Better than nothing.
Emery inhaled, not having realized she’d been holding her breath waiting for his answer. Then she took a minute to cough, since her lungs hated her taking deep breaths.
Once installed in the roomy cockpit – designed for Mekkers to manually pilot JI-mech – she gazed out at the expanse of the royal ship. She’d never seen it from this high up before. The roof was a mélange of grays and blacks, reds and oranges, with distant crackling gardens of blue where mechling herds grazed the air for power.
“Bye, bye, ship.” She raised her hand, smiled, and gave the ship the finger. “Hope I never see you again.”
A stray mechling thought brushed her – it was almost a whining noise.
Mammoth had followed her against her orders.
She dabbed at her eyes. Odd that he’d followed, as well as a little sad. Perhaps she should have brought him, but her escape could be perilous, and for a mechling life on the ship seemed better than what she could offer.
“Goodbye Mammoth,” she whispered mostly to herself. “I am leaving. I’m finally escaping.”
For her, nothing could be worse than here.
The engines beneath her rumbled to life and JI-mech slowly descended, as if bending his legs. After a few more motions up and down, like a runner testing the power in his legs, he began to sprint toward the side of the hull, then to leap from ship to ship in enormous bounds. Each time they landed JI-mech rang with a distant thummm sound. The seat she was in had an automatic strap-in routine that’d activated when she first sat. Though jolting, his motion was so calculated she rarely felt more than small joggles. A final leap had them at the edge of the last ship. They were going sideways off the Swathe. She gripped the seat arms and prayed, and JI-mech sailed toward the ground, the open, free ground.
If they hit trees...
He smacked into the ground and rolled, taking down some shrubbery, sending huge splinters flying, before rolling upright and continuing onward.
Wheeeee! I can do this so well! I remember!
Holy fuck, JI. You never mentioned you had doubts.
Only a three percent doubt. Maybe nine at most.
She found herself chuckling, then coughing, then laughing again. Such was life with JI-mech. A mix of stats, percentages, and screaming.
She shivered.
Can you turn up the heat? Or are you saving power?
I can, though I believe it is at optimum temp for live beings such as you. I do wish you’d brought more mechlings as arranged. I meant to keep more alive and use them on my hull to harvest power.
Sorry. I forgot how many to bring. Her mind had been fuddled.
We will get by.
Emery meant to stay awake for a long time. It wasn’t dusk yet, but she could at last relax and not struggle to breathe. The rocking motion as he ran and jumped sent her slowly to sleep.
Chapter 32
Waking up and finding himself in his sister’s guest room with her shaking his shoulder, with his head pounding from his first hangover in years, was not the best start to a day.
“What?” He glanced at the small clock on the bedside table. Since it belonged to Sira, the clock was elegant and weird, possibly a replica of an iceberg in frosted glass and bronze? Or just a blob. And it was not morning; it was still night – past midnight though.
Sira scowled down at him, her white gown bunched around her and tied with silver cord. “A message for you. A summoning by the Governance. They want you at their hall, now. There’s some emergency that I’m to be all quiet about but I gather it’s to do with House Oren.”
“What?” He sat up. The bed cover was beneath him, not turned down, and he was fully dressed, if messed up. “Think I fell into bed last night.”
“Mmm.” Again with the scowl. “Did you understand what I said?”
“Yes. Governance. Want me. Now. Because House Oren. Now shoo while I...” He looked down and remembered. “Don’t get dressed. If they want me, I’ll go as is.”
“Okay.” She yawned. “Night. Oh, and you were too drunk to tell before. The king sends his thanks. He loves your idea. A patronage is in the air.”
“Good.” The Shakespeare? His thoughts veered back to tonight’s problem.
Whatever they wanted him for, this had to be something dire.
Boots on, hair combed with his fingers though he had little to comb seeing it was almost stubble, he called a hopper and set off for Governance Hall.
He’d had time to think so walking into the meeting room at the hall had him alert if still hung over. What had House Oren done in the few hours since he’d left?
There were ten full members of the Governance. The king wasn’t here but he was almost a figurehead anyway. Four men and two women on the left side of the long steel table, and one of those was Judge Ormrad. One woman and three men on the right side. No one was at the head of the table or the bottom near him. All were equals supposedly, though the women farthest to the left, Thrya Deed, female politician extraordinaire, was top of the heap last he heard.
He nodded to them all. “What can I do for you, sirs and ladies? I am Mako Laste.”
Thyra stood. “We need to know everything about a Slave Twelve from House Oren. But first, I will give you some background on what happened late yesterday while the rest of the house was at bloodletting.”
Not so good. That was when he had still officially been House Master. Partly. He’d resigned in the middle of that event. Ten hours ago? Whatever this was, they’d discovered it late, or they’d been searching for a solution for a long while before contacting him.
“I am at your service.” He inclined his head.
“I would think so,” Thyra snapped. Her sculpted, wave-like white hair did not stir by a single strand.
Mako narrowed his eyes. Maybe she’d had it riveted on?
Maybe he was still a little drunk.
Which he had to get over. Couldn’t afford mistakes here. Either he was here to be admonished, in which case he’d be lucky to not be skinned alive...or they really wanted his help. In which case, he might advance in some way.
“The summary, Mister Laste,” Thyra continued. “Within ten minutes of you departing the house, Slave Twelve also left, taking with her mechlings, food, warm clothes. She went to the roof and somehow activated a JI-mech 34 that as far as we knew was brain dead since the war...”
Holy Arrak. Emery. How? He blinked. “That’s –”
“Amazing? Yes. Four mechlings were dismantled for their power cells, we believe. Their memories were wiped though fortuitously a single mech observed much of the proceedings from the stair hatch. After this, the JI-mech took off and left the Swathe, carrying the slave with it. We’ve done many searches using all available vehicles and the trail is currently lost. The JI-mechs had stealthing. It’s possible this one has repaired that capability.”
He thought for a minute and they waited, as if expecting him to spit out some solution already. “How could it repair itself? Why has it waited so long to leave?”
A second later it clicked in his mind – the answer to that had to involve Emery.
“We took all records of this slave from the house, mostly have studied the rooftop ones. We think she’s been taking supplies up there for months though we can’t, at present, be sure. As to why it awoke, we don’t know.”
Months. While he was House Master. The clever little bitch. Admiration swelled though he took care not to show it on his face.
“What do you want of me?”
The crucial question. If they wanted to charge him with something, it would come now.
Thyra sat down, gestured toward him. “Please sit, Mister Laste. Your previous employer, Basteer Oren, advised us that you might have insights as to catching and finding the slave and the JI-mech.”
Thoughts whirled. She’d gone Outside with a mech, a type of mech that no one alive had ever seen functional.
“You’re aware of the JI-mechs?” A man at the table asked.
“Yes, sir. A military mech of the highest order. They had a lot of firepower.”
“Yes. Enough to put holes in a ship, if it is armed.” Thyra nodded. “We doubt it has weapons. To be restored those need more than power cells or lubrication. However, it is possible the Scavs could enable its armaments, if it allows them to do so.”
“Allows them?” What did they mean?
“The JI-mech is almost certainly sun mad. We think it instructed the slave on what to do, how to escape. Though we don’t have evidence of communication. That is a puzzle we would love to solve. What I’m about to say is a secret and if you ever reveal it to the public, you will suffer execution.”
How nice. He nodded. “Go on. You can trust me.”
“When a mechling goes sun-mad, if given enough time, it becomes self-aware, like you and I...like these humans.”
Now that was a revelation. “I had no idea...”
“I should hope not. That is why we desperately need that JI-mech killed, or brought back.”
He pulled out the chair she’d indicated at the foot of the table and sat.
“Our one reservation, Mister Laste, is this feed received by Basteer after the slave left. It shows you have great sympathy for her. Will that be a problem? Honesty is appreciated. Lying is punishable by execution.” Thyra smiled. “Again.”
“What feed?”
“This.” She turned on an overhead screen that was set into the wall behind her and above her head.
It was him getting Emery off the spear – a place where no mechling should be. No recording should happen there. He’d seen nothing, and the angle meant it was above him. The old ducts. It had to have been there.
He watched the whole thing then sat in silence for ages, tracking ideas down, crosslinking, and he at last thought he comprehended what had happened. What Emery had done.
“She betrayed me,” he said quietly. “It won’t be a problem. At all. The little putra bitch.”
After all he’d done for her. Sacrificed his career, one he’d been good at, even if it pained him at times. No job was perfect.
Betrayal.
It hurt, immensely. There was no avenue for mechling feeds from foreign houses to end up in the hands of Basteer. It must have been her. He understood why she had done it. He thought he understood how. The JI-mech and she had communicated, perhaps she’d also communicated with mechlings. She’d used this to tell tales of what he’d done and she’d known it would possibly damage him, planned it even.
He might be completely incorrect in his deductions. He didn’t quite understand how she could be doing this – communicating with mechlings – except his brain insisted it fitted the facts.
Diabolical. Bitch.
“Mister Laste?”
How could he prove her method?
“What mechling recorded them leaving? The one on the stairs.”
“It was small one. Used to be a child’s toy. With purple...” She wiggled her hand as if shaking off something distasteful. “Fur.”
“You’ve downloaded its memories, I assume. Were there any anomalies?”
“The engineers said there are times when it appears to talk to itself. It wasn’t connected to the system so they saw that as unusual. Sun madness perhaps? We have the mechling in storage.”
Of course, and that, with the mechling at his door and the one in the duct told him she’d somehow silently commanded, talked to, the mechlings, as well as this JI-mech.
If he talked to the toy, he might get something from it they hadn’t.
“Get me that toy mechling.”
“I’ll arrange to have it brought up.”
He sat back in the chair. He’d always thought it strangely attached to her. So many questions, and no one could tell him the answers. How far away could she be and still communicate with mechlings? They must obey her. Maybe not the JI-mech? One more thing...
“Do you know how long it was after she departed House Oren that the mechling left?”
Thyra consulted a reading on her tablet. “Twenty minutes.”
“Was she at the roof by then?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“Just a hunch.”
Once the mechling arrived he sat it on the table a few inches away and asked, “Why did you go to the roof? Because Slave Twelve always went there?”
“No,” it answered, brown eyes shining, and waving the tip of its trunk around the base of its ear. “I wanted to be with her and knew she was there.”
Not because of memory then. It could sense her. Or he figured it could. Ask more questions and the Governance would see what he now did. She sensed them too, most likely.
Could he use this to detect her? Perhaps. He might have a better chance at finding Emery than anyone else. He just needed this toy to decorate his dashboard with.
He raised his head and surveyed the men and women. How frantic were they? They’d already tried for many hours then they’d had him wrenched from bed.
“Give me a Ramm. I need a longer range and tougher vehicle than a Sniker. I will find her and bring her back, but I want things signed first. To protect me in case.”
Thyra’s expression turned as hard as he’d seen – which meant nearly one hundred percent steel. “Why? And in case of what?”
“Because I say. The longer this takes, the more distance she travels. I can do this. Trust me.”
“Perhaps you can. Trust you though? We must discuss this minus your presence. Leave the room. We will call you.”
When they called him back they had two hurriedly drawn-up agreements. One was theirs and it made him guarantee he would bring her back for justice, dead or alive, preferably lamed – the latter was his interpretation of the legalese. And that he would kill the JI-mech also, or at least destroy it so it was not functional.
Completely destroying it would be problematic, considering how tough they were.
The second document was blank except for names – his and theirs. He filled in what he wanted and slid it across to the nearest governance member, Lord Yind, who muttered as he read.
“He wants us to guarantee him a reward when he returns successful.”
“What reward?” Thyra said, mouth pursing.
“Doesn’t say. To be determined.”
“Mister Laste...” Thyra sighed.
“Outrageous.” Judge Ormrad had spoken at last – not a man he liked in any way. Demanding the punishment of the human, Fern, was lawful but also overbearing and despicable.
Mako shrugged.
The JI-mech could destroy a large chunk of a ship, if re-armed, if it got lucky. If. He figured that would make his proposal palatable. They’d still be at leave to do anything else they wanted to do to find her.
Within reason, they decided after more discussion. The Governance would need to meet again to decide on the reasonableness of the reward, once he stated it, on his return.
It was the best he was going to get.
He signed them both, in blood, as did the other members.
He kicked back his chair and stood. “I will be at the launch bay within the hour. I have some equipment to gather. Thank you, ladies, gentlemen, your trust has not been misplaced. Oh. I need this too.” He swiped the mechling from the table. “For my dashboard. And the DRAC ship-killer missile that I found on my last mission.”
They went pale at the latter request.
They protested thoroughly and he had to argue for it. Had to agree that a remote detonator could be attached so that they could blow up the missile if they judged it compromised. If he was within a half mile from the weapon and they did that he’d be in many pieces, or even a mere scorched mist of blood and bone – a risk he was prepared to take. He couldn’t attack a JI-mech without it, wasn’t sure what the searchers they’d sent out thought they’d do if they found it. Piss on it?
It might be weak, but the tech at the time of the war was far superior to the current tech.
The signal to destroy the missile wouldn’t work unles
s it was close to the Swathe or some other booster for the signal anyway.
He smiled grimly as he passed through the doors to the hall.
Done. Sleeping and getting drunk was over. Moving on. Two changes in two days and all because of her.
Emery had run. When he caught her, he’d teach her the error of her ways.
* * * * *
In the launch bay, the Ramm ship he was allotted waited– a thick wedge shape colored sand and gold in geometric patches, with enough space and provisions for a man to live inside her for some time, if he wished to. It was six or seven times the size of a Sniker. Like the Sniker, it could hover and fly, though the power system depleted faster if you went more than a hundred yards above the land.
The Ramm was the best for what he had to do. More recently made than the JI-mech, and because of that it suffered. Less armor, less power, no stealth system. The DRAC missile was in the vehicle already, strapped to the wall of the interior. He slid his hands over the missile as he walked past it to the cockpit. The one advantage he had was that his weapons were ready to be fired.
Mako planted the little purple mechling on the dashboard, next to the brass cup-holder and to the left of the black, leather-bound, half-wheel steering. Rivets and bi-frosted steel, gold and brass, with touches of gleaming enamel red.
A beautiful ship. Snikers were more pedestrian inside.
“That purple,” he muttered to himself. “Totally ruins my gold and steel décor. Sorry but it has to go.” Then he picked up the mechling and proceeded to tear off the fur. It came off in strips, revealing a shiny steel skin.
“Better.” He pointed at the thing. “Stay there. I don’t want you wandering and pressing stuff.”
Being a child’s toy by design it’d probably be useless for anything except, he hoped, detecting Emery.
He shook his head. Couldn’t call her Slave Twelve anymore. Just...couldn’t.
Once supplies had been loaded, he strapped in and launched, only to find the mechling had wandered.
“What the?” How and why had it disobeyed? The programming on the thing was suspect.
He switched on the autopilot and dragged it from the small kitchen by its segmented-steel trunk and sat it on the dash again.
Acquired Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 1) Page 15
