Glaikis choked. “I joined Steo because I knew he’s a good man. Before that I’d spent so long hunting down brigands and marauders, torching their ships casually because our contract said so and that’s what the law demanded. I had to get away not just for personal reasons but because I wanted to do something meaningful and Steo fought the good fight. Nobody got killed when he stole some application. Now I just want to kill these bastards!” She was sad beyond description and furious beyond measure.
The door they used to enter the room squeaked on its hinges.
Without thinking, Cyrus grabbed her and ran. They got out the far door as a dozen guards trailed into the room. The guards wondered aloud why the door had been closed, then one said he thought he saw movement at the far end of the hall. They pursued.
Cyrus pulled Glaikis, but she resisted. Heavyworlders were short and sturdy, and when they dug their heels in, it took a lot to move them. He said, “What are you doing? The guards are coming!”
Her face was wet with tears but she had a grim, wrathful look. Her eyes fairly glowed with righteous outrage. Killing really wasn’t a problem for a knight-mercenary.
Cyrus grabbed her again and tried to move her. She looked past him. They could hear the guards getting closer. He finally crouched, tossed her over his shoulder and ran.
The guards burst through the door, looked up and down the corridor, and saw no one. They spread out, guns at the ready.
Cyrus threw Glaikis into a room and shut the door. He leaned against it. Even after carrying her at a full run, he was barely breathing hard. She ran at him and grappled him, trying to get to the door.
He clamped her arms to her side. “No.”
She said in angry frustration, “How do you gently turn aside a juggernaut?!”
Cyrus had a consoling expression. “I thought you said you believed in Steo’s mission. You want to save the galaxy from war too!”
She wasn’t convinced that easily and struggled with him. “I can take out some of those guards and get some weapons. Then we can shoot our way to the engine room and set the bombs. When this thing lifts off the bombs will blow and this barge of monsters will plummet powerless to the ground! Smash, boom, no more problems! All dead!”
He didn’t like the look on her face. He lifted her up, her legs waving in the air, his powerful arms corded. Lowering his voice, he asked her honestly, “Since when does peace start with genocide?”
She didn’t have an answer for that. Her face went blank. She squirmed and he set her down. She pushed away from him. He listened at the door. The guards passed outside. Cyrus quietly locked the door.
Glaikis walked away from him, and waved him off. The grief and shock were fresh.
“We can stick to the plan,” he said. “If this ship is immobile, that will blunt their power. It at least gives us time.”
“Time for what,” she said.
“Fly back and warn people. Gather your old friends and come back. We could bring a fleet of knight-mercenaries,” he said hopefully.
She sniffed. “It seems so dark here.”
“So tell me. I haven’t been there.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here, in the Percaic spiral arm. Except for you, plunderers and fanatics are all I’ve met.”
She thought back to the Tarium spiral arm, probably the most peaceful and safe sector of the galaxy. “There are glittering cities on healthy planets, who haven’t known war in generations. Do you know what it’s like to visit a place that’s forgotten war? It’s distracting. You don’t want to let your guard down, but when you do … when you let go, you find yourself smiling.”
“Do they become soft?”
“Yes, some do, but there are systems that are better protected than ones here in this spiral arm, and they’re not run by dictators.”
“Steo told me about the last mission he was on. Wasn’t war about to break out there?”
“That was always unlikely. There’s diplomacy there. Balances of power. People like Steo move through the borders. Negotiators and rebels. Steo’s not the only one. He’s just the most famous.”
“I think I’d like to visit the Tarium spiral arm.”
“All that people have worked for, all the law and order, treaties, trade routes, sharing of knowledge … it will be gone if this ship starts its war. News will travel slowly. One by one, each solar system will fall.”
Cyrus knew his bravado and comic charm wouldn’t suffice here. She was undergoing a crisis, approaching hopelessness. She’d seen friends die as a terrible storm geared up to assault the galaxy. Her grief was a shadow of that which would soon grip hundreds or thousands of planets when they were washed with a tide of blood.
“We haven’t failed yet,” he said. “Nothing is certain. We’re not done.
We have our own strengths. I walked among these people for a while. They don’t allow for differences of opinion or thinking for yourself. You can think for yourself, Glaikis. You can look in your heart and do what you think is right. You said you wanted to do something meaningful, to stand up to evil no matter what happens.
How about it? Will you kill the children too? You didn’t see them because they’re kept deep in the ship. Mothers, children, old, sick … there are innocents on this ship. There’s been a lot of bloodshed. How much are you willing to take credit for?
You might say we stand on the brink of disaster, but I say we stand on the edge of the future and we can change its course. We’ve made it this far. I think we can do it. What about you?”
Glaikis wasn’t totally spent, nor was she a heartless murderer. She knew the difference between a warship like the Fire Scorpion and the bioark, which was more like a floating city. She clenched her jaw and stood up. “We’ll set the bombs on the e-cores and leave. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll try something else.”
They listened at the door and heard nothing, so they unlocked it and peeked outside. Seeing no guards, they moved out into the ship, once again trying to make their way back toward the engines. Cyrus hunched over and they avoided areas of high activity. Soon they had found their way down many levels.
He gestured to a door and they moved into the room. It was long and wide. Enormous fans in the ceiling generated a lot of noise.
Racks with green material on them were interspersed through the room. Each rack stood on a round base. They looked like frameworks for computer components, but the green material was genetically enhanced plants that consumed carbon dioxide and produced oxygen. All ships had at least some plants, usually in the form of moss or pools of blue-green algae. These racks however, held leaf-bearing vines. The racks weren’t close to each other; wide gaps separated them.
The floor was a grille, punctuated with many holes. Beneath was dark but there was machinery down there. Steam rose through the grates.
Besides fans, the ceiling was a mass of cables like twisted snakes. Some draped down near the plants. The tiny ones were sensors, and others sprayed nutrients on the plants.
The room wasn’t well lit. Most lights pointed at the plants.
Neither of them had seen such an extensive plant complex on a ship before, but they weren’t interested in herbology and moved through the room looking for an exit.
They passed a rack that jutted up partially from a hole in the floor. The racks could be drawn down into the floor but this one must have stuck, rising or retracting, centuries ago. A yellow, cylindrical shield from floor to ceiling surrounded it.
She realized he was slowing down. She asked him what he was doing and saw him fishing in his pants.
“The bombs are a little uncomfortable.” He withdrew three small, red bags covered with flexible grids. When pressed against a surface, the squares would attach themselves. He also retrieved a controller and strapped it to his wrist. It would let him set the timers.
“One’s stuck,” he said. Reluctantly, Glaikis helped him fish the fourth out of his trousers. As it came out, they heard the whirring of guns charging.
“Ah,
Cyrus. I had such high hopes for you,” came an emotionless, cruel voice.
Out of the darkness came a retainer robot, two human guards, and two other robots with pincers and blades on the ends of their four arms.
“Leech,” Cyrus said. He was quite chagrined at this turn of events.
The guards pointed their pistols at them while the discipline robots moved to flank them. Leech floated forward.
“I see you escaped the penal cells. No mind,” Leech said. “We will conduct your interrogation here.”
“Who is this?” Glaikis asked.
“Unfortunately Admiral Slaught’s retainer robot, Leech, seems to have escaped the destruction of the Fire Scorpion. Found a new master, have you Leech?”
“Dr. Fector was right not to trust you. Take the bombs!”
A discipline robot moved swiftly and snatched the four red bombs from him.
Leech looked them up and down. “Scan complete. There are no more bombs on their persons. The examination can begin.”
The three robots and two guards surrounded Cyrus and Glaikis, and circled them slowly. The guards each had a gun in hand, and another in a holster.
“Do you think we will tell you anything?” Glaikis said.
Leech said, “I cannot predict. However let me explain how you will die.
The discipline robots will bring you pain. They will rend your flesh and squeeze your minds with indescribable anguish. You will not be allowed to lose consciousness. If you speak, it will be recorded and analyzed. When your bodies and minds can bear no more, you will expire.
Your bodies will be placed on one of these bases. The plant complex will detect your corpse as inactive biomatter. It will surround the biomatter with a shield and suck it up, disintegrate it and vent it as waste. Just like you did to my former master, Admiral Slaught.”
“You still feel loyal to him?”
“I do not feel. It isn’t possible for robots to be loyal to anyone but their current master. I serve Lord Muuk and the human Exceptionalists of the AndroVault. However, there are certain neural pathways, familiar behaviors, which were burned in over the years. I served Admiral Slaught for decades. My memory was not wiped! Fortunately, your imminent death satisfies both my current master as well as my own, etched-in circuits.”
“So evil gets burned in,” Cyrus said.
“I like to think it as learned behavior,” Leech said with a smarmy tone.
They eyed each other warily.
Glaikis struck first. She shot a leg out, catching a guard in the abdomen. He buckled over, the breath hammered out of him.
Before the other guard could react, Cyrus did a somersault, landed next to him, yanked the gun from his hand and backhanded him away.
Leech pulled back.
The discipline robots said simultaneously in monotone voices, “Beginning improved questioning methods.” They advanced with spinning drills and glowing pins.
Glaikis snatched the weapon from the guard she’d kicked. He struggled to breathe. She ducked as a whirling saw barely missed her head.
The discipline robots said, “Cease movement. Struggling may cause excessive mutilation.”
Glaikis fired at the robot. It wasn’t designed for combat, but was made of modern materials. The bullets mostly bounced off, but some punctured its chest plate. The guard was regaining his breath so she kneed him in the face and ran from the discipline robot’s flailing arms.
Likewise, Cyrus wasn’t doing much better. The guard he hit had a broken nose. Cyrus avoided a fistful of injector needles only to get caught by a filament whip that sliced his shoulder.
Leech floated away from the battle, keeping robots and guards between him and Cyrus and Glaikis. “Why did you come here, Cyrus? What job did you want to finish?”
Cyrus bent quickly to avoid another taste of the filament whip, and scrambled away from the discipline robot. “Tell Lord Muuk I’m the advance scout of a more perfect race of men who want to keep the species pure!”
“You are cunning Cyrus, but you are not the only one in danger here. Perhaps your female friend could be made to talk. Once we have captured you, the discipline robots have cutting-edge strategies for information retrieval. Now why are you here? How many more are there of you? Who do you represent?”
Glaikis holstered her pistol. She grabbed two of the arms of the robot attacking her, but couldn’t account for the other two. She barely eluded the stabs of one but the scissors of the other snipped a chunk of flesh from her arm. She was forced to let go. She fell below Cyrus’s sight.
“Glaikis!” he shouted.
The discipline robots said in unison, “Answer the questions. Then and only then will temporary unconsciousness be permitted.”
She yelled, “The robots have a blind spot underneath them!”
He had his own share of problems, escaping death by decapitation or disemboweling, while spraying the robot with bullets. He was scratched and cut in several places while the robot looked little worse for the wear.
He sidestepped a shock-rod and slid under the robot, coming up on the other side. “These guns aren’t doing us much good.”
One of the guards drew another gun, a heavy pistol. He held it in two hands. “You freaks!”
She yelled, “Fission gun!”
The guard struggled with arming the gun. Cyrus was distracted; the discipline robot came up behind him, snaked all four arms around him and pinned him against its cold body. He didn’t see it at the time, but the robot had dropped the four red bombs.
“He’ll kill us with that!” she yelled, but couldn’t take her eyes off the robot near her.
The guard raised the fission gun and aimed it at Cyrus.
Glaikis bolted for him. A blowtorch from the end of the robot’s arm scorched her brown hair. She ignored it with the robot in hot pursuit. As the guard fumbled with the gun, he found the safety. Cyrus was unable to move with the robot grappling him. Even so, a fission gun was powerful enough to punch a hole through both of them.
She dove for the guard, cracked his wrist with a downward chop, and with the other hand struck him in the throat. He staggered back, clutching his neck, his trachea crushed. She grabbed him by the neck and snapped it. She let go of the limp body and had to run to avoid being caught by the robot.
One guard was dead, the other badly beaten.
Cyrus saw that she couldn’t help him immediately. Discipline robots were used to restrained subjects so they weren’t terribly strong, but they were machines nonetheless. Their arms were tubes full of liquid metal (called liquicore) that stiffened and relaxed to give them strength.
He grabbed one of the four arms and pulled. The veins bulged in his arms. He pulled until it was away from his body. Seeing he could do this, he did it with another. However he ran in to the same problem as Glaikis: the robot still had two more arms wrapped around him. Cyrus lifted his feet. The robot was suddenly supporting both of them, and it wasn’t built for that. It fell to the floor with a clank and Cyrus wiggled free of the other two arms. He rolled away while the robot righted itself and floated again.
Then he saw the robot had dropped the red bombs. He needed his hands free though, so he left them where they were.
Glaikis came back into the fight. “The arms! Shoot the arms with the guns! Puncture them!” The robot chasing her had one limp arm already.
They began the dance again, diving to avoid evisceration and coming up to take wild shots at the arms. Cyrus caught a barbed rod across his back and discovered it was electrified. He stumbled away with a howl of pain.
The discipline robots said, “Screaming is not valid. Your answers must be comprehensible.”
He looked past the discipline robot trying to stick him with needles and saw the guard pick up the bombs. Thinking quickly – and taking a great risk – Cyrus backed away from his attacker and raised his hand.
“If you come closer, I’ll trigger this. The ship will be in danger. Protect your master!”
The robot froze
. Cyrus had gambled. Everyone in the room knew the red bags were bombs. He hoped they understood his wrist device was the remote control.
Leech yelled, “Kill him! Kill Cyrus! Destroy the trigger!”
The robot wavered.
“So what?” said the guard. “I have the bombs.”
“Protect your master!” Cyrus yelled.
The other robot stopped. It had one of Glaikis’s arms in its pincer grip and let go.
“Protect your master!” she shouted.
Leech was incapable of giving an order to a human being. His programming didn’t allow it. He couldn’t tell the guard to let go of the bombs.
The two discipline robots rushed the guard. He looked dumbfounded, unsure what they intended to do. Eight arms reached out. Blades found his skin and needles stabbed his eyes. He shrieked and flailed. He tripped and fell back on an empty circular base, his throat cut wide open.
Glaikis saw the circle and looked up at the ceiling. Bright lights twinkled. A loud whistling sound began. The yellow cylindrical shield began to drop.
“Cyrus! Ditch the trigger! Get their attention back!”
He yanked the wristband off and threw it away. It dangled over a slot in the floor. She picked up the fission gun and holstered it.
“Hey! Over here! I can’t trigger the bombs! The master is safe!” he yelled.
The robots froze. The yellow shield descended. The ship’s computer had detected inactive biomass on the platform and was beginning the process to collect and destroy it.
The robots turned and began the chase again, one at each of them. Glaikis yelled, “Pull him out! The bombs are in there!”
Cyrus took several injuries for the run he made. He fell to the floor next to the dead guard as the shield came down. He tugged hard and the body came toward him but it was too late. The shield reached the bottom and cut the man in half at the waist. The rest of him and the bombs were within the shield.
Cyrus had no choice but to move because a robot was bearing down on him again.
The cylinder filled with flame. The skin on the body melted. The skin on the bombs did, too.
Glaikis and Cyrus ran and dove behind a rack just before the bombs went off. The shield didn’t hold. Metal shrapnel sprayed in every direction. One of the discipline robots was shattered.
Spinebreakers Page 21
