by Isaac Hooke
“Do we wait for him?” Horatio asked.
Will pursed his lips. “Hell with it, let’s go.”
He started walking from the tree. Horatio joined him.
“Wait!” Rhea said. She hurried after him and glanced over her shoulder at the man. “Don’t you want to know who he is?”
“Nope,” Will said.
She was still looking over her shoulder, so that when the man leaped the rest of the way to the ground—six stories—she saw it. So much for trying to hide his strength. His body, or at least his legs, were definitely stronger than her own, if he could withstand an impact from that height without his servos complaining in the least.
“He’s here,” Rhea hissed under breath.
The other two turned to face him.
The man’s hood was raised, like Rhea’s, so that the upper half of his face remained concealed in shadow. He was tall, towering even, and the brawny curves highlighted by those tight-fitting clothes hinted at an extremely muscular physique underneath. How much of that muscle was natural versus artificial she couldn’t say, though she suspected he was a full body replacement cyborg like herself. If so, the muscles were likely sculpted that way to appear intimidating, as the power of a robotic limb did not necessarily correlate to its size.
“Are you a bandit?” Will asked, pistol in hand, though still lowered.
The man didn’t reply. Rhea’s eyes drifted to the rifle that protruded from his back, then to the formidable blades tipping his long tail.
The man smiled. “In a way, I am.”
“Do you mean us harm?” Horatio pressed.
Another delay. Finally: “No.”
“Of course he’s going to say no,” Will scolded his robot companion. He returned his attention to the man. “Great meeting you and all, dude. That’s some sweet cybernetics you got going on there with the tail. But we’re going to be on our way.”
The man pursed his lips. His hooded head turned toward Rhea. “You saved me. Why?”
“I wasn’t going to watch you die,” Rhea said. “Not when there was a chance I could help you.”
“But you yourself could have died in the process,” the man said.
“I know,” she said.
Rhea noticed the cyborg’s hands were balled, the knuckles white. He was tense. Very tense.
He’s getting ready to attack.
Rhea steeled herself…
But then the man relaxed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly, and his fingers uncurling. He reached up to lower his hood, revealing a human face stamped onto a cranium that was all metal—upon seeing the latter, she decided he was most likely a full body replacement cyborg after all. His features were hard, and somewhat aristocratic thanks to that bold nose and thick brow. He was handsome in a way, though on second thought a blade could be called handsome, too.
“I will accompany you,” he told them. “At least until we’re out of these woods. We need to stick together for the time being. Because as you said, the Werangs will be back.”
Bardain had told her that Werangs never abandoned kills for very long. Not if they could help it. Apparently, that was common lore among Outlanders.
“Do you know what those things were?” Rhea asked. “The creatures that scared them off?”
“Nope,” the man replied.
“We don’t want you traveling with us,” Will said. “Nor do we need you. We have enough firepower.”
Horatio glanced at him sidelong. “We could always use more.”
“I said we have enough,” Will insisted.
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned to go.
“Let him come,” Rhea interjected quickly. “We might need his rifle yet. You saw how well he defended himself out there.” She nodded at the Werang corpses around the base of the oak.
Will frowned, and seemed about to refuse her, but when he glanced at the carcasses, he seemed to have a change of heart. He returned his attention to the man. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“You can call me Sebastian,” the cyborg said.
“All right, well, you can follow us until we’re out of these woods,” Will said. “But we’ve delayed long enough… we really have to move!” He gestured toward the forest to the north. “Lead the way.”
Sebastian took off at a jog, and the others followed. They kept their distance from the man, not wanting to get too close to that tail with its razor-sharp blades. Sebastian drew his rifle from where it was holstered on his back and kept it at the ready in case of attack.
Overhead, Gizmo flew in accompaniment, scouting the path forward.
Rhea heard distant howling coming from the southwest. The Werangs were already on the way back.
“They’ll send a scout to track our scents,” Horatio said.
Will nodded. “We’ll have to kill it if it catches up with us. I’ll have Gizmo alternate between forward and aft positions.”
In her mind’s eye, Rhea could already see the Werang scout advancing underneath the dead trees, all spider-like with those tentacles as it felt out the path the party had taken.
She shuddered and increased her pace.
16
Rhea kept a watchful eye on the leafless skeletons of those trees as they proceeded north. She gazed between them, into the depths of the forest, searching for enemies. The drifts were extremely small here, and they were more on the northern side of the trees, than the east. The small drift sizes were good, because it meant she could see farther without obstruction.
The party had switched to a march after they’d moved well away from the Werangs so that they could better watch their surroundings for signs of ambush. Plus, the lower pace was easier on Will. He was the only true human among them, after all.
Gizmo continued to alternate between the forward and aft positions, but so far didn’t catch sight of any Werang scouts in pursuit, or any other potential adversaries, for that matter. Sometimes the drone had to swoop low to properly inspect areas hidden by the lifeless branches of the trees, to ensure bandits or bioweapons weren’t lurking underneath. There was no guarantee Gizmo would catch everything, of course, hence the general state of alert for everyone involved. The Kargs that had escaped slaughter at the hands—or paws, rather—of the Werangs were still out here, after all.
That was one of the problems of traveling through a forest: while it provided ample places for the party members to conceal themselves if trouble came, it afforded the same benefits to their predators. At the moment, the team wasn’t at all concerned with finding salvage—they just wanted to get out of this forest alive. Not that there was anything to salvage here away.
Rhea glanced at her overhead map. “We’re not going to reach the edge of the forest before nightfall.”
“No,” Will agreed. “We’ll have to camp, at some point.”
“Not looking forward to that,” she said, eying the claw-like branches of a nearby tree with a shudder. She walked in silence for a moment. Then: “The hotspot map was wrong."
Will nodded. “The data for this area was stale by a few months. Bioweapon hotspots are always changing. They’re nomadic creatures. Best we salvagers can do is record their current location when we spot them, plot their course, and move on, hoping our data helps the next passerby. When we reach a settlement with Net access, we’ll update the hotspot map with our own results. Crowdsourcing at its finest.”
She considered something. “So, everyone has access to the hotspot data, and can change it? Like a wiki?”
“No, only registered salvagers and Outland travelers can edit it,” Will said.
“So, no one ever lies about a hotspot?” she pressed.
Will frowned. “Well, not only would that put the lives of other salvagers at risk but lying about the location of bioweapons is actually an offense punishable by law. So not only is it morally reprehensible, it’s illegal.”
“But it still happens,” Rhea said.
“Yes,” Will admitted. “Occasionally highwaymen will
send one of their own into a settlement and have them register as a salvager. They’ll create a misleading hotspot to divert other salvagers and travelers toward their territory, with the hopes of robbing them blind. It should be noted that the hotspot registrars maintain a network of drones to verify different hotspot sightings when reported. Unfortunately, the bandits usually shoot down such drones when they arrive at the fake site, which makes the hotspot seem all the more real. But I doubt that was the case here, since we were attacked by bioweapons, not bandits. No, we were just unlucky.”
She glanced at Sebastian, who still had the lead. “Should we let him on our private network?”
“I suppose,” Will said. “In case we need to keep track of one another or communicate in silence when bioweapons are around. I’ll set up a new network for him and keep the original private, so we can still communicate among ourselves if need-be.”
“I’ve noted that the two of you are speaking quietly,” Horatio said. “Likely with the intention of preventing our new friend from eavesdropping on you. But you should note, most cyborgs have enhanced hearing. He’s likely heard every word you’ve spoken.”
“It’s not like we’ve been discussing anything top secret,” Rhea said.
“No, but you’ve admitted you plan to keep a private channel,” Horatio said.
Will eyed the long-tailed cyborg. “I think, if this Sebastian had any brains, he’d be expecting us to do so already.” Will’s eyes defocused slightly as he walked, and then he said: “Yo, Cyborg Monkey, got a new private line for you. Accept.”
From his position on point, Sebastian glanced askance at Will, and then the cyborg’s dot on the overhead map became a darker blue. Sebastian was now officially sharing his position. Rhea saw two network indicators in the upper right of her vision, denoting the two separate channels Will had set up. The one shared with Sebastian was muted.
They continued for another hour, until Gizmo, on one of the drone’s forward excursions, reported a crashed flyer ahead.
“Looks to be in relatively good shape,” Will said as he examined the video feed. “Finally, some decent salvage.”
“Is it really the greatest idea to stop for parts when there are Kargs and Werangs stalking us in the forest?” Rhea asked.
“We can spare ten minutes,” Will replied. “Besides, so far Gizmo has reported no bioweapons in pursuit.”
“So far,” Rhea concurred. “And while we might’ve outrun them for now, if we stop, we give any pursuers a chance to catch up.”
“Trust me, if Werangs were following, they’d have caught up by now, given our pace,” Will said.
“A pace we’re keeping mostly due to you,” Horatio reminded the human.
Will didn’t answer.
In a few moments they reached the downed flyer. It had carved a runnel into the earth behind it, stopping when it crashed into the treeless skeleton of a large oak. Rhea was surprised the tree hadn’t been knocked over.
“Keep watch,” Will told her.
“No, I’m earning my due this time,” she said. “Gizmo will keep watch. And our new friend. I call dibs on the engine compartment.”
“You’re really going to waste time picking apart this wreck?” Sebastian asked them.
Will shrugged. “Hey, we’re salvagers. Ten minutes, dude.”
Sebastian grunted, and then proceeded to the perimeter to watch as he had been asked.
Rhea climbed onto the crumpled hood and ripped the heavy covering away. She tossed it aside, then lowered her backpack onto the engine next to her and got to work.
“This looks like a recent crash,” Rhea said, disconnecting the power cell and shoving it into her pack.
“Yes.” Will was under the dash. Above him, the entire roof of the flyer was missing, having been lost in the crash. “And quite a spacious model of flyer, too. Probably a rich family from Aradne.”
“I found the model in my archives,” Horatio told them from where he lay on the ground beside the flyer. He was dismantling a side panel. “Transmitting schematics and specs.”
Rhea accepted the share request and pulled up a diagram of the engine compartment.
“What happened to the occupants?” she asked absently as she looked over the diagram. She was looking for the most valuable parts.
“The city’s automated rescue system would have sent a flyer to retrieve any survivors—or dead bodies—when the craft vanished from radar,” Will replied. “You don’t have to worry about them being eaten by bioweapons or anything.”
“Assuming the rescuers got here first,” Rhea said.
“True,” Will conceded.
Rhea focused on removing a small, palm-sized object nestled between the engine and the frame. According to the schematic, it was used for navigational purposes, and contained a bunch of valuable components such as gyroscopes and accelerometers.
As she worked, she had a thought, and scanned the nearby forest nervously. “Am I the only one who finds it odd everything is still intact? Nearby bandits would have seen the crash…”
“Evidently there were none nearby. Scared away by the bioweapons.” Will sat up from behind the dash. In his hands he held the vehicle’s plasma ignition mechanism. He promptly shoved it into his pack.
“How long does it take rescue systems to reach a crash site?” she asked.
“At this distance from the city, about half an hour,” Horatio answered.
“Oh,” Rhea said. So, it had probably been several days, at least, since the crash. More than enough time for any nearby bandits to loot the site. Rhea probably didn’t have anything to worry about then. Well, other than an attack from bioweapons.
She surveyed the surrounding trees a while longer, then returned her attention to the wreckage. Gizmo and Sebastian were keeping watch, after all, and she had a debt to chip away at.
They spent more than the promised ten minutes at the site. In fact, a good half hour had passed before they were on their way again. Rhea was as much to blame as any of them, having lost herself inside that engine. But she consoled herself in the knowledge that she had taken as many valuable parts from it as possible.
“You know you’ve become a true salvager when not even the threat of a bioweapon attack can pry you away from a valuable wreckage,” Will said.
“Maybe I’m just someone who wants to repay her debts,” Rhea countered.
“We’re close to a bioweapon hotspot,” Will said. “And yet when you were inside that engine, picking at the parts, you can’t tell me you weren’t completely absorbed in your work. In fact, when I suggested leaving, you pressed for more time.”
“So did Horatio,” she said. “And again, it doesn’t mean I’ve become a salvager. Just means I want to earn enough to get out.”
He gave her a dubious look. “I see. And what are you going to do when you pay off that debt?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll decide then. Maybe fly drones for a living.”
“Fly drones?” Will said. “There’s no money in that. Who’s going to pay you to fly a drone, when all the drone-related work is automated.”
“Not drone racing,” Rhea said.
Will laughed. “Yeah, well, you’d have to join the cyborg league, because of your ‘gifts.’ And let’s just say, the competition is a little stiff.”
Rhea sighed. “All right. Fine. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But it won’t be this.”
“If you say so,” Will told her. He walked on in silence, keeping an eye on the dead trees. “I suppose you could make a decent living by streaming. Though it’s going to take time to gain followers. You’d basically have to win a competition first, before anyone bothers to watch your stream. It’s not all that different from the life of a pro gamer. You’ll spend years toiling in obscurity, until one day you finally get lucky and win some big competition. Then the viewers will start rolling in, along with the big bucks. At least until you mess up and say something your sponsors don’t like, and you get banned from the s
treaming networks.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a taste of the life,” she said.
“I have friends who stream, yes,” Will said. “They’ve both had to reinvent themselves twice, using digital avatars to change their identities in realtime, and registering on the networks via proxy companies so that they could get paid. Maybe I’ll hook you up with them when this is done, if you decide this life isn’t for you.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said.
Their conversation fizzled out, and they continued marching in silence.
Sebastian remained in the lead, which suited Rhea and the others—they wanted to keep an eye on him.
Day became evening, and evening, twilight. As night fell, the party made camp under the eaves of a particularly wide oak. When it had lived, it would have made a spectacular specimen. However even in death the tree was impressive, those far-reaching branches like the talons of some giant eagle scrunched up around them.
She activated silhouette mode so that the others appeared outlined in blue on her HUD in the night. It allowed her to keep an eye on Sebastian, who sat apart from the others.
Rhea and Will took their food pills. Rhea had a 90-10: a pill composed of ninety percent fat and ten percent protein. She downed it with a swig from her canteen. She was surprised at how little water she needed. She supposed it was because she excreted so very little of it. Will, meanwhile, as a human, wore special attachments underneath his outfit to recycle most of the liquid from his own excretions. From those attachments, tubes led out from underneath his uniform and into his belt, diverting water into his canteen, while the processed waste was sent to a small, boxlike refuse container. Every three days or so he detached the latter and emptied it, sending a plume of black dust—dried fecal particles—floating away upon the wind.
When she had finished, she glanced at Sebastian’s outline and raised her voice. “When we asked if you were a bandit earlier, you admitted you were, ‘in a way.’ What did you mean?”
The man didn’t answer. He simply sat there, several meters away, his tail coiled up in front of him; he seemingly stared at the deadly blades marking the tip, or at their outline, at least.
