“Bring whatever you see fit,” Amroth said dismissively. “Whatever will bring you peace of mind.”
“Then we will be docking shortly,” Shango said. “Make sure we are brought directly to the girl.”
“Of course,” Amroth confirmed.
The uplink closed abruptly.
“Meet them at the aft, and bring them straight here,” Amroth told the guardsman who stood at his flank. “Take them through the rapid shuttle. Make sure they see as few soldiers as possible along the way.”
“Your will be done,” the soldier gave a firm salute and broke out into a steady run through the Panopticon’s still-open exit.
Amroth eyed Bentley struggling in her chair. He’d expected this girl to be a small stepping stone on the path to his goal, but she’d turned out to be a great deal more.
“At least part of you ought to be proud, girl,” he said to her. “Disloyalty aside, you’ve served LaPlace in a way so much more profound than you could have ever imagined.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Liminal Access Airlock, Connecting to the Geburah
Olofi checked his weaponry one last time as they stood in the airlock, staying aware of that red light that remained above the slider doors while they awaited access. He had three sidearm blasters on him: two on his belt, and one in a shoulder holster connected to the strap that secured his best Langmesser sword to his back.
Loco had braces of throwing knives around each arm this time along with a pair of kukri at his hips, and he hefted Betsy in both hands, lit up and ready to fire at a hair trigger. Even Olofi didn’t know exactly what tricks Shango had brought with him this time.
Both he and Loco had been forced to come to this meeting clad in their damaged combat armor, patched with what hasty repairs Jelly Bean could muster. Even damaged, these were their best sets, after all. Most of the laser burns and blaster holes had been restored and sealed, though certain parts, such as Loco’s recently plasma-stricken shoulder guard, were well beyond his ability to fix right now.
Shango wore a new nanofiber cloak around him, smoother with a metallic finish and a more refined design, contrasting his old one with its weathered, wooly exterior made to deceive foes into mistaking it for ordinary clothing. It wasn’t like any LaPlace soldier would be fooled by that old trick, anyway. He was the one bearing the sword meant for the exchange, clutching it close to his cloaked body while gripping it by the scabbard.
“So we’re all clear on the plan, right?” Loco said. “Full Alamo, no heroics. She’ll have to fend for herself. Focus is on retrieving the sword in the first five.”
“Right,” Olofi looked at him with grim disapproval. “It’s not like this is actually a rescue mission or anything.”
“Hey, we all agreed to this plan, smart guy,” Loco pointed out.
“I was voted down,” Olofi reminded him. “I still think this is reckless.”
“Well, if you want to be Mr. Chivalry and rescue the maiden, be my guest. But that’s just going to fuck things up and you know it.”
Olofi rolled his eyes as the light before them turned from red to green, sliding open the airlock to give them access to the Geburah’s decontamination chamber.
The chamber was LaPlacian state-of-the-art decon, meaning it was seamless. No chemical spray or bright scanners. Just an enclosed glass chamber with a mild scent of ammonia.
“You’ve got a few extra tricks hidden, yeah?” Loco said, leaning in to whisper to Olofi. “I still don’t trust these guys to let us just walk in here with all this firepower.”
“Why are you whispering?” Olofi replied.
“They might have this room bugged,” Loco said. “Don’t want them to know what I’m packing.”
“It’s a LaPlacian warship, Loco.” Olofi answered. “It’s not bugged so much as every wall in this structure has ears. And they’re going to be able to hear you whispering, you know.”
“Well fuck me for trying to be discreet!” Loco said with what seemed like mock offense.
“Since when has that ever been on your agenda?” Olofi quipped back.
“Enough,” Shango said, raising a hand. “Every word uttered in this place is to our foe’s advantage. Use them sparingly.”
“Decontamination complete,” the Geburah’s onboard computer announced in a calm, nuanced, androgynous voice. The glass on the side of the room opposite to them raised to reveal the ship’s receiving room. “Please enter.”
There was already a half-platoon of LaPlace soldiers there to greet them. Olofi spotted five men in total: two riflemen in the back flanks with their weapons ready-trained on the group, two armored DAEMON units, standing close to eight feet tall in their black-and-red exoskeleton systems, and a hooded Dark Knight leading them on point to greet them.
The armored units were tooled for melee, Olofi noted: large combat claws on their left hands and oversized ionblades gripped in their right, unignited but hooked up and clearly ready to be so at moment’s notice.
As soon as he entered the ship proper, Olofi searched for the pair of marksmen he was sure were set up somewhere in the distance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see them at first glance.
“Greetings, Angels,” the dark knight spoke with a honeyed voice with exaggerated enunciation. He pulled off his hood to reveal slicked-back black hair and a pale, youthful looking face that might have been handsome if it wasn’t disfigured with a conspicuous scar that crisscrossed from forehead to jaw on both sizes of his face. “Welcome aboard the Geburah.”
“The fuck are you supposed to be?” Loco answered first. “Where’s Cardboard?”
“Cardboard?” the man looked disarmed by the statement. “I’m sorry, wouldn’t that be better left for another time?”
“He means Amroth,” Olofi explained. “Why isn’t Amroth here for the exchange?”
“The girl, too,” Shango added. “It would make for a poor exchange without her, especially with so many guns trained on us.”
“Apologies,” the dark knight answered almost sincerely. “We take security onboard the Geburah quite seriously, as you could imagine. I am Fourier, and I currently lead Lord Amroth’s honor guard aboard this ship.”
“New guy already?” Loco jeered. “Wow, you guys really don’t last, do you? And I thought our job security sucked.”
Fourier cleared his throat. “In any case, I have been tasked with bringing you to Amroth and his esteemed guest.”
“Can you do that without a pair of blasters trained on us, maybe?” Olofi requested despite already knowing the answer.
“As long as you remain armed on the Geburah, we will have to take necessary precautions,” Fourier replied. With a swish of his cloak he turned to face away from them. The DAEMON units did the same, though the two riflemen held their position. “Come now. My lord will be very displeased if I allow you to be tardy for your meeting.”
“Hey! Who the fuck you think you’re calling tardy?” Loco spat at him.
“Loco… Just…” Olofi shook his head in embarrassment. “Just… Why?”
“Let’s get moving.” Shango began to walk, and the two of them followed close after him, being sure to keep him covered in case they made a sudden move for the sword.
They were marched into a large shuttle platform only a short walk from where they had arrived that shut once Fourier made a signal with his hand.
“Panopticon deck. Portside,” he ordered.
“En route,” the ship’s computer replied. The shuttle began to move. It took all of three seconds before they arrived, and the shuttle’s enclosure melted away to reveal the exterior corridors of the Panopticon deck: Large glass domes, laid into rows and separated by metal partitions. Soldiers high above interacting with consoles and poring over the data on their prisoners.
“See, one thing I don’t get about you guys, and there’s a lot, believe me,” Loco said, loud enough that Fourier could tell he was talking to him. “Is why do you have to be this way? Like, this is the brig, right? Why not ju
st have a brig? Why do you have to be so fucking weird about it with the creepy glass domes?”
“The Panopticons are the crown jewel of LaPlacian onboard correctional and information acquisition facilities technology,” Fourier replied without looking back. “A brig would not meet all necessary specifications.”
“Pretty sure a brig’s a brig,” Loco argued. “Doesn’t matter if you dress it up, it does the same goddamn thing.”
“We’ve arrived,” Fourier announced, clearly relieved to not be engaged in any further discussion. “Lord Amroth and Miss Bentley will see you inside.”
He had led them to the largest of these glass Panopticon domes, with a holographic signifier in front of it that read: “001.” The dome opened up just enough for three men to come in side by side. It also gave enough height that those armored soldiers would have no trouble getting in, Olofi noticed. The three of them entered, and the regiment moved in after them.
Amroth was standing at the other end of the Panopticon’s interior, only a few feet away from Bentley, who was still secured to the chair by the dome’s biometallic security. He was facing her, but looked at the wide reflection in front of him to notice their approach.
“You’re here,” Amroth said, seeming eager to skip the formalities his guardsman valued so much. “Good. Bring me the sword.”
“It’s called a trade, dumbass,” Loco answered. “That’s not how trading works.”
“The girl,” Shango clarified. “Free her and bring her closer.”
“I need to verify that this is, indeed, the sword,” Amroth told them, turning around.
“And we need to see that the girl is safe,” Shango replied.
“She doesn’t look safe to me in that chair,” Olofi added.
Amroth looked past them for a moment, staying silent, then nodded. Fourier marched forward, accompanied by a single soldier, and stood by Bentley.
“Panopticon,” Amroth commanded. “Disable biomechanical restraint systems.”
“Acknowledged,” the Panopticon system said, in a voice distinctly different from the ship’s computer. It was low and oddly grating.
The metallic coils that encased Bentley melted off of her as though they’d turned to water, then collected in a pool at the base of the chair.
“Fffuuuuuck!” Bentley breathed out as she gasped for air when the face plate was no longer obstructing her.
She sprang to her feet.
Fourier quickly reached out to grab one of her arms and pull her towards him, while his accompanying soldier pressed his rifle into her midsection.
“Okay, okay!” Bentley threw up her free hand in surrender. “I get it. I’m a prisoner. Not disputing that. But I’ve been in that thing for hours. My legs and hands are all pins and needles.”
“Walk it off,” Fourier said coldly, dropping all formal pretense. He yanked on her arm and dragged her slightly closer to everyone.
“That’s close enough,” Amroth said after they had come to be thirty paces away from the group. “As you can see, she is fine. Now, for the sword…”
“Of course,” Shango nodded and began to walk towards them. Olofi began to move as well, and saw Loco doing the same, but they were quickly obstructed by the DAEMON units that stepped in front of them to block their way.
Shango met Amroth in the middle of the Panopticon and held out the sword for him. Amroth’s fingers slowly closed around its hilt and scabbard, one finger at a time, as though he too anticipated some kind of reaction on contact. Then he pulled it back and drew it to examine the blade.
“Hm,” Amroth mused. “You have certainly met your end of the bargain.”
“Yes,” Shango said. “We have.”
The two of them locked eyes. Olofi could feel the tension in the room, but it was nonetheless quiet.
They both seemed to know what the other was thinking. And yet they remained unmoving, each anticipating the other’s first move.
+++
Bentley’s hands and feet did, in fact, feel numb. She hadn’t just been wisecracking when she’d said that. But she was still happy to be able to move and breathe freely, the blaster barrel jabbed into her ribs notwithstanding. However, the discomfort she felt watching Amroth holding the sword was almost visceral. Just the mere sight of him touching the weapon filled her with rage, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
And she knew what his plans were. She just wasn’t sure when he would give the orders. In time, he’d give his signal, and Shango would be gunned down, Loco and Olofi would be crushed by those massive mechsuit soldiers, and she would go straight back into that creepy metal chair.
The look in Shango’s eyes was focused, but seemed uncertain. If he had a plan of his own, his time to bring it about was running out.
“Fuck it,” Bentley finally said.
She twisted her body so it slid alongside the barrel of the gun and she wove her free arm under one of his to prevent him from bringing it back on her. She brought her hand up to his throat right where the hard plating of his combat armor couldn’t cover.
She felt some residual heat against her abdomen while the weapon blindly fired into the floor, then dropped her center of gravity and felt herself throw the soldier to the ground. Her left arm came free from the lieutenant’s grip with that same turn, and when he tried to renew his grasp, she instead moved further in to drive a knee up into his groin. It slammed against his armor’s crotch plate, but with another intuitive shift of her weight she pushed the plate free from its mesh and then brought up her leg again to smash it into the very spot it was designed to protect.
The man turned pale and dropped to his knees. Bentley followed up with a kick to his face, her shin collided with his nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.
It had all happened so fast, she didn’t even have time to consider the obvious danger posed by the guards who weren’t in her immediate vicinity. She snatched the blaster rifle from the soldier she’d thrown and held it at the ready, looking back at the chaos that was unleashed when she’d broken the tension with action.
Loco had fired his oversized Betsy point-blank into one of the mech soldiers, and it fired a single bright, concussive beam that sent the suit clattering back with a massive crack in its exoskeleton. In the same motion that he lowered the gun, he reached for one of the knives in the brace around his upper arm and threw it, letting it fly and meet its mark straight in the opening the suit had posed.
Olofi, meanwhile, was evading assault from the second armored foe. He didn’t have the kind of firepower his comrade did, but was dancing around the surprisingly quick, heavy strikes from the machine exoskeleton’s claw, which carved up the Panopticon’s metal flooring as though it were made of soft clay. But it never met its mark, with Olofi weaving under every motion as though he’d seen it coming from miles away. He made no effort to counterattack, and instead had drawn two of his blaster pistols, firing wildly to keep the other rifleman off balance with suppressing fire.
Shango stood still, staring down Amroth.
He brought one hand into his cloak, but not to the hilt of his sword, instead having placed it slightly over it. From inside he produced four metal ball bearings, each one tucked in the spaces between his fingers. They resembled the ones Bentley had seen on his desk, with their varied functions, but these ones were much larger. He flicked his wrist and let the one between his middle and index finger fly free, letting it soar towards Amroth, who stared at it head on, unflinching.
Before the metal sphere hit its presumed mark, however, it exploded into a rapidly expanding cloud of grey that took a split second to fill the entire Panopticon dome, rendering Bentley unable to see. She held her rifle at the ready and took a few steps back to make sure nobody was standing behind her.
But someone was. And as she turned around to face whoever it was, she felt a strong grip on her wrist. But before she could struggle to get free, she felt something being pressed into her hand. It was a handle for something, perhaps the hilt of a sword, with a
somewhat familiar weight.
“Here,” she recognized Shango’s voice say. “You’ll need this. Now duck.”
She was so surprised that she almost failed to heed his last bit of advice, only managing to crouch down before there was a second, much louder explosion high above them. The sound was deafening and Bentley felt her head swim.
Right after the shock had gone through, the mist from Shango’s device began to dissipate. Bentley could plainly see why this was: the entire dome of the panopticon had been shattered. Specks of glassy dust shimmered in the air around them and gathered on the ground like fresh snow.
Shango wasn’t next to Bentley anymore, either. Now he was standing directly in front of Amroth, and this time his hand rested on his sword.
Awakening Page 17
