by Isaac Hooke
She targeted another sphere nearby and fired again. The first shot missed so she adjusted her aim and tried again. This time she hit it. For her third and fourth shots, she spent a good five seconds lining up each before squeezing the trigger and hit them both on the first try.
“Let’s see how you handle moving targets,” Bardain said.
The spheres began zipping back and forth, sometimes swerving towards her at the same time, and then away.
Rhea fired frantically but missed everything. She tried leading the targets, and came close a few times, but still failed to strike any of them. She spun in place one time, causing her hood to drop, and quickly replaced it.
“All right, I’ve seen enough,” Bardain said.
She tried to fire at her latest target, but the pistol didn’t respond. Bardain had remotely disabled it.
She lowered the weapon; the spheres continued to move in the background around her.
“I can see why Will brought you here… a salvager who can’t fire a pistol isn’t going to last very long in the Outlands, cyborg or no,” Bardain said. “Tell me, what exactly did you do before this?” He folded his thin arms beneath his gray cloak, and gazed at her through that AR visor, his eyes magnified bigger than ever.
“I don’t remember,” she replied.
He arched an eyebrow. “No? That’s unfortunate. Well, there’s one thing you certainly were not: a soldier. Nor a fighter of any kind.”
She nodded. “I guess so.”
He offered a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. I always tell those students who have no firearms experience that their ignorance is a good thing: they have no bad habits to unlearn. In your case, with no memories whatsoever, it’s all the more applicable! I’ll let you in on a secret: you will get better, but it’s going to take a lot of practice.”
“There’s no other way to do this?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“I guess I was hoping you could download weapons training directly into my mind or something, so I could skip the practice phase,” she said.
Bardain gave her an incredulous look, and then broke into a raucous chuckle. “My, but you are a naive one. The only people who had anything resembling the mind downloads you describe were the Ganymedeans, and they’ve been dead for over thirty years, along with their tech. There’s no substitute for practice, I’m afraid. We’ll concentrate on your aiming today.”
He waved a hand and the spheres ceased moving.
“We’ll return to stationary targets for now,” he continued. “But first I want to clarify something… in a real-world combat situation, you’ll rarely have time to spend more than a few seconds lining up your shots, even if the target is stationary. Scratch that… especially if it’s stationary. If a target isn’t moving, there’s a good chance it’s lining up you in turn. So, going forward, after you choose a target, I want you to aim and fire as quickly as you can. Act as if your life depends upon it, because one day, it very well might.”
And so Rhea continued her training for the rest of that day.
6
Rhea finished her target practice in the late evening. She only managed a modest improvement in her hit-to-fire percentage, from twenty-five to thirty-three. That meant for every one hundred shots she fired, thirty-three found their targets. Perhaps it wasn’t as great an improvement as one might expect, given the enhanced learning capabilities of her mind-machine interface, but considering how mind-numbingly boring and repetitive the target practice was, she felt lucky to have improved at all. By the time Bardain declared the session finished, she was weary to death of shooting at floating spheres.
Bardain cleared the training environment on her HUD, and the spheres vanished, as did the vaulted ceiling overhead, revealing clouds decorated pink and purple by the setting sun. Though she hadn’t been able to locate the sun because of the illusory ceiling, the light levels had diminished in the past half hour of practicing, so she already expected dusk. Bardain had forced her to continue well into the twilight, wanting her to get some practice in reduced lighting conditions.
“Tomorrow you’ll face some proper targets,” Bardain said.
“Looking forward to it,” Rhea said. “Shooting AR spheres gets a bit… monotonous after a while.”
“Oh, you’ll still be facing virtual targets,” Bardain said. “They’ll just be a bit bigger. Also, expect to do some dodging in return: tomorrow will be a full body workout.”
“I’m actually looking forward to that,” she said.
“Of course you are,” he said. “You’re a cyborg. Your bodies tire different than the more human among us. But I’ll let you in on a secret.”
He unzipped his cloak entirely and pushed back the left and right sides to reveal a torso covered in a black T-shirt and matching shorts. His appendages were exposed: in place of legs he had robotic prosthetics. His left arm was also robotic, as was his right, below the elbow. He wore black gloves, hiding his metal hands.
“I’m more machine than human,” Bardain said.
Rhea was speechless for a moment. Then: “You were in the Ganymede war?”
“No.” Bardain chuckled sadly. “I used to be a salvager.”
“Ah,” she said.
“Little bit of advice,” he continued. “Once you’ve paid your debt to Will, get out. He’s been lucky so far, but that’s because he’s only been doing this for a few years now. Eventually his luck is going to run out. It always does out there. All it takes is one mistake to lose a limb, or a life.”
Rhea regarded her teacher uncertainly. “But Will told me he’s been salvaging for most of his life. Not just a few years. Unless that was a lie.”
“Not a lie, but he only recently started traveling the Outlands, roving from city to city in his quest for salvage,” Bardain explained. “Up until a few years ago he kept strictly to Rust Town’s immediate surroundings, so that if any serious danger came, a quick dash back to the safety of the settlement—and the waiting sentries—would save him. That, or the defense turrets rimming the walkways of Aradne, ready to roast anything that might get past Rust Town’s meager defenses.”
“You’re talking bandits?” she asked.
“Worse,” Bardain replied. “Hasn’t Will told you?”
“No,” she said.
Bardain shrugged. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Feel free to look up ‘Creatures of the Outlands’ if you want an early primer. In the meantime, radio your friends. You can rest in my sitting room while you wait, if you wish.”
She notified Will that she was finished, and then glanced up. Gizmo was still there, hovering dutifully.
She took up Bardain’s offer, so that in a few minutes she found herself waiting in the spartan foyer of the lean-to. There was a chair, a small guest table, and nothing else. The inner door that led to the rest of the house was closed, as was the door to the outside—well, those doors were more hatches, really, complete with wheels to open them. There were no windows, either. She supposed visitors were expected to browse the Net while they waited.
And browse she did. She performed the search Bardain had suggested and discovered there were indeed far worse things than mere bandits and highwaymen out there. Actual horrors roamed the Outlands, though admittedly they were usually found away from populated areas, as the creatures had learned that traveling too close to the settlements was bad for their health. The monsters were escaped bioweapons, loosed by various warring nations over the years. These biologically engineered entities were manufactured using a variety of different techniques, some of which included combining several aggressive traits from disparate species into a single creature, as well as reactivating ancient, latent genes—such as the vestiges many bird species carried from their dinosaur forebears.
The original owners had long since lost control of these entities, which had only further mutated over the centuries as they battled amongst themselves until only the strongest survived. The bioweapons had been restricted to isol
ated pockets throughout the world, hiding underground and in cave systems, but when half the world’s cities were destroyed, creating the Outlands, the bioweapon population unsurprisingly boomed.
It didn’t help that in the early years after the destruction, Earth had devoted all of its resources to hunting down the Ganymedeans, ignoring the budding problem on its very doorstep. By the time the Earth’s military could pay the problem any attention, the bioweapons had reached critical mass—it was essentially too late to cull them all. The people of the Earth had to find a way to peacefully coexist with the bioweapons. That meant shoring up the defenses of their cities and staying mostly within the limits of said urban areas, traveling only by air otherwise—so far man still ruled the skies.
After reading about the monsters of the Outlands, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a salvager after all, now. Not even for the few months it would take to pay off her debt.
But she had already agreed. She couldn’t go back on her word, even if it meant facing something so terrifying.
And she’d signed a contract.
I’m pretty much screwed.
“Greetings,” Horatio’s voice over the comm heralded his arrival. Glancing at her overhead map, she saw his blue dot was just outside the door. She’d lost track while viewing the Net presentations on the bioweapons.
“Horatio is here,” Rhea called to Bardain, and got up.
She’d lowered her hood while waiting, but she raised it anew to open the door. She realized she didn’t have access to the door’s security interface and had to wait patiently until Bardain remotely unlocked it.
Horatio stood before her in the night, the robotic body silhouetted by glow lamps deployed at various intervals in the street behind.
The inner door opened behind her and Bardain appeared, his cloak zipped tight.
“So, how did she do?” Horatio asked.
“Let’s just say,” Bardain began, “I’m going to have to charge you a little more than I originally quoted.”
“That bad, huh?” Horatio said. But then the robot added gleefully: “Well, that’s okay, we’ll add it to her debt.”
Bardain shut the door behind her when she left.
Rhea followed Horatio between the pools of light created by the glow lamps. Gizmo followed along overhead, invisible in the dark, but still tracked by her overhead map.
She stayed close to Horatio and pulled her hood tighter as she surveyed the dark streets around her. She concentrated on the alleyways but allowed her gaze to linger on the different rooftops as well, given the versatile nature of the creatures she had only just learned about.
There are no monsters here, she told herself. Only men. No monsters. Only men.
Well, and cyborgs.
The streets were relatively dead. The delivery drones had ceased operating for the night, and there were very few of the smaller, insect drones buzzing about. There was no foot traffic.
When they were a short way from the house, Rhea looked away from the dark alleyways and rooftops long enough to tell Horatio: “I’m not sure I want to be a salvager anymore.”
“Master Bardain revealed the bioweapons to you already, did he?” Horatio commented.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. “I asked what those huge defense turrets surrounding the perimeter of Aradne were for, and Will claimed it was to defend against roving gangs of bandits.”
“We didn’t want to scare you,” Horatio said.
“Didn’t want me to refuse to sign your contract more like,” Rhea said.
“You had already signed by then,” Horatio reminded her.
She folded her arms. “Yes, well, now I’m understanding why you didn’t have anything to say earlier when I mentioned that the terms of the contract seemed fair to me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually mind… I’m looking forward to doing this. I just think a little heads-up would have been good, that’s all.”
“I understand,” Horatio said. “And I apologize. But don’t worry, Bardain’s going to be teaching you all the tactics and techniques you’ll need against these bioweapons, focusing on evasion tactics. He trained Will, who in turn taught me, and look at how well it’s served us. You’re in good hands. There’s nothing to fear.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she commented. “You’re an AI. You don’t know fear.”
“On the contrary,” Horatio said. “I don’t want to die, like most of my kind. Being self-aware does that to you, you know…”
She conceded the point.
“Besides,” Horatio continued. “You’ll have me and Will to protect you out there when the crêpes hit the fan.”
“The crêpes?” she asked, confused.
“Sorry, a figure of speech,” Horatio replied. “I guess I thought it would survive the mind wipe, like the rest of your language skills.”
“No, it survived,” she said. “Though I was trying to figure out why you used the word crêpes. This is all some big joke to you?”
“Excuse my light-hearted attempt at humor,” Horatio implored.
“I can certainly understand why Will tells you not to joke,” she told the robot.
“My comic timing is execrable, isn’t it?” Horatio asked.
“You got that right,” she agreed.
She remained silent for the remainder of the journey, and thankfully so did Horatio. She kept an eye on her surroundings and was relieved when the foot traffic picked up slightly. People were going out for the evening and visiting various restaurants that had set up shop in the former market district. So not everyone was as averse to going out as she had previously thought. Then again, the delivery drone activity had picked up, and there was a constant stream of them flitting to and from the more popular spots.
Horatio turned onto a gloomy side road—half the glow lamps servicing it had apparently blown out. After several paces, the robot stopped before one of the few well-lit buildings—essentially a stack of cargo containers.
“We’re here, Will,” Horatio sent.
“I’ll ping the owner,” Will replied over the comm.
Horatio glanced at Rhea. “It’s a private residence. Will found it on HourlyBnb. He’s booked separate rooms for each of us.”
Rhea did a Net look-up on HourlyBnb, and learned it was an app people could use to find extremely short-term room rentals, usually leased out by the hour courtesy of the homeowners. These particular rentals were sometimes referred to as “love hotels” because they were often utilized by ladies of the night and their clientele. Rhea wondered why Will would rent a place such as this, though she suspected the reasons were entirely financial.
“I have a question for you, Will,” Rhea transmitted. “How much is this training of mine going to add to my debt?”
Will took a moment to respond. Then: “Horatio broke the news, did he? Well, you’ll be happy to know Master Bardain won’t be charging more than thirty creds.” When she didn’t answer, he apparently took her silence for disapproval, because he added: “Hey, we’re bettering you in the ways of self-defense and teaching you the important skill of Outlands survival. That’s something you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. Or at least until your next mind wipe!” He waited, as if expecting her to laugh. Several seconds passed, and when she remained quiet, he appended: “Sorry, that was insensitive of me. Anyway, this training is well worth the time and effort you’re putting in, and any debt you might accrue along the way. Believe me.”
She wasn’t sure that shooting at random augmented reality spheres under Bardain’s tutelage was any better than playing with some random target practice app she could download from the Net. But she held her tongue, instead saying: “You don’t mind waiting in the settlement while I train?”
“Of course not, we need you trained if you’re going to be of any use to us,” Will sent. “Besides, I’ve been in the Outlands for over a month with only Horatio for company. Sure, he’s a great robot and all, but eventually you start to grow tired of talking to the s
ame AI all the time, you know? We’ve heard all our stories multiple times, and they’re starting to grow a little stale. I deserve a little break from my robot friend now and then… a chance to forget about the Outlands and indulge in the luxuries of civilization for a few nights. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. Hey, did those bleepers open the front door for you yet? I’m going to ping the owner again.”
Horatio glanced at Rhea. “He’s right. Things have been a little… stale… between us lately. It’s going to be good to have some new blood on the team.”
“I’m probably only staying until I’ve repaid my debt,” Rhea said.
“We’ll see,” Horatio replied.
The door finally clicked open, and Gizmo took up a guard position on a nearby rooftop.
Rhea exchanged a glance with Horatio, and then the robot led the way inside. A wide, floor-to-ceiling cylinder dominated the center of the room; past it, a couch was shoved against the far wall, with a small, empty coffee table arranged beside it. A trashcan-shaped robot attendant next to the table extended a telescoping limb toward the wall above the couch.
“Please proceed to your designated rooms,” the attendant said in a monotonous voice.
There was nothing on that wall, so Rhea momentarily reenabled public AR access. Sure enough, a virtual diagram overlaid her vision, and appeared to hang from that wall. It seemed to represent the home’s cargo containers: five stacked rectangles lay one atop the other, with a tube passing down the middle through all of them.
“Horatio is in room B, Rhea room C,” the robot clarified.
Rhea glanced at the diagram and saw the appropriately labeled rooms.
“Where are you, Will?” she sent.
“D,” Will replied.
According to the diagram, that was just above her own.
