by M. D. Cooper
Rika wished that she had managed to save enough money to reconstruct her nethers. If she had been able to have sex, she would have taken Chase right then and there in the back of the bar.
Though that was not possible, it didn’t seem to diminish Chase’s hunger for her, and they pleasured one another as much as they could. Eventually Rika felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see one of the bar’s staff.
“We’re closing up now,” the woman said, her smile not unkind. “You two lovebirds are going to have to take that somewhere else.”
“Ah, shit,” Chase sighed. “I was hoping we were stuck in some sort of temporal disturbance, and this could last forever.”
“Well,” Rika said as she gently ran a steel finger down Chase’s chest. “There’s always tomorrow night.”
“C’mon, guys, I gotta clean up,” the woman said.
“OK, OK,” Chase said as Rika stood and helped him to his feet. “Damn, girl, you’re not even tipsy.”
“Takes a bit more than a dozen beers to set me back,” Rika said with a giggle. A giggle!
She helped Chase walk out of the bar and onto the docking ring. They both took a long breath, soaking in the myriad scents of Dekar’s ring, and Rika smiled.
Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.
Chase took her hand—growing steadier as they walked—and led her toward the maglev station.
“Why don’t you come back to my place?” he asked as they reached the platform.
“Oh, stars, Chase,” Rika whispered. “I can’t think of a damn thing I’d rather do right now. But your shift starts in six hours, and I need to put in some extra time to get caught up with Pierce.”
“Fucking work. I’d rather work at fucking,” Chase grinned.
Rika’s face fell; the sorrow she thought was gone crept up on her once more.
Chase stepped forward, a look of concern on his face. “Oh, shit, sorry, Rika. I know you can’t, and I’m perfectly OK with that. I’m into you. All of you, the total package.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t you worry about that at all.”
They kissed again.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Chase said, and boarded the next maglev car as it pulled up. She watched him take a seat, still a bit wobbly, and then the train whisked him away.
A smile tugged at Rika’s lips, and she let it spread across her face. Have I found love? Is it just the alcohol, or does Chase really feel so strongly about me?
Though he didn’t start asking her to Krueger’s till she had a face, he had always been nice to her. But she had thought maybe he just had a fetish for mech girls.
She chuckled. Maybe he did, but his affection for her seemed genuine; if he got turned on by her machine parts, maybe that was just fine. They weren’t going anywhere soon, anyway.
A thought occurred to her about Chase’s invitations to the bar. Maybe he didn’t invite me before I had a face because I wasn’t able to drink! Was his change in behavior more to do with compassion than an appreciation that was only skin-deep?
How did I stumble across someone so amazing in a place like Dekar?
Rika turned and walked back onto the docking ring’s main sweep, whistling a tune—so happy that even the thought of sixteen hours in Hal’s Hell couldn’t put a dent in her joy.
“Rika!” a voice called out from behind her, and she turned to see a dozen men and women approaching. The joy that had filled her so fully evaporated in an instant, replaced by dread.
These were Pierce’s enforcers.
“Pierce wants to see you,” one of the men said. “You’re late, and it’s time to pay up.”
“What? No!” Rika cried out, taking a step back. “I’m just a week late, and I get paid after my shift today! I’ll be square!”
“Too late,” one of the women said with a cruel grimace. “Come quietly. You may be tough, but we’re ready for you. Won’t be like when you fought Denny and his asswipes.”
Rika could see that. Every member of the group was armored and held serious weapons—not to mention net-casters.
She lowered her head and nodded. “OK, lead the way.”
“Good call,” The first man said, and the group formed a box around her, marching her back to the maglev station.
They took a train halfway around the docking ring and then led Rika through a maze of corridors until they came to a manufacturing district.
Rika was led into a warehouse, past stacks of crates, to a small office along one wall. Standing in the entrance to the office was Pierce.
“Rika, Rika, Rika; what am I to do with you?” Pierce asked, her ruby-red lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
“Pierce!” Rika said. “I tried to tell your people I’m getting paid today. I was going to work a double to get enough money. You’ll get it today, I promise!”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Pierce said with a chuckle. “I know I will. Hal will turn over what pay is owed you, but your time slinging cargo is over. You see, you misread our contract.”
Rika frowned. The contract had been simple—just one screen. It had outlined the amount of debt, the transference from other lenders, and the payment schedule. What could she have missed?
“I can see that you’re confused,” Pierce chuckled. “I’ll admit I did it deliberately. You see, there was a clause in there—a particular form of legalese used here on Dekar—that means if you fall more than a week behind…well…I own you.”
Pierce finished the statement with a broad smile and spread her arms wide.
Rika felt like she’d been hit by a tank. “Own?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, ‘own’. I gotta say, I love the Nietzscheans. They don’t endorse slavery, but they figure if you’re dumb enough to get made a slave, then that’s all you’re good for,” Pierce replied, and let out another throaty laugh before continuing. “Now, I normally don’t care for owning people. Messy business. People have all these needs, and you have to care for them; the ones dumb enough to get made slaves usually aren’t worth it.”
Pierce stepped forward, her eyes walking down Rika’s body and then back up, boring into Rika’s eyes.
“But you…you are a prize worth having. An SMI-2 scout mech. Top of the line. Sure, you don’t have a lot of your military hardware anymore, but you have the internal mods and augmentations. I know; I saw the recordings of the fight with Denny and his pack of morons. You’re not a woman, honey; you’re a weapons platform. One that people are willing to spend top dollar to get their hands on.”
“What?!” Rika shrieked as Pierce’s words sunk in. “You’re going to sell me?”
“Yup! Auction’s tomorrow. I could have nabbed you sooner, but I figured I’d let you work your last few days with Hal so I could collect your pay.” Pierce tapped her head. “Always thinking, always taking opportunities. Not like you, Rika. You may have been great at war, but you suck at life. There were opportunities all around you; you could have been a queen on Dekar, but you allowed yourself to be chattel. Being a slave is your lot, little Rika. You’re just a killing machine, and there’s a lot of killing that needs to be done out there.”
Rika’s vision swam as rage filled her. She would not be sold; she would not kill on another’s orders ever again.
Of her own volition, though—now that was another story entirely.
She took a swing at Pierce, but the woman had been ready for it, and danced back as a series of pulse blasts hammered into Rika from behind. Then one of the net-casters fired, and Rika was wrapped in carbon-fiber strands.
“You fucking bitch!” Rika screamed. “I’ll kill you for this! Kill you! You hear me? I’m going to tear you limb from limb!”
“Rika!” Pierce said with mock concern. “You always seemed so calm, so levelheaded.” Then Pierce’s brow lowered, and a wicked smile spread across her lips. “I’m glad there’s still a killer in there, though. That’ll bring top dollar for sure.”
Rika struggled against the net, feeling it begin to give against t
he power that surged through her limbs. “Better run, Pierce,” she grunted as a part of the net tore open. “I—”
Her words were cut short as she felt a stinging sensation in her neck. She reached up and pulled out a tranq-dart, then yanked more of the net apart and climbed to her feet, fighting the waves of dizziness that threatened to topple her.
“I—” she began to speak, but two more darts hit her, and then a fourth.
She took a step, but the ground was in the wrong place; she realized that the darts contained nano, not drugs. Her foot seemed to be floating above the ground, and then her face smashed into the deck.
Pierce approached and leaned over, her face close to Rika’s.
“Should never have got your face back, Mech A71F. It made you weak, and exploiting weakness is what I do best.”
Rika tried to reach out and grab Pierce, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. As her vision went black, she heard Pierce issue an order to someone nearby.
“Get a compliance chip back in her. I want her under control for the auction.”
AUCTION
STELLAR DATE: 07.02.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Pierce’s Warehouse, Dekar Station
REGION: Outer Rim of Parsons System, Nietzschean Empire
Rika woke with a start, as though the nanotech suppressing her conscious mind had shut off at a pre-programed time—which was probably the case.
The room she was in was small and spare, with a few crates stacked along the walls, and a door to her right.
She tried to move and realized that she was mounted on a rack; its hooks set into the hardpoints on her back. Rika considered attempting to tear herself off it when she felt a familiar tingle in her mind.
A compliance chip.
The vague memory of Pierce ordering someone to install a new one came to her, and Rika let loose a string of curses that would have impressed even her most foulmouthed teammates back in the military.
Rika didn’t have anything to say to the woman speaking in her mind. Nothing that wouldn’t make her sound like a raving lunatic, at least.
Rika seethed but she didn’t respond, and she felt Pierce leave her mind a moment later.
Her thoughts drifted to the previous night, to her time in Chase’s arms. Why did I wait so long? To just have one night of happiness, and now to descend back into hell was too much, far too much.
Rika forced herself to calm down, taking deep breaths, remembering how she used to make her mind go still—how she would focus on a point of light within herself, and push away all her fears.
It was working, sort of, when the door opened, and two of Pierce’s guards entered wearing powered armor. She suspected that they weren’t taking any chances.
One stood in front of her and smiled. “You’re a serious piece of gear, Rika. I was half-hoping that Pierce would keep you around. I bet folks wouldn’t miss a payment if they knew you were coming by.”
“Yeah, but you saw all the people interested in her lot. Boss said she’d give everyone on the takedown team half a percent. That’s gonna be some serious coin.”
“Hey,” the first guard said as he released the locks on the rack and pushed it toward the door. “I said ‘half-hoping’.”
The other guard chuckled as he held the door open, and Rika considered reaching out and slamming his head against the door frame, but thought better of it as the tingle of discipline rose up in the back of her head once more.
The guards wheeled her down a short hall and then through a doorway and onto a raised platform.
Rika realized that she was still in the same warehouse as the night before, but the stacks of crates had been moved to create room for the nearly one hundred people who were gathered in front of the platform.
Some sat in rows of chairs, while others stood behind the seats and along the sides of the room. Each held a sheet of plas with a number on it, and Rika could see that many were adjusting their posture, readying to raise their plas in the air.
Humiliation flooded through Rika; to be wheeled out on the platform like she was a thing—which is exactly how they viewed her—was almost too much to bear.
Only the memory of the previous night kept her from breaking down. Chase saw her as human, as a person. That meant she was, no matter what these people thought.
“You can see here that we have a fine specimen of Genevian mech technology, manufactured at the height of the war, with all the latest enhancements government money can buy,” the auctioneer began, smiling as he walked in front of Rika and gestured to her body.
“It has augmented muscles, an upgraded skeletal system, military neural mods, and,” the auctioneer gave a soft chuckle, “a compliance chip.”
The sound of soft laughter came back from the crowd, and Rika grimaced, turning her head to the side.
“Don’t let her demure attitude fool you,” the auctioneer cautioned. “You have all seen her combat record, and the footage of the recent fight on Dekar. Mech A71F is top-notch and ready to roll.”
The pair of guards walked back onto the stage, carrying a crate between them. They set it down next to Rika, out of her field of vision, and began to open it.
“But that’s not all!” the auctioneer cried out. “The seller has managed to secure an OEM multi-function weapons mount for our little mech, here.
One of the guards stood holding the tool necessary to remove Rika’s limbs. He slotted it into her left arm and released the locking bolts, sliding them out and slipping them into a pocket. He gave a twist, and pulled.
Her days in the military flooded back—the numerous techs who had repaired and rebuilt her time and again. She chuckled. “Gotta twist it a bit harder than that, you fucking squishie.”
There were a few chuckles from the crowd, and the man flushed, giving her a dirty look. He twisted again, harder this time, and her arm came free. Rika stared down at the stub of a limb that remained.
The man lifted up a weapons mount attachment, complete with a GNR-41C sniper rifle, and slid it onto her arm, twisting hard in the other direction.
The new appendage clicked into place, and Rika saw the weapons specs and loadout appear on her HUD as the guard slid the locking rods through.
“Look at that!” the auctioneer cried out. “Is that a war machine, or what?”
Rika saw nods of approval and shook her head. “Except that I’m a fucking lefty. I need this hand for a handheld weapon. You got a gun mount for the wrong arm.”
“I imagine you’ll adapt,” the auctioneer said, and shrugged before turning back to the crowd. “Let’s start the bidding at fifty-thousand Nietzschean credits!”
Rika knew he’d start there. It was the amount she owed Pierce and, by law on Dekar, bidding had to start at the amount owed. Sadly, she would not get to keep any excess.
Plas placards flew up around the room, and the auctioneer continued to raise the bid until it was close to a million credits. Around that point, Rika saw Pierce step out from behind a stack of crates wearing a cheek-splitting grin, and she wished she could get off the rack and tear that smile right off
Pierce’s smarmy face.
As the bid amount closed in on one and a half million credits, many of the bidders fell out of the race. Only two remained.
One was a slender woman with a glowing red tattoo over her right eye, and the other was a cloaked figure in the back of the room, his face shrouded by a hood—though Rika’s enhanced vision could make out a bearded chin and sharp nose beneath the cowl.
The woman bid up to one and a half million, and the auctioneer scanned the room.
“We have one and a half million Nietzschean credits for the SMI-2 mech. Do I hear one point five-five million? Going once…”
“Two million!” the shrouded figure in the back called out.
“Two million Nietzschean credits!” the auctioneer cried out with glee, looking to the woman with the red tattoo. She shook her head and lowered her placard. “Sold to the man with placard number forty seven!” the auctioneer shouted.
The two guards had carried off the crate that held her arm, and now returned to wheel her off the stage.
“Nice haul, Rika!” one of the guards whispered. “Gonna buy a new rifle with my take. Thanks a mil!”
“Or two mil,” the other guard laughed.
They returned her to the small room where she had first awoken. The man who fitted her before pulled out the limb removal tool, and slotted it into her left arm, removing the bolts, and then the multi-function weapons mount and GNR-41C sniper rifle.
Rika hoped against hope that he would put her regular arm back on, but her worst fears were realized when he instead slotted the removal tool into her right arm.
“Hey, you don’t need to do this,” Rika said. “I have the chip; I can’t hurt my…owner.”
“Pierce’s orders,” the man said with a shrug. “I think it’s because she got a really small cryopod for transport. Cheaper that way.”
He pulled off her other arm and then moved to her legs. A few minutes later they were both laying on the floor, and Rika’s HUD switched off the overlays that monitored those systems. It felt empty, seeing the world without all of her peripherals data framing it. Now all that remained was her charge readings and standard bio-data.
