by Dean Henegar
“Very well. I apologize for trying to work a deal with mutineers. Don’t care for them myself. What can we do to rectify this little misunderstanding, sir? I suppose I should introduce myself, as it’s not polite to jabber on without a name. I am Dherax, captain of this vessel and a proud member in good standing of the miner’s guild,” the dwarf said.
“Pleased to meet you, Dherax. I am Captain Guzman of the destroyer USS Franklin,” Guzman said, his cold tone telling the dwarf he was observing etiquette but was in no way “pleased” to meet him.
Slater messaged Guzman to try and get star charts, mining gear, and information on the gnomes. If they couldn’t get any of the star charts, Guzman was to at least negotiate for a path home.
“I can think of a few things that might make this right, Captain Dherax. In return for supporting the mutineers, you could give us access to your star charts, samples of your mining gear, and information on the gnomes in this quadrant. We were pursuing our enemy far beyond our normal territory and want to make sure our charts of this area are correct,” Guzman asked.
The dwarf mumbled that he would need a minute. The feed cut, and they all waited eagerly for the dwarf’s response to their demands.
“All right, we’ll give you a copy of our charts, only we’ll need to mark out any sensitive areas. Can’t go giving away the farm by letting humans know all our secrets. On that same note, we can’t give you any of our mining gear. No dwarf will part with his, and we don’t want to see you using our gear to compete against us,” Dherax replied.
Guzman paused for effect before replying. “Very well. We accept the star charts as recompense for the harm you inflicted on the Franklin by cutting a deal with the mutineers. I understand your reluctance about the mining gear. We would be loath to give away any of our proprietary tech. What about the gnomes? Can you tell us of their dispositions in this area?”
Slater figured that Dherax wouldn’t give up his mining gear but hoped that Guzman could pry more information about the enemy that supposedly populated these systems.
“Aye, we can give it to you. I’ll send it just before we leave your . . . company,” the dwarf replied, obviously intending to use the data on the gnomes to guarantee safe passage out of range of the Franklin’s weapons systems. The dwarves knew the Franklin was in no shape to chase them, so once they were out of range, they would be safe.
“Agreed, I hope that perhaps someday the humans and dwarves can trade together in friendship. For now, we’re happy that your people are at least maintaining their neutrality in the conflict,” Guzman said as the dwarf ship broke away from the boarding hatch and maneuvered out. They made a course for what Slater assumed was another jump point in the system, one not likely to be populated by rampaging space dragons.
True to their word, the dwarves sent over a copy of their star charts for this area, not that they would do Slater much good. The dwarves had taken a very liberal interpretation of “sensitive information,” blocking out much of the data concerning jump points and system features. Thankfully, the charts did enable him to plot their path home, a path that would take twenty-seven separate jumps. Had they been able to enter the system the dragon was now destroying, he could have made the journey in only sixteen jumps. Still, he had the way home—he had a way to get his people back.
The last transmission from Dherax was a breakdown of the system containing the gnomish clan bases. A jump point not too far off from where they were drifting led into the gnomish system, and once his engines were repaired, the Franklin could reach it in a day or so. Dherax had provided a detailed chart this time, showing the three different jump points inside the gnomes’ system as well as an approximate location of the thirteen clans that resided there. Specifically marked was one clan that was known for trading in slaves; it would likely hold any humans that had been captured recently.
The system itself had three uninhabitable worlds, which didn’t seem to bother the gnomes, as each clan preferred to house themselves inside large space stations. Slater didn’t know if all gnomes preferred living on stations or if that was just because these particular gnomes were the poor castoffs of their society. This system might be typical for their race or just the trailer park of gnomish space. The largest clan in the system had a station that could dock up to twelve motherships at one time, while the smallest clan—the one they had fought with—had a station that could support only two motherships.
Slater now had a way home and a location where he could potentially rescue more humans from a fate worse than death. It was time to get to work.
— 17 —
Slater contemplated their next moves. He could begin the journey back into human space, or he could try to rescue the human slaves held by the gnomes. It would take the Franklin only a few hours to reach the jump point that led to the gnomish system. Another jump point, a few day’s travel from their current position, led to the first step in their long journey home. There was no way he could leave other humans under the control of the gnomes if he could help it. Once repairs on their drives were complete and some upgrades were finished, he would head to the gnomish system and locate the humans. The human prisoners likely held more survivors of human ships, and the new crew would be key for the plans he was beginning to form. If he had a mouth, Slater would be drooling over the potential salvage that one of the gnomish space stations represented.
The first step in his plan would be to repair the battered Franklin. His ship had lost a lot of mass from the dragon’s attack, and the main drives would have to be completely rebuilt from scratch. If they had jumped only a few seconds later, the flames of the beast would have consumed him and his core room. Despite how powerful he had become in this new existence, Slater had to remember that there were bigger and badder things than him in the universe—at least for now.
Drones were already hard at work repairing the damage done by the dragon, and Slater took a few moments to upgrade their programming. He granted them more autonomous features that allowed them to prioritize repairs and rebuild systems, should he ever be offline again. If he was out of commission, Slater set permissions for Guzman and Camden to have limited control over the drones. He didn’t want any temporary incapacitation of his core to mean a death sentence for the human crew in the middle of a battle. On the other hand, Slater wouldn’t forget Diaz’s treachery, the thought reminding him that he needed to beef up his defenses.
The door to his false core room was reinforced as much as he could manage, and he removed permissions for anyone to enter. He was the only one who could authorize access to the core room, and it was an authority he would not grant to anyone else in the foreseeable future. The improved security and deadly new defenses would only serve to enhance the effectiveness of his decoy core. Also, he tasked the crew of drones working on his core room to upgrade defenses throughout the ship with some of his newly acquired patterns.
“Captain Guzman, repairs are underway, and I would like you to set a course toward the nearest jump point once I have the engines rebuilt,” Slater ordered.
The captain was on the bridge with the rest of the human crew, who were passing the time by plotting different courses home. The dwarves had been stingy with details, but the star maps they had provided did give them a few different options on their way home if one route was blocked for any reason. From what he understood, dragons were a very rare occurrence, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other similar threats out there that could block their path.
“Very well, sir. I take it we are going to take a crack at rescuing any human prisoners that the gnomes may be holding?” Guzman asked.
“Yes. I think we owe it to them to at least try. Our new camouflage should allow us the time to scan the system and see what we’re up against. There is some other research that I have going and should help us in that regard. If there is a chance to take out one or more of the gnomish stations, we will have more than enough raw materials to upgrade the Franklin, which can only improve our chances of mak
ing it home,” Slater advised.
“Excellent, we have a course already laid in. I believe I can speak for not only myself but also the crew when I say that we wouldn’t mind a little payback against the gnomes for what they did to us. There is also no way I will allow another human to suffer in their clutches while I have the power to rescue them,” Guzman replied.
“Good, the repairs will take some time, and I have some other upgrades to implement. In the meantime, keep trying to find us a way home, Captain,” Slater ordered.
The upgrades that had been processing before the fight completed were sped along their way by the knowledge Illissa had granted him. The gnome MOBS were better than he expected for a first try and were a decent approximation of a normal gnomish crew member. As far as he could tell, his newfound knowledge had shaved off a whole generation of research on the various MOBS. The other research where Illissa’s knowledge came into play was with the new version of the med bay he was now able to construct. The newest iteration would provide an automated system to handle all but the most complex illnesses or injuries. He was also able to set up the treatment area to enhance his healing power, should it be needed. Slater queued up the new and improved med bay to be built out once the engines were completed.
The laser weapon upgrades gave him improved shipboard weapons, which were now more powerful than the ones used by gnomish raiders. His railguns still packed more punch, but the main battery laser had become a serious threat to his enemies. Slater was pleased that the shield upgrade now gave him better protection than what a military vessel of his size could normally equip. The shields performed well against both kinetic and energy-based weapons and would recharge faster than similar systems.
He pulled a pair of construction drones off engine-repair duty and had them print up some of the new and improved combat drones he had finished researching. The new drones were imposing creations, standing just over five feet tall on four spider-like legs with a cylindrical torso extending up from the waist. The top of the torso held a sensor array that allowed the drone to identify targets in any light and through obstructed visibility such as a smokescreen. On one side of the torso, an arm featured a powerful hand that could be used as a bludgeoning weapon or to manipulate objects. In particular, he wanted his combat drones to be able to throw grenades, perform minor self-repairs, and even disarm explosives. The other arm was replaced with a belt-fed version of the rifle his human soldiers used. The drones were able to hold one thousand rounds in their ammo storage hopper, enabling them to stay in the fight longer.
The combat drones were a big upgrade from the small spider drones he had first built, and he had high hopes for their performance. If they did what he suspected they could do, the drones would replace his other MOBS as the main combat unit aboard his derelict. An interesting byproduct of the combat drone research was several upgrades for his normal construction drones. They now operated with the same improved processors as the combat drones, making them more efficient in their work and requiring less of his core power. Slater could now command three construction drones for the same power it had taken him to control only two before the upgrade.
He needed a name for his new combat drones; otherwise, he might confuse his human passengers as to which type of drone he was referring to. The combat drones looked ominous, like some evil killing machine from one of the old science fiction movies he had loved as a kid. After a bit of thought, he decided to call them reapers. He had big plans for them to reap a harvest of hostile enemies. Impressive names were all well and good, but he might be putting the cart before the horse if the things didn’t perform in combat. It was time to test them and the other new upgrades.
It was time for Slaterdome.
“Lieutenant Camden, I have several new designs for MOBS I need to test. Do you think the other passengers would be up for observing the test in a new Slaterdome match?” he asked. The fights inside the Slaterdome were one of the few things he looked forward to in his new existence. While the fights were brutal and might offend the sensibilities of some, they provided Slater with valuable data—not to mention, they were entertaining for him to watch. He was also excited to unveil the new and improved location he had included in the ship’s design.
“I know I wouldn’t mind a break and a chance to see what you’ve cooked up, Commodore Slater. Let me spread the word and I’ll gather up anyone not on duty who wants to watch it,” Camden replied. The lieutenant and Private Harris explained the Slaterdome to the other crew and found that most were excited to see the fights once they understood that the MOBS didn’t feel pain and were just constructs.
While the human crew gathered in the recreation room, he printed up the MOBS and the obstacles he wanted in the arena. To free up enough power to control all the MOBS for the fight, he had to reprocess everything he had printed up except for the construction drones. The new compartment that held the arena was larger than the other one and could be set up in various configurations. To keep the fight as realistic as possible, this time Slater had the arena set up to resemble ship corridors and compartments. There would be a separate compartment for each of the teams he was forming. They would then have to fight their way down a passageway against a small group of normal kobolds. Once the kobolds were defeated, the survivors would turn the corner of their passageway and enter a large rectangular room with various crates, furniture, and other obstacles. Each of the four teams would meet in this final room—provided they survived their encounter with the kobolds—and fight it out to determine the winner.
Slater also wanted to test out his new magic abilities but preferred to do that out of sight of the crew. There was no real need to reveal his power until it was necessary. In a way, Diaz had done him a favor by gathering all the malcontents in the crew together, allowing them to be removed from the others like a cancer cut from a body. What his remaining crew didn’t know couldn’t be divulged if they were somehow captured by an enemy. He was torn from his thoughts when Captain Guzman told him they were ready for the show. All the crew—save for a skeleton crew manning the bridge and Private Long, who was in the med bay—had gathered, and there was a sense of excitement in the room. It’s time for a bit of showmanship, Slater thought.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have quite the display for your entertainment pleasure. Tonight, we have the latest edition of . . . Slaterdome!” he announced to a disappointing smattering of applause. The new crew wasn’t sure what to expect, but Harris, Camden, and Cheng were whooping it up, excited for the new match.
“These four fearsome forces will fight for first in a fabulous battle to the death. In this corner, we have the brutal and battle-hardened orcs!” Slater said, focusing the feed onto the orc contingent for the fight. The orcs and other humanoid MOBS were equipped with standard armor and rifles. Each of the humanoid teams was issued two grenades. The starting compartment held eight orcs, who all looked ready for a fight.
Slater continued his announcements. “In this compartment, we have those puny, pestiferous perpetrators of pain: the gnomes!” When Slater announced them, the crowd began to boo at the MOBS representing their previous captors. The new crew was finally starting to get into the spirit of the event. The eight gnomes stood and blankly looked at the hatch in front of them, waiting for the command to start. Slater made a mental note to have the MOBS act a bit more animated next time.
“Over here, we have the Ratpocalypse!” Slater said as the view panned to the third compartment. Inside was a swarm of twenty bilge rats. The rats were less powerful individually and only had their natural weapons to fight with, so he had bumped up their numbers to keep things even. Seeing the swarm of rats reminded him that Private Long had lost Mr. Bitey. Slater would have to print up another copy for the private to have as a pet.
“For our last entry, we have the latest and the greatest addition to the Slaterdome. I am proud to present to you . . . the reapers!” Slater said as he gave the crew their first look at his new combat drones. There was ch
atter among the soldiers and marines when the reapers were shown. He hoped they would perform as well as he believed. It would be embarrassing for his new creations to be taken out by the five kobolds each team had to beat before the final compartment.
“Let the games begin!” Slater announced as the hatches separating the contestants opened and he signaled the MOBS to start the battle. First out of the gate were the orcs, who, despite being MOBS, still responded to the joy of conflict coded into their DNA. The orcs hefted their rifles and charged into the corridor. The kobold defenders were given only a low barricade placed midway down the corridor for cover. The five kobolds were crouched behind the barricade and began to fire controlled shots at the attacking orcs.
The body armor and overall rugged nature of orcish physiology helped them to a certain extent, but when a kobold round penetrated armor, the explosive bullet did horrendous damage. The first pair of orcs dropped with gaping holes in their chests. The following orcs roared and began to hose down the barricade with their barrage. The kobolds’ fire became less accurate as they split their attention between firing and trying to avoid incoming rounds.
For the battle, the kobolds were given only a rifle and three mags of ammo. The orcs and other contestants also had grenades, which one of the orcs finally remembered he possessed. Orcs weren’t the best shots, but they did have a good throwing arm, and the grenade arced over the barricade and landed behind the kobolds. One of the fearless little guys jumped on top of the grenade, using its body to shelter his comrades. The explosion ripped apart the kobold and, despite his brave efforts, sprayed fragments among the remaining defenders.
The orcs took advantage of the kobolds’ distraction and closed the distance to the barricade. The defenders recovered and began to fire point-blank at the orcs, who returned the favor. Gunfire ripped out and bodies dropped. When the smoke cleared, five orcs were still standing, though one was limping; a chunk of his left thigh was missing.
