ARMS Beckland's Fall: (Book 5)

by Stephen Arseneault

The eldest of the three sat beside him with a broad smile. "I need a man, honey. I hear you're worth a fortune."

  Harris' grin turned to a frown. "Maybe some other time, ladies. My friend and I are just enjoying the evening out."

  The response drew a huff. The three turned and walked off mumbling to each other with scowling expressions.

  "They paid you a compliment and you were rude."

  Harris shook his head. "Some compliments are intended to be praiseful and genuine. Others are said just to elicit favor. Those were gold diggers. Her only interest in me was for my fame and the number of credits in my store."

  "And that offends you?"

  Harris thought for a moment. "Hmm, no. Actually it doesn't. Are they out of earshot?"

  "They are."

  "Figures."

  Harris heard a thump an instant before he blacked out. Clovis Bagwell stood behind him with two of his henchmen, leather, black-jack club held tight in his fist, a wide grin on his face.

  — Chapter 2 —

  * * *

  Harris came to in his bunk on the Bangor.

  Idiot was standing over him. "I'm sorry, sir. You were assaulted. You took a blow to the back of your head before I could react. I must apologize for my lack of situational awareness. I believed Chicago Port Station to be a safe place."

  Harris gingerly felt the knot on the back of his head. "Let me guess, Clovis Bagwell and friends?"

  Idiot nodded as he walked from the bunkroom into the cabin. "Yes, sir."

  "I have to guess you chased them off and brought me here?"

  "Yes, sir." The bot returned with a bloodied towel, unwrapping its contents for Harris to see.

  "Tell me that's not a Human arm."

  "Lower arm, sir. It belongs to Mr. Bagwell. I grasped his wrist. He struggled and his friends attacked me. During the scuffle his arm was twisted off, separated at the elbow."

  Harris' gaze turned to a half smile, half scowl. "He is not going to be happy about that. What happened after?"

  "His friends escorted him from the premises. I brought you here. My scans show no internal damage to your cranium."

  "Yeah, I've been told you don't want a damaged cranium."

  Harris sat up on his bunk with a grimace. "Hmm. I can feel the blood pounding in that knot."

  "I believe rest to be the best course of action, sir."

  "Where are the others?"

  "They have been notified over the comm. I expect them back any time. If you'd like, I can play back the recording of the incident while you wait."

  "Sure, go ahead. Always wanted to see myself getting cracked on the head."

  "That is a strange desire, sir."

  Harris chuckled. "Was a joke. Nobody wants to see that."

  "I will not display it then. Should I destroy the recording?"

  Harris shook his head. "No. Play it please. Nobody wants to have it happen, but since it already has, might as well see it."

  "I see. One moment, sir."

  On a side view from Idiot's optics, Harris slumped forward on the bench. The view spun about, revealing a grinning Clovis Bagwell and his hired muscle. In an instant, the bot sprang up and over the back of the bench, latching onto the wrist of the assailant before another blow could be struck.

  Four large men attempted a response. Each was smashed in the face by Idiot’s free fist. Each fell to the floor, either semi-unconscious or stunned and delirious. The expression of Clovis Bagwell displayed terror and shock as his forearm was pressed against the bench-top, twisted, and torn from the rest of his arm.

  The first of his henchmen to rise assisted the seriously injured loan shark as Idiot hopped back over the bench. Harris was carefully lifted and carried back to the safety of his ship.

  "Wow, you seriously tore off his arm? Not that he wasn't deserving of it, but that's kind of harsh."

  "Did I go too far?"

  Harris chuckled. "And then some. Next time you get in an altercation with Humans, attempt to disable them without causing permanent damage. Our parts can't be replaced like yours. Human arms don't grow back, nor do any other parts for that matter."

  "Noted."

  Tawn stepped up into the cabin. "Bagwell got you?"

  "Whacked me on the back of the skull."

  "What's this?"

  Harris chuckled. "Clovis lost a forearm in the scuffle. I think Idiot brought it back as a trophy or something."

  "He lost an arm? How'd that happen?"

  Harris gestured toward the display. "Show her. But be warned, it's a grody scene."

  Trish watched with the others, turning away as the appendage was liberated from its owner. "Didn't need to see that."

  "I've already given instruction that the preferred disablement of Human attackers is to be non-permanent. Push them away, knock them down, knock them out, but please try not to dismember."

  Tawn turned. "I guess we won't be bothered by him again."

  "Wish that were true. Instead of a club to the head, we're more likely to get a plasma round to the back next time."

  "What were you doing on the bench?"

  "People-watching."

  Tawn smirked. "Ogling and gawking is more like it."

  "Some of that too."

  Idiot said, "He was approached by three young ladies who wanted to become familiar with him."

  "Familiar?" Tawn asked.

  Harris said, "They were looking for a sugar-daddy. I told them to beat it."

  "Doesn't sound like you."

  "Yeah, well, I guess I'm off my game. Wasn't thinking."

  "Or you're growing a conscience as you get older."

  Harris glanced up. "I already have a knot on my head. No need to keep beating on the injured guy."

  Tawn laughed. "Like that would bother you anyway."

  Harris gestured toward the bags the others carried. "What'd you score from the stores?"

  Gandy said, "I purchased some starship model holograms to put beside my bunk at Midelon."

  "OK, nerdy. Next?"

  Trish hoisted a heavy bag. "Just a few precision tools for tinkering."

  Harris glanced at Sharvie. "Toys for the cat?"

  "How'd you know?"

  "And, Miss Freely, I see you still have the same mismatched tunic."

  "Ordered four new ones. Are being tailored."

  "They don't have a 'portly' size in stock?"

  "They don't get a lot of slugs in their shop, so no, no 'portly.'"

  Sharvie asked, "Can we go back and check on Gondol?"

  "We've only been gone an hour. You people don't have more shopping to do?"

  Gandy sat. "Even though I'm loaded with credits, there's nothing I could buy that would top having Reggie. I mean, I've got my own intelligent robot. As piles of nerdiness goes, I'm at the top of the heap."

  Harris chuckled. "I guess we all are in that regard. Tawn, want to fly us to Gondol? I've got a bit of a headache going."

  "Sure."

  Twenty minutes of travel had the Bangor hovering in high-orbit over the remains of the Denzee building.

  Tawn said, "Earthers haven't moved. And it looks like they're settling in with earth-moving machinery. Sorry, Sharvie, we'll have to revisit this later. Doubt they'll stay long with that low oxygen atmosphere."

  "They have biosuits."

  "Which have to be resupplied periodically."

  Harris said, "Doubt that's an issue. We could go days or maybe even weeks down there. With that level of O, our suits could siphon whatever oxygen boost we would need."

  "Maybe."

  "As a suggestion, why don't we head to Domicile for a bit, take advantage of the downtime we have? You three could visit family while Tawn and I take some time to see Mr. Morgan."

  No objections were raised. Twenty minutes later the Bangor was settling on Domicile. Trish, Gandy, and Sharvie hopped out. Tawn piloted the Bangor to the headquarters building of Hosh-Morgan, where Bannis Morgan rode into the lobby on a mobility scooter.

  Harris chuckled a
s he approached. "Finally broke down and bought one?"

  "Had to. Was taking too long to walk between meetings. You here for something specific or just to make fun of me?"

  "Visiting," Tawn replied.

  "Come with me." Bannis turned his scooter, trucking off toward a building that had previously been used for manufacturing.

  Tawn and Harris, accompanied by their bots, walked behind at a brisk pace.

  "You're burning up the roads with that personal transport, huh?"

  "It gets me to where I need to be."

  "What are we heading out to see?"

  Bannis glanced over his shoulder with a smile. "A surprise."

  Harris looked past the speeding senior as they walked through a set of doors to an open area. "Wasn't this building coming up your satellite facility?"

  "It was. That manufacturing has been moved across town to another location. I now use this one for special projects."

  Double doors opened and the scooter powered through. The interior of the building was a hundred meters high. Industrial cranes and hoists cluttered views of the ceiling. Bannis pulled to a stop in front of a large steel container.

  "Maxi, open her up."

  Metal creaked and squealed as the container split, revealing a mold that had been poured earlier that morning.

  Harris said, "That a Banshee?"

  "It is. Lots of mill-work to be done. After that, we test for strength and rigidity. If the numbers play out, we should have a replacement hull for the Banshee that we can mill and fill with modern systems."

  "Can I assume they would be cheap to build?"

  "You could. Early estimates call for eight hundred thousand credits. Would only support a single railgun, but a hundred of these would be able to fight a hundred Ratoons and probably bring home a win."

  "I like the sound of that."

  "They'll be as fast as the Bangor and as hard to kill. And we're looking at producing a smaller, less expensive version of the Centurion shield to go with it. Production-wise, this one-piece hull takes a day to cure and three to four hours to mill. Assembly estimates are for another two days, requiring a crew of five assembler techs. I believe our original factory at the Retreat capable of turning out fifty, possibly even a hundred of these per day once fully converted."

  "Wow. Sounds like we'll be needing training simulators so we can staff enough pilots to man them."

  Tawn leaned forward. "Mr. Morgan, mind if I have a private word with my partner for a few seconds?"

  "Certainly, I'll be right over here with my engineers."

  "Harris, you know what I'm thinking?"

  "Lunch?"

  "No, you idiot. These bots standing behind us—we build our own pilots. Load up the same programming and memories and we have an already trained pilot with great reactions. We could attack without risking a single life."

  "Interesting. I like where you're going with this. Just not sure if we want an army of armed bots out there running around. If they get hacked, they get turned against us. Same issue if they suddenly decide we aren't worthy masters."

  Tawn nodded. "Concerns, certainly, but ones I think we can overcome. When we get back to Midelon, I say we try to build our first test pilot."

  Harris rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not saying yes, but here's an interesting twist: what if we scrap the environmental system in the Banshee and just drop in the brain of one of these bots as the computer? Mr. Morgan?"

  "Yes?"

  "If we took this hull and we dropped one of these bots in there instead of the nav and systems computers, also negating the need to have an environmental system, how much could we cut off our production cost and time?"

  "You want one of these as the pilot?"

  "Just the brain. And they're capable. They've already flown the Bangor in combat a couple times. Don't let word of that out by the way."

  "I'd need the design specs if I'm to be building those."

  "Assume we would provide you the head of one of these."

  "Hmm… that would leave the power plant, propulsion, wormhole generator, and inertial dampening system. Those are all preassembled systems. It's possible we could cut costs by a third and halve our production times. Building those preassemblies would become our bottleneck."

  Harris nodded. "Can you mill a second hull to those specs? Just leave room to add something the size of one of their heads?"

  "I'll have my teams work that up. We planned to pour a second hull tomorrow. Day after sound good for a milled unit?"

  Harris chuckled. "Not sure we can meet that deadline. We'll have to head back to see exactly what we can do. In the meantime, keep doing what you're doing here. This is fantastic, and unexpected."

  A run was made back to Midelon. The group moved on to their individual business, leaving Harris, Idiot, and Farker on the Bangor.

  "Farker, open a comm to Alex, please."

  A holo-image appeared above the dog's back. "Welcome home, Harris."

  "Yeah, whatever. I have a few questions for you. You said we have full run of the robot lab, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I make a replica of Idiot's brain? With his memories? Powered from an external supply?"

  "The supply for each of the assistants is external. So the answer to your question would be yes. Yes you can."

  "OK. Tell me what I need to do to make that happen."

  "You have an assistant standing beside you who already possesses that knowledge. Perhaps you should ask for his help."

  "Idiot? Using the lab, how long would it take to manufacture what I just asked for?"

  "The carbon based processor is the long-lead component. The machinery in the lab is capable of manufacturing a unit in sixteen hours. Pattern, memory, and program migration are accomplished in seconds."

  "That's everything?"

  "You would need the interface circuits if you desire to connect the unit to any other device. Those require separate machines for manufacture, allowing their creation to happen in tandem. Bonding of those interface circuits to the processing unit requires just over two hours."

  "Alex, you have the design specs for a Banshee. Can you give me an optimum design where everything bio is removed from the ship, with this processor unit being installed as a controller for the generator, drive, and power system? If so, how long would it take to do?"

  "Point zero-zero-three-one seconds."

  Harris tilted his head. "Are you inferring you just did that?"

  "Yes. Would you like to see a holo-representation?"

  "I would."

  The image of Alex was replaced with a three-dimensional image of a Banshee.

  Harris pointed. "This still has a cockpit? What if we start with a solid hull and only mill out what's required to house the units in question? And let's assume it needs to fly and fight like the Bangor, only with the bot processor unit in control. Would still need dampeners, plasma inhibitors, and the like. Oh, and of course the railgun. I want this to be a hardcore fighting machine."

  "Please give me a moment to process a design with the new parameters."

  "Should be able to take a hit equal to what the Bangor can take. And the railgun should be equal to one of those on the Bangor as well."

  "May the size of the hull be reduced?"

  "Sure. The smaller the better. So long as it can be milled out and fitted with the parts while maintaining its integrity."

  "Very well. I have a new design. The exterior shape has been maintained, albeit approximately 38 percent smaller. Systems are based on those of the prior Banshee, with optimization given to final assembly. Initial simulations show a 5 percent improvement in survivability as compared to the Bangor. Drive speed is matched, rail power is matched. Cockpit is optimized for survival of the processing unit."

  Harris nodded. "How about a self-destruct? We can't let any of this tech fall into the hands of the Earthers or the Denzee. If damage prevents the ship from withdrawing on its own power, I'd like it to eliminate itself."

&nbs
p; "One moment... a self-destruct system has been added to the design."

  "Excellent. Please transfer that design to my comm. Idiot, come with me. We're building a processing unit."

  Tawn opened a comm. "We're busting open lunch here, if you're interested."

  "Give me ten minutes. Idiot's about to start building us a processor."

  Idiot replied, "Sir, I am capable of handling this task on my own, if you so desire. I was witness to the conversation you had with Alex."

  Harris stopped. "You can build the unit?"

  "May I have access to Alex for the design?"

  "Yes. But once this effort is complete I want you to scrub all memory of it from your systems. It's not information you need to carry with you."

  "Very well, sir. Enjoy your lunch."

  "I believe I will. Thanks."

  — Chapter 3 —

  * * *

  When the meal was complete, Harris returned to the bot lab, with Tawn following behind.

  Tawn said, "Will be interesting to see how Idiot is doing."

  Harris nodded. "Curious about that myself."

  As they entered the room, Harris' android assistant turned from facing the processor bench. "Sir, the manufacturing is moving forward as expected. Fourteen hours, forty-eight minutes until complete. I suggest we run full diagnostics before applying my patterns, programming, and memories."

  "Sounds reasonable. Have you started work on the interface circuits?"

  "No need. We have a supply of those available. Remember when you asked that I make spare parts? The interface circuits were some of those parts."

  "Excellent. So in a little over fourteen hours, with some testing, we should have our first processing unit ready for integration into a new Banshee hull. This is exciting."

  Tawn chuckled. "Can't wait to see Gandy's reaction to this."

  "I say we don't mention it until the ship is finished and has been at least moderately tested. You know he's going to want one with a Reggie clone controlling it."

  Idiot raised a finger. "Sir, if I might say something. I believe it would be advantageous to have copies of each of the assistants flying these vessels. The diversity of our patterning might be advantageous during a fight. Boomer and I traded reasoning during our last fight with the Denzee. I believe that to have made a significant difference in the outcome."