landed on top of him. The two struggled for several seconds before Warren decided to let him have the weapon. He timed his release for the next time the Ghost yanked on the weapon, which sent his opponent flying onto his back.
Warren grabbed for the other cyborg’s foot. His opponent shot him in the chest, but it felt like the bullet bounced off a rib, only penetrating a couple of centimeters and not doing a lot of damage.
Bang!
