by J. N. Chaney
Someone had fired a pistol, but he was nowhere near his dropped magazine.
Bang!
The Ghost tried to scramble away, which gave Warren the opportunity he was looking for. He flipped over onto his back and flipped his opponent over. Hooking the Ghost’s foot in his armpit, he rolled to the right, squeezed, and arched his back. It took a lot more force to break the ankle, but there was a loud CRACK followed by a short buzz, and the limb went limp.
Warren let go when he felt his opponent trying for the same move. He brought his leg back and kicked the Ghost hard in the face. He almost felt bad when the man’s lips, nose, and most of the skin to his hairline slapped against the back of his head. What he saw underneath changed his mind. The skull was metal. Shiny like his own. It looked delicate, but it was difficult to tell if he’d done any damage due to all the blood and gore clinging to it.
Before Warren could deliver another blow, the Ghost flipped them over and grabbed for his leg again. Warren tried to kick free, which ended up allowing the Ghost to sink his grip in deeper. He grabbed for the other leg, but his opponent thrashed and kicked Warren in the face. There was still a brain inside of his cybernetic frame, he reminded himself. He could still get knocked out.
His opponent gave up on the ankle lock it looked like he was going for, but Warren wasn’t about to let him go.
A loud banging filled Warren’s ears. It sounded like the cavalry had arrived. Whoever it was, they’d given Warren the distraction he needed, and he put it to good use, hooking the Ghost’s leg. He wrapped his own around and under his body and arched his back. The femur snapped and erupted from the limb, and blood splashed across Warren’s face. He grabbed hold of the exposed metal and quickly moved to leverage his foot in the Ghost’s crotch, but something hit him, whipping his head to the right.
He looked back, meaning to grab for the exposed metal limb again, but met the Ghost’s fist as he punched Warren in the face again, then a third time. Warren gave up his original plan and raised his arm, shielding himself from another blow, but just barely.
The Ghost scrambled, punching Warren in rapid shots to his ribs, leg, head, and neck. It wasn’t until Warren’s blade erupted from his own forearm that he realized what the Ghost had been up to. Warren grabbed the handle near the cross guard, but instead of trying to pull it away, he yanked hard, stripping it from his opponent’s grip.
He tried to pull it from his arm to use against the Ghost, but the other cyborg deflected his attack and sent the blade flying from his grip. Their hands sang as metal knuckles struck each other and punches were blocked.
Both cyborgs, one Republic designed, the other Commonwealth, rose to sitting positions. Their legs were still intertwined, their noses in each other’s face. They traded strikes and chops, each blocking the other and not giving up any ground.
Warren couldn’t believe how fast the soldier was. Nor how calm. He knew he was gritting his own teeth, but the Commonwealth cyborg seemed to accept whatever might be coming next.
Bang!
The Ghost’s head snapped to one side, but this time he didn’t recover so quickly. Warren yanked his opponent by his dangling foot and leaned back, then he slid the other cyborg on top of himself. He then found his opponent’s head, wrapped his legs around it, and squeezed. The Ghost thrashed but stopped after another loud crack.
Warren arched his back and broke three more of its artificial bones, and he only relaxed to check his work. The Ghost was no longer fighting.
“You still with me?” asked Warren.
“Yeah, still here,” replied King. “Sorry I took so long. Seems my targeting system’s busted, too. That, and I’m left-handed, but your man hasn’t come back with a left hand for me yet. You okay?”
Warren ran a quick system check before answering. “Minor damage. Nothing I need to get repaired yet. I’m good for now. How’s this guy look?” Warren still had a firm grip on the Ghost and wasn’t going to let go until someone could verify he was dead.
“You got him,” replied King. “Got him good.” He’d managed to drag himself into the hallway so he could get a shot at the Ghost.
“Warren?” called a familiar voice from the other end of the hallway.
“I’m here,” he replied. “We’re here. The threat has been neutralized.”
The three cyborgs emerged cautiously from the corner, rifles raised as they searched for targets. Each one lowered his rifle a second after verifying the truth.
The first one to walk around the corner was Baker. He squatted low and dragged the Ghost’s body out into the hallway as soon as Warren pulled his legs off the thing. “Damn,” he said. “One got in. By the looks of it, he’s a tough son of a gun, too. You okay?”
“I’m good,” replied Warren as he sat up and then rose to his feet. He still felt a little shaky from the blows to the head, but otherwise he was fine.
The Ghost’s body was a bloody, gory mess. It was difficult to tell where the Ghost had been shot, but there were at least two bullet holes in his torso and likely one to his head. It might’ve been the final shot that had knocked him stupid enough to give Warren the advantage he’d needed.
“Cooper?” said Warren.
During the battle, he’d forgotten all about the other cyborg.
“He didn’t make it,” said King.
The KIA message must’ve gotten mixed in with the errors and damage warnings during the fight. Scrolling back through the messages, he spotted it. Luckily Cooper’s last backup was only three days old. He hadn’t missed much. Nothing that someone couldn’t explain in a few minutes. Still, the feeling that overcame Warren was real. He mourned his friend and ally for his loss. Three days of memories still mattered, even if his body could be restored.
“We made Hendrose wait outside,” said Baker. “You ready for him to come in and take a look at you?”
Warren tried to take a step and discovered what the device called a Lateral Motor Function Circuit, Level 4, did. He’d walk with a limp until he got it replaced.
Although Hendrose had technically followed their instructions by not coming inside, he was busying himself with the two dead soldiers just outside the door to the brig.
“What did this?” asked Hendrose as Warren approached. “And what the hell happened to you?”
Warren thought that should have been obvious but answered anyway. “Got in a fight, doc.”
“Did you win?”
The cyborg chuckled. “I think so. The bad guy’s dead, but counting these two, he got three. Cooper is KIA. Reset him when you get the chance. Corsa and Mehta, too. I need all hands on deck.”
“Who’s that?” asked the tech, pointing at the bloody corpse lying in the middle of the hallway.
“That is a Ghost,” said Warren. “Once you’ve gotten everyone reset and repaired, I’d appreciate it if you took it apart so you can tell me how it ticks, and how to make it stop ticking.”
Warren had made it stop ticking. Actually, it had been King, but together they’d ended a Commonwealth cyborg. Commonwealth. The thought ran circles in his mind like a tiny, sputtering racecar leaving skid marks.
“See if you can find any kind of electronic storage, too,” Warren added. “I want to know everything about them. I want to know if they’re backed up, if they’ve got reset and deletion protocols like we do—everything.”
“That could take months,” said Hendrose. He stared at the body as he approached it. “There’s metallurgy, neurobiology, and biochemistry, not to mention the obvious. It’s not like I can just pull pieces out and tell you what they do.”
“Would the ship’s scanner’s help?” asked Warren.
Hendrose shrugged. He still hadn’t gotten close enough to the body to begin performing an inspection. “It depends on how big the parts are, whether they’re still emitting any kind of power—there are too many variables to know until I try. Generally, ship sensors aren’t designed to pick up tiny things. It’s not like we expect to find little ships, you know?
”
“What about the grow tanks?” asked Baker. “I don’t know if we’ve ever used them for that kind of thing before, but they’re made to grow our biologicals and our compulsion chips. It’s got to be able to monitor what’s happening while the things grow, right? Couldn’t it be reversed? Be made to take things apart rather than put them together?”
Hendrose turned toward him. Warren couldn’t see the expression he was making, but whatever it had been, it made Baker smile.
“I see something happening in that brain of yours, doc,” said Baker. “It was my idea, right?”
“It was your idea,” confirmed Hendrose. He turned to Warren. It looked like he was considering whether he wanted to ask a question.
“You want to take the remains to the Ruthless?” asked Warren.
Hendrose glanced at the body, then returned his eyes to Warren and nodded. “I think it’s our best chance to learn something about this thing.”
“Do it,” replied Warren. “But take a couple of cyborgs with you. This one looks dead, but in case it’s faking or has some kind of backup system, I want to make sure you’re covered. Take one of the smaller cargo vessels and make sure you isolate that thing when you get there. I doubt there’s any biological threat, but protect the war computer in case this thing has an electronic virus built into it.”
“What about me?” asked King. He was still missing an arm and a leg—removed by Hendrose for replacement.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Hendrose. “I’ve got all my tools outside. I’ll get Seaman Sharp over here to finish you up. My tablet’s out there, too, and it has all my notes. That work, Warren?”
“That’s fine,” Warren replied. “I’ll stay with him. While you’re up there, see if there’s a way we might be able to better detect them, too. Especially at range.”
“You got it, boss,” said Hendrose. He motioned to the other two cyborgs who’d come with Baker. They glanced at Warren, who nodded, giving his permission for them to do whatever the doc needed. Hendrose began checking their enemy’s pockets while one cyborg took his arms, and the other grabbed his legs. The leg Warren broke came completely off. They set the body down and placed the disconnected part on top, then they picked it back up and made their way outside.
Rigby passed them as they were exiting. She gave Warren a quick once-over and noted the damage to his forearm. She pressed her lips tightly together. Then she glanced at King, noted the pistol in his hand, and gave Warren a questioning look.
“He saved my life,” he told her. “He’s earned my trust.”
“Okay, then,” she replied. “I’ll get you a replacement unless you want that one back.”
“You good with that pistol?” asked Warren. “
The cyborg smiled and said, “This one will do just fine, unless you’re attached to it.”
“Keep it,” Warren said. “As soon as Seaman Sharp gets you fixed up, head to the warehouse and get a holster and a jumpsuit. We’ve got plenty to spare. Welcome to the team.”
14
“Do you want to wait until Seaman Sharp is done with King?” asked Rigby. “You look like you could use some repairs. You’re limping.”
“I’m fine,” said Warren, gently brushing her hand away when she tried to assist him. “There’s too much to do.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” she told him as she stepped into his path and jabbed a finger in his chest. “You’re not impressing anyone, cyborg. You’re damaged. What do you think you’re going to do if there’s another attack? Throw your body on top of the attacker and hope to smother it to death? You won’t even be able to throw a punch, let alone be more than a minor obstacle. So, with all due respect, sit your ass down and wait for Sharp or so help me…”
Warren sat down in the hallway. She didn’t need to finish her sentence. He wasn’t afraid, but she was right. He needed to get his Lateral Motor Function Circuit, Level 4 replaced if nothing else. The rest could wait.
Two more technicians from the Ruthless hurried into the hallway a moment later, then they backed out again and peeked through the broken frame of the doorway to the brig.
“Here’s your patient,” said Rigby, gesturing to them. “He’s being a little uncooperative, so be as rough as you need to be.”
One of the techs offered a nervous laugh. The other didn’t, but both approached and got to work.
A few minutes later, his most critical parts—there had been three, not one—were replaced. The techs made him run a thorough self-diagnostic, then they had him demonstrate some basic movements before they were satisfied. He promised to see someone soon about getting his skin repaired. It wasn’t crucial, but it would help protect the rest of his internal circuits from damage.
Warren and Rigby walked from the brig in silence. She hadn’t tried talking to him since the techs had started working on him. Instead, she left him to his thoughts. It was what he’d needed, but he hadn’t spent the entire time in his own head. He’d also been accessing the war computer, researching the information it had decoded from the Commonwealth AI on the moon.
“I hadn’t completely believed King—even with those videos he showed us,” admitted Warren.
“Who could?” asked Rigby. “The Commonwealth of Worlds has been a serious pain in the ass for the Republic for a long time, but who could’ve imagined they had that kind of tech? If you’d told me that without showing me the videos, I would’ve thought you were joking. Even with the videos, it’s hard to believe.”
“Not anymore,” Warren murmured.
“They must’ve gotten hold of some Repub tech. Maybe the specs to our design, how we transfer information to and from organic brains—that kind of thing. From there, they grew their own tech—took it off in a direction our former masters didn’t think of or weren’t allowed to think of. Maybe the Senate knew about this kind of thing but didn’t allow anyone to produce them. You know, to keep us looking different.” She held up a hand in front of her face and inspected it.
“We’re shaped right, but the color’s off. The lack of hair can be disturbing for people, too. That guy looked real. In fact, I’ve seen him around. He blended in, and I had no idea. I don’t think anyone knew.”
“He’s a cyborg,” returned Warren. “We’ve got cargo ships stationed in each of the domes. We’ll find more if there are any.”
“So, what do you need help with?” asked Rigby.
“Have you loaded the supplies we’ll need into the Ruthless?”
“Nope, but I’ve got them set aside, ready to go. I was letting the civilians use the Camel a bit longer before I took it from them. They could do the same with the smaller ships, but we’re using them to hunt for more interlopers.”
“Go ahead and take it from them,” replied Warren. “They’ve got enough scrap stacked outside Dome-1 to build plenty of new homes. It’ll have to do until we get back.”
“And it might be more than they need,” said Rigby. “Freeing a second planet will give refugees another place to go. Based on what I saw on the video feed, it’s got breathable air. It’ll allow them to spread out. They could take in a lot more refugees than we can. So, I guess that means it’s time to start training the civilians.”
“I don’t want to drop this on them without informing the others first,” said Warren. “I’ll get Lukov to gather the crew’s department heads and every cyborg not currently on guard duty. We’ll clear the hangar and have our meeting there. In the meantime, I think it’s time to raid the crew’s armory aboard the Ruthless.”
“All of department head and cyborg are present,” announced Lukov. He was standing with his arms crossed, facing the thirty-two people who’d been called to attend.
“Thanks,” said Warren, stepping in front of everyone. They’d been speaking quietly among themselves. Most caught up on gossip while others talked about the projects their departments were working on. Overall, they seemed to be happy—not at all stressed about why they’d been called to a meeting.
Warren
figured his news would ruin the mood, but it had to be done. “The cyborgs are temporarily leaving Reotis,” he said, ripping the Band-Aid off in one vicious yank.
“Excuse me?” said Bernard “Rooster” Cox, the Chief Technician for the planet and the man best known for speaking exactly what was on his mind. “You’re leaving us on our own? What are we supposed to do if another mothership comes? Throw rocks at it?”
“No,” said Warren. “If another mothership comes, I expect Curet to shoot it down and take out as many dropships as he can. Now that we know what a mothership is capable of, I think he’ll have a better chance of defending this place. It won’t be such a surprise.”
“And what about the mechs?” argued Rooster. “We’re supposed to throw rocks at them? The Slicers won’t do any good against the things. Mechs move too fast, and if they get close or take cover in a crater, the cannons won’t be able to shoot them at all.”
Warren sent a signal to Willy, who opened the huge doors to the warehouse. From within, he guided one of the four-wheeled transports the Reotians had used to move the heavy particle cannons to the planet’s surface. This one was loaded with two rifle racks full of Republic Light Rifles.
Rooster studied the weapons for a few seconds then frowned at Warren. “Those things any good?”
“They look just like the ones the cyborgs carry, only smaller,” said Curet. “Kind of wish we had these the whole time.”
“I did not wish this,” said Lukov. “But now, it is wished. Reotians must defend themselves while cyborgs are not on planet.”
“Where are you going?” asked Rooster. “What’s so damned important that you’ve got to arm us when you couldn’t do it before?”
“Second Cyborg Corps,” replied Warren. “They’re free, but they’ve landed on a hostile planet. Aboard the last refugee ship was a cyborg. He explained it all and provided us with a map of the area.”
“Why’s that our problem?” asked Rooster, crossing his arms. “Why should we sacrifice ourselves for them? Would they have done it for us?”
