Android: Rebel (The Identity Trilogy)

by Mel Odom

  “I see him! It’s a bioroid!”

  “Destroy it, Joao!” the woman commanded.

  Joao fired five times in quick succession. The muzzle flashes strobed the blackness of the surrounding space, reflected against Khloe’s dulled and pitted sides.

  Three of the bullets streaked past me. One of them slammed into my left thigh, but my foot was anchored to the ship’s hull and the round ricocheted off and sailed away without doing anything more than cosmetic damage. The second round struck me high on the left side of the chest and cored into the protective layers covering my primary operating systems. A bioroid’s “brain” wasn’t located in the head. It was located in the bioroid’s chest, the greatest space available. The location also provided the most shelter and density.

  Even anchored by my right foot as I was, I rocked back and spun slightly around. Scrambling to orient myself anew, I found myself turned at an acute angle to the man as he fired again and another person from the shuttle clambered out.

  Three of the four shots went wide of the mark, but one of them slapped against the side of my head. If I had been human, I would have been dead or unconscious.

  I leveled the Synap and fired. The bolt, deliberately colored blue to warn those against whom it was used, struck the man. He shuddered and went limp as his senses left him stretched with only his magnetic boots holding him onto Khloe’s hull.

  “There’s another one!” Captain Angstrom warned.

  Actually, there were three others. The other one outside the shuttle and the two who remained within the shuttle. I had verified their presence with thermographic vision.

  Once more balanced, I walked toward the remaining envirosuited figure with the Synap raised.

  “Put down your weapon and surrender peacefully.” Since this one was not shooting at me, I had to tender the warning. I could no longer claim to be part of the New Angeles Police Department, but even using the Synap I could not fire indiscriminately without first being fired upon. Being rendered unconscious was not considered life-threatening to humans, but if they could be spared the unpleasantness, I was programmed to offer it.

  “Destroy it!” the woman space jumper ordered over the frequency they were using.

  “Shoot him, Frank!” Angstrom shouted, rising from his command chair.

  The man raised his weapon and fired too quickly. Bullets skipped off Khloe’s hull in front of me and at my feet in bright sparks and sharp vibrations.

  I pulled the Synap’s trigger and the bright blue bolt lashed out and shook him into unconsciousness. His boots failed to secure his position to Khloe and he started to float away. His tether trailed behind him and I saw that he had not secured it before climbing out of the shuttle.

  Reaching out, I grabbed the man’s tether and fastened it to one of the D-rings on his unconscious partner’s suit. They swayed there in weightless space as Khloe sped toward Mars.

  I forced my way up into the shuttle, following behind the Synap. The airlock cycled quickly, filling the vacuum with air before opening the interior door. The craft’s command module was small, barely large enough for the four-man crew. Panels above and below the sensor screen blinked with multicolored lights.

  One of the remaining crew—a woman with a hard face, short hair, and dark eyes—stared at me over the barrel of a slug-thrower from less than a meter away.

  I held my fire and spoke calmly. “Put down your weapon. Resistance at this point is futile.”

  “Freaking golem.”

  The term was a generic epithet for bioroids used by Human First and others.

  “Zap her.” Shelly stood at my side, somehow fitting into the entryway. I wasn’t surprised that she had found a way to accompany me. Since she had died, nothing she did surprised me. “Waking up with a skull-rattling headache might teach her some manners.”

  “Kill her,” a man’s voice snarled. “Don’t leave a living enemy behind you.”

  The second voice gave me pause. I knew it had not come from Angstrom or his crew because I was monitoring that frequency and they were only talking amongst themselves, suddenly hopeful about their situation.

  I searched the command module for another person other than the two I saw before me even though I knew there was not enough space to hide someone else.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Shelly.

  She looked at me with a troubled expression. “Hear what?”

  “The man who spoke to me.”

  “No one spoke to you, Drake. You and I are the only ones here, aside from these would-be space jumpers.”

  I knew that was not true. Other than the two people in the command module and the two I’d left floating outside, no one else was there.

  “You don’t leave an enemy behind you in a position to hurt you or your mission. I trained you better than that.”

  This time I recognized the hard voice. It belonged to John Rath, Simon Blake’s old commanding officer. I somehow sensed him somewhere near where Shelly and I stood, but I saw only a dark shadow of a man in battle fatigues at an indeterminate distance.

  “You should kill her and be done with it. You should kill them all, Simon. If you were me, that’s what you would do. You’ve gotten soft.”

  The woman’s eyes flickered a split-second before she pulled the slug-thrower’s trigger. My vision flooded with the muzzle flash and I felt the bullet hammer my chest. I fired the Synap and immediately turned the pistol in the direction of the man, giving him no further warning. I was uncomfortable with that, but it was done before I knew it was going to happen.

  “Good job, soldier,” Rath whispered into my ear. “No hesitation, no mercy.”

  When my vision cleared, I gazed down at the two unconscious people floating weightlessly in the command module. I automatically confiscated the woman’s slug-thrower and slipped it into my thigh pouch.

  “Drake,” Shelly said, “what did you do?”

  “What I had to.” Even as I said it, I knew it was Simon’s answer, not mine. But I didn’t bother to elaborate. Shelly wasn’t really there any more than John Rath had been.

  At that moment, I knew I was alone in the command module.

  “Frank. Frank.” Captain Angstrom sounded annoyed and frightened.

  “I am here.” I put the Synap away and went to work securing the two unconscious crewmen, pushing them into the available seats and belting them in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “All of the space jumpers have been neutralized, Captain. I’ll be returning to Khloe momentarily.”

  “Roger that.” Angstrom did not sound relieved.

  Once I finished with the two crewmen inside the shuttle, I returned for the two I’d left tethered outside. I brought them in one at a time and strapped them in.

  While I’d been busy doing that, I’d also monitored the space jumpers’ main ship and saw that they were beginning the laborious process of salvaging their stricken shuttle crews. Given the parameters of those efforts, I knew the rescues would be easily effected within the given time constraints. Shuttles weren’t equipped with more than superficial oxygen scrubbers. They could extend an oxygen supply, but they usually didn’t carry more than a few hours’ worth of breathable air. Given the clandestine nature of their operations, the shuttles might have been carrying less useable air to improve on cargo capacity.

  Once I had the crew strapped in, I turned my attention to the control panel, quickly plotting in instructions for the autopilot to rejoin the main vessel. Then I quit the shuttle and began the walk back across Khloe’s hull.

  Chapter Five

  Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?”

  I stood stiffly at attention in Khloe’s crowded command module, hands behind my back in parade rest formation as I faced a very belligerent Captain Angstrom.

  “I am Frank 5DE7CE.” Under my present designation, that was true even though the e-docs bearing that name/model number were false. Stripped of my standing in the NAPD, I was no longer Drake 3GI2RC. Since
that was the label given to me by Haas-Bioroid, that too was gone by default. I might have been shading the legal technicalities somewhat, but my logic programs had no problem with the answer I’d given.

  Captain Angstrom cursed vociferously for a moment. Even Kloust drew back from the man. “That is not the truth.”

  “It is the truth.” I remained steadfast.

  “Who were you before you were Frank 5DE7CE?”

  “Who I was does not pertain to the present situation.”

  Angstrom’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and annoyance. He cursed again. “You’re no Frank. You’re higher than that. A lot higher.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “What are you doing on my ship?”

  “Going to Mars.”

  “Why?”

  “Because what I need to find could not be found on the Moon or on Earth.”

  “What do you need to find?” Angstrom leaned threateningly into my face.

  I did not mind the implied threats. I did not feel threatened. “Respectfully, Captain, that is none of your business.” Within my programming for the NAPD, I had latitude to tell falsehoods and withhold knowledge. That was part of the job as a detective.

  “I’ll decide what my business is!”

  I made no response, nor did I wipe away the spittle that flecked my face as he shouted at me from only centimeters away.

  “Who was the woman that got you onto my ship?”

  That had been Rachel Beckman, a professional mercenary. For a time, she had protected me. Getting me onto Khloe had blurred the line between professional and personal for both of us, but it had been done. “She was…a friend.” I made my words more forceful. “Revealing her name could potentially be life-threatening for her, so I cannot answer that question.”

  Angstrom cursed again, knowing he was up against programming that he would never defeat.

  Whitney Taylor spoke up then, surprising the rest of the crew. “Does it make a difference why Frank—or whatever his name is—is here on this ship? He’s a bioroid. He can’t hurt us.”

  Angstrom and Kaloust looked at each other, and I saw in their subtle facial expressions that they knew she was right.

  “Not only that,” Whitney continued, “Frank couldn’t sit quietly by and let us be killed by the space jumpers. That’s the only reason any of us know he isn’t what he appeared to be.”

  “He could have been acting to save his own hide.” Brenda stared at me with hard, accusing eyes.

  “A bioroid?” Whitney snorted. “At worst, they would have jettisoned him. He could have floated out there for years and been just fine until someone found him. Or they could have taken him aboard ship, reconfigured his e-docs and ownership to resell him, or parted him out for salvage. He had more to lose going out there to confront those space jumpers than by sitting in here.”

  Brenda shook her head. “Do you really think he was at risk?”

  Gently, Whitney reached up and touched the laceration along the side of my head. The stainless steel composition had withstood the bullet’s impact, but the synthskin overlay had shredded. I felt no pain, only an irritating buzzing that let me know I wasn’t cosmetically appealing at the moment. At my level, interacting with humans, appearance was important.

  “I think he had plenty at risk.”

  Behind me, Shelly smiled. “I like this woman.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, Frank.” Whitney smiled softly. “But I should be thanking you.” She looked around meaningfully at Angstrom and the rest of the crew. “We should be thanking you.”

  No one did, but I detected a lowering of hostility in the command module.

  After a moment, Angstrom addressed me again. “What are you going to do when we get to Mars?”

  “What I came to do.”

  Angstrom cursed again, but not with the same previous intensity. “I paid for you, you know. Back on the Moon, I laid out a good amount of creds for you. I shouldn’t have to absorb that loss.”

  Whitney looked at the captain. “Small investment given that Frank just saved our ship and our cargo. Not to mention, our lives. I don’t know what kind of price you put on your life, Captain, but I value mine a lot.”

  “She has a point,” Kaloust stated.

  Angstrom’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. “You’re going to help offloading the cargo.”

  “Yes.” Doing so would help keep my cover intact. If Angstrom had made me leave, that would have drawn attention to me. “Once that is done, once it is night, I will take my leave.”

  “See that you do.” Angstrom turned from me and walked back to his command chair. He riveted his attention to the sensor screen. A pair of remotely operated sensors stood watch over the space jumpers. The big ship was now trolling toward the second stricken shuttle. The first had already been recovered.

  It was highly unlikely that Starport Authority had sent units to engage the space jumpers, and there was little if any chance of apprehending them. They would be long gone and Starport Authority would have expended a lot of fuel for nothing to show for it.

  Whitney frowned at Angstrom, then took me gently by the arm. “C’mon, Frank, let’s go get your face fixed up.”

  I let her lead me away.

  * * *

  Whitney’s personal quarters were small with a bed that folded out from the wall and small overhead compartments that contained her personal effects. There wasn’t much.

  “Sit.” She pointed to the bed.

  I sat on the edge. “I do not mean to be an inconvenience.”

  “You’re not an inconvenience.” Whitney opened one of the overhead compartments and took down a cosmetics bag. “You look like you’ve been in a fight. You can’t walk around like that.”

  “Synthskin can be difficult to work with.”

  “I know. Before I hired on with Khloe, I worked for Haas-Bioroid as a cosmetician for bioroids.”

  I accessed Whitney’s service records in Khloe’s data. I thought that a background in something like that would more clearly have caught my attention and knew it was impossible that I had missed it. I found nothing in her files.

  Whitney smiled at me as she began prepping the synthskin in the bag. “Checking up on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not finding any mention of Haas-Bioroid?”

  “I am not.”

  “Captain Angstrom isn’t the most complete records keeper.”

  I silently agreed. When I’d scanned the records upon entry to the ship, I had found several of the e-docs incomplete. “Haas-Bioroid would have paid you better than you are presently earning,” I said as she worked on my face. “And you would not have ever been in danger as you were today. Why did you leave?”

  “I got my heart broken.”

  I resisted the immediate impulse to scan her cardiac system to verify the existence of a broken heart because I knew she was not referring to a physical ailment. Jealousy and love were two motives that suspects in my career at the NAPD often exhibited. “A lover wronged you.”

  “Yes.” Whitney picked up a surgical scalpel from her tool set. “I need to excise more synthskin to make the repairs. May I?”

  “Yes.” I did not care what I looked like, only that I could pass as someone other than Drake GI2RC. Whitney’s abilities did not matter.

  She handled the scalpel with dexterity and sliced ragged edges of synthskin into wavy lines. “I’m cutting the patches unevenly to better blend the new grafts.”

  “Yes.” I accessed the Net and pulled down information regarding synthskin grafting and recognized the technique Whitney employed. “I understand.”

  “I know this doesn’t hurt, but I still have to ask.”

  “I am fine.” The excision only caused a small degree of irritation, enough to let me know something was wrong.

  “Good.” She continued sliding the sharp blade across the stainless steel substrata of my face. Even without the synths
kin, I would have looked humanlike. The synthskin was only there to soften the alienness of my nature, not hide it. “While I was at Haas-Bioroid, I worked primarily on gynoids. Primarily their faces, but I was familiar with the whole anatomical package.”

  “You were good at your work?”

  She grinned as she readied the synthskin. “I was one of the best.”

  “Till you got your heart broken.”

  Her mood darkened a little and her eyes tightened. “Yes. I became infatuated with Thomas Haas.”

  My interest ticked up. Thomas Haas was the heir apparent to Haas-Bioroid. Even more, he knew something about my programming that even I didn’t know. He had appeared mysteriously in my apartment in New Angeles and taken control of me in a way that I still could not explain. I still had a blackout period that I could not access.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Whitney shrugged. “Don’t be. It was entirely my fault. I knew better and I still chased after him.” She smiled, but I knew there was not much humor in the expression from the amount of effort she put into it. “People warned me about how fickle he was. I was young and stupid, and in the end—when he cheated on me—I was too proud to stay working at Haas-Bioroid.”

  I said nothing because I didn’t find anything in my memories to say. I could empathize with someone who had lost a family member to a violent act, but I could not address her loss in a way that I found acceptable.

  “What was Thomas Haas like?”

  Whitney leaned back away from me and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just…curious.”

  “What kind of work did you do before you became a cargo handler, Frank?”

  I paused only for a moment. “Work that I very much enjoyed.”

  After waiting to see if I would say anything further and discovering that I would not, Whitney nodded. “I feel the same way about no longer doing cosmetology on bioroids.” She applied the synthskin and used a blue light to chemically seal the different layers. “I still moonlight from time to time whenever we’re in port.” She shrugged. “Some cargo ship captains need work done on their bioroids, and some of the sex houses need work done as well.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t work on bioroids they rent out for abuse, though. I draw the line there.”