by M. D. Cooper
“What?!” Rika shrieked as Pierce’s words sunk into her. “You’re going to sell me?”
“Yup! Auction’s tomorrow, too. I could have nabbed you sooner, but I figured I’d let you work your last few days with Hal so I could collect your pay.” Pierce tapped her head. “Always thinking, always taking opportunities. Not like you, Rika. You may have been great at war, but you suck at life. There were opportunities all around you; you could have been a queen on Dekar, but you allowed yourself to be chattel. Being a slave is your lot, little Rika. You’re just a killing machine, and there’s a lot of killing that needs to be done out there.”
Rika’s vision swam as rage filled her. She would not be sold; she would not kill on another’s orders ever again.
Of her own volition, though—now, that was another story entirely.
She took a swing at Pierce, but the woman had been ready for it and danced back as a series of pulse blasts hammered into Rika from behind. Then one of the net-casters fired, and Rika was wrapped in carbon-fiber strands.
“You fucking bitch!” Rika screamed. “I’ll kill you for this! Kill you! You hear me? I’m going to tear you limb from limb!”
“Rika!” Pierce said with mock concern. “You always seemed so calm, so levelheaded.” Then Pierce’s brow lowered, and a wicked smile spread across her lips. “I’m glad there’s still a killer in there, though. That’ll bring top dollar for sure.”
Rika struggled against the net, feeling it begin to give against the power that surged through her limbs. “Better run, Pierce,” she grunted as a part of the net tore open. “I—”
Her words were cut short as she felt a stinging sensation in her neck. She reached up and pulled out a tranq-dart, then yanked more of the net apart and climbed to her feet, fighting the waves of dizziness that threatened to topple her.
“I—” she began to speak, but two more darts hit her, and then a fourth.
She took a step, but the ground was in the wrong place; she realized that the darts contained nano, not drugs. Her foot seemed to be floating above the ground, and then her face smashed into the deck.
Pierce approached and leaned over, her face close to Rika’s.
“Should never have got your face back, Mech A71F. It made you weak; and exploiting weakness is what I do best.”
Rika tried to reach out and grab Pierce, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. As her vision went black, she heard Pierce issue an order to someone nearby.
“Get a compliance chip back in her. I want her under control for the auction.”
AUCTION
STELLAR DATE: 07.02.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Pierce’s Warehouse, Dekar Station
REGION: Outer Rim of Parsons System, Nietzschean Empire
Rika woke with a start, as though the nanotech suppressing her conscious mind had shut off at a pre-programed time—which was probably the case.
The room she was in was small and spare, with a few crates stacked along the walls, and a door to her right.
She tried to move, and realized that she was mounted on a rack; its hooks set into the hardpoints on her back. Rika considered attempting to tear herself off it, when she felt a familiar tingle in her mind.
A compliance chip.
The vague memory of Pierce ordering her to receive a new one came to her, and Rika let loose a string of curses that would have impressed even her most foulmouthed teammates back in the military.
Rika didn’t have anything to say to the woman speaking in her mind. Nothing that wouldn’t make her sound like a raving lunatic, at least.
Rika seethed, but she didn’t respond, and she felt Pierce leave her mind a moment later.
Her thoughts drifted to the previous night, to her time in Chase’s arms. Why did I wait so long? To just have one night of happiness, and now to descend back into hell was too much, far too much.
Rika forced herself to calm down, taking deep breaths, remembering how she used to make her mind go still—how she would focus on a point of light within herself, and push away all her fears.
It was working, sort of, when the door opened, and two of Pierce’s guards entered wearing powered armor. She suspected that they weren’t taking any chances with her.
One stood in front of her and smiled. “You’re a serious piece of gear, Rika. I was half-hoping that Pierce would keep you around. I bet folks wouldn’t miss a payment if they knew you were coming by.”
“Yeah, but you saw all the people interested in her lot. Boss said she’d give everyone on the takedown team half a percent. That’s gonna be some serious coin.”
“Hey,” the first guard said as he released the locks on the rack and pushed it toward the door. “I said ‘half-hoping’.”
The other guard chuckled as he held the door open, and Rika considered reaching out and slamming his head against the door frame, but thought better of it as the tingle of discipline rose up in the back of her head once more.
The guards wheeled her down a short hall, and then out through a doorway and onto a raised platform.
Rika realized that she was still in the same warehouse as the night before, but the stacks of crates had been moved to create room for nearly one hundred people, who were gathered in front of the platform.
Some sat in rows of chairs, while others stood behind the seats and along the sides of the room. Each held a sheet of plas with a number on it, and Rika could see that many were adjusting their posture, readying to raise their plas in the air.
Humiliation flooded through Rika; to be wheeled out on the platform like she was a thing—which is exactly how they viewed her—was almost too much to bear.
Only the memory of the previous night kept her from breaking down. Chase saw her as human, as a person. That meant she was, no matter what these people thought.
“You can see here that we have a fine specimen of Genevian mech technology, manufactured at the height of the war, with all the latest enhancements government money can buy,” the auctioneer began, smiling as he walked in front of Rika and gestured to her body.
“It has augmented muscles, an upgraded skeletal system, military neural mods, and,” the auctioneer gave a soft chuckle, “a compliance chip.”
The sound of soft laughter came back from the crowd, and Rika grimaced, turning her head to the side.
“Don’t let her demure attitude fool you,” the auctioneer cautioned. “You have all seen her combat record, and the footage of the recent fight on Dekar. Mech A71F is top-notch, and ready to roll.”
The pair of guards walked back onto the stage, carrying a crate between them. They set it down next to Rika, out of her field of vision, and began to open it.
“But that’s not all!” the auctioneer cried out. “The seller has managed to secure an OEM multi-function weapons mount for our little mech, here.
One of the guards stood, holding the tool necessary to remove Rika’s limbs. He slotted it into her left arm and released the locking bolts, sliding them out and slipping them into a pocket. He gave a twist, and pulled.
Her days in the military flooded
back, the numerous techs who had repaired and rebuilt her time and again. She chuckled. “Gotta twist it a bit harder than that, you fucking squishie.”
There were a few chuckles from the crowd, and the man flushed, giving her a dirty look. He twisted again, harder this time, and her arm came free, and Rika stared down at the stub of a limb that remained.
The man lifted up a weapons mount attachment, complete with a GNR-41C sniper rifle, and slid it onto her arm, twisting hard in the other direction.
The new appendage clicked into place, and Rika saw the weapons specs and loadout appear on her HUD as the guard slid the locking rods into place.
“Look at that!” the auctioneer cried out. “Is that a war machine, or what?”
Rika saw nods of approval and shook her head. “Except that I’m a fucking lefty, I need this hand for a handheld weapon. You got a gun mount for the wrong arm.”
“I imagine you’ll adapt,” the auctioneer said, and shrugged before turning back to the crowd. “Let’s start the bidding at fifty-thousand Nietzschean credits!”
Rika knew he’d start there. It was the amount she owed Pierce, and by law on Dekar, bidding had to start at the amount owed. Sadly, she would not get to keep any excess.
Plas placards flew up around the room, and the auctioneer continued to raise the bid until it was close to a million credits. Around that point, Rika saw Pierce step out from behind a stack of crates wearing a cheek-splitting grin, and she wished she could get off the rack and tear that smile right off Pierce’s smarmy face.
As the bid amount closed in on one and a half million credits, many of the bidders fell out of the race. Only two remained.
One was a slender woman with a glowing red tattoo over her right eye, and the other was a cloaked figure in the back of the room, his face shrouded by a hood, though Rika’s enhanced vision could make out a bearded chin and sharp nose beneath the cowl.
The woman bid up to one and a half million, and the auctioneer scanned the room.
“We have one and a half million Nietzschean credits for the SMI-2 mech. Do I hear one point five-five million? Going once…”
“Two million!” the shrouded figure in the back called out.
“Two million Nietzschean credits!” the auctioneer cried out with glee, looking to the woman with the red tattoo. She shook her head and lowered her placard. “Sold to the man with placard number forty seven!” the auctioneer shouted.
The two guards had carried off the crate that held her arm, and now returned to wheel her off the stage.
“Nice haul, Rika!” one of the guards whispered. “Gonna buy a new rifle with my take. Thanks a mil!”
“Or two mil,” the other guard laughed.
They returned her to the small room where she had first awoken. The man who fitted her before pulled out the limb removal tool, and slotted it into her left arm, removing the bolts, and then the multi-function weapons mount and GNR-41C sniper rifle.
Rika hoped against hope that he would put her regular arm back on, but her worst fears were realized when he instead slotted the removal tool into her right arm.
“Hey, you don’t need to do this,” Rika said. “I have the chip; I can’t hurt my…owner.”
“Pierce’s orders,” the man said with a shrug. “I think it’s because she got a really small cryopod for transport. Cheaper that way.”
He pulled off her other arm, and then moved to her legs. A few minutes later they were both laying on the floor, and Rika’s HUD switched off the overlays that monitored those systems. It felt empty, seeing the world without all of her peripherals data framing it. Now all that remained was her charge readings and standard bio-data.
One of the guards flipped open a crate, and Rika saw a small cryopod within. He keyed in a code, and the pod’s lid split open and slid aside. Then the guards lifted her off the rack and carefully carried her to the pod.
“Shit, Rika, you’re heavy. What did you eat last night?” one of the guards asked.
“Don’t be such a pussy,” the other said as they lowered her into the pod.
“Speaking of pussy…I sure wish she had one,” the first guard said as they stood back. “Look at her. Without limbs, she looks like a little grey puppy. Stars, I’d fuck her sideways all day.”
“Shut up and—” the first guard’s words were cut short by a scuffle in the hall, and Rika peered up to see Chase burst into the room.
“Rika!” he cried out. “No, Rika—when you weren’t at the docks today…shit, Rika, they sold you!”
“Chase, please,” Rika whimpered, humiliated that Chase had seen her like this—just the shell of what was once a person.
“Hey, dickhead, get out of here,” the second guard yelled, turning to Chase and shoving him backward. “Deal’s done. She ain’t your girlfriend no more.
“Get off me!” Chase yelled, and shoved back, only to get a fist in his mouth, followed by another in his solar plexus. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, his eyes locked on Rika’s.
“Go,” she mouthed the words, not trusting her voice. “Please go.”
Chase’s eyes were filled with pain, and tears formed in their corners.
“I’ll find you, Rika. I don’t care where they take you; I’ll find you, and I’ll set you free. I promise!”
“Yeah, right, loverboy,” one of the guards said as he kicked Chase in the stomach. The other guard reached down and grabbed Chase by the hair, dragging him bodily into the hall.
The first guard turned back to Rika and pushed a button on the cryopod. As the lid closed, she caught one last glimpse of Chase—he had been thrown against a wall and was getting punched in the stomach.
Then Rika’s view of the first man who had ever treated her like a person was cut off, and everything went black.
THEBES
STELLAR DATE: 12.15.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Warehouse on the northeast edge of Berlin
REGION: Pyra, Albany System, Theban Alliance
Rika felt the slow return of consciousness that followed cryostasis. She had been through it before, and it was just as unpleasant as she recalled. The process was akin to becoming un-drunk over the course of thirty seconds.
As her brain began to accept stimuli from her eyes, she saw that she was in a room with a wooden ceiling. Wood. Dust. She was planetside somewhere.
Sounds reached her ears: scuffling, something being dragged around, low voices.
“This isn’t right. Does she get paid, at least? How can she be on the team if she doesn’t get paid?” one voice said. Female. Soft, but with a rasp.
“She’s not really a person, she just needs parts and power. She belongs to us now.”
The second voice was male. It was low, and even though the words were spoken softly, they still carried a deep resonance.
“Shut up, you two, she’s waking up,” said a third voice. Also male, but a touch nasal—like the owner had a sinus issue of some sort.
Rika closed her eyes and rotated her neck around, getting a feel for moving again, before opening her eyes back up to see yellow eyes peering down at her from a dark-skinned face, framed by long black hair, and a warm smile.
“Good morning, Rika. I’m glad you made the trip without any trouble. Sorry about the mode of transport; it gets a bit tricky to bring military hardware like you into the Theban Alliance.”
“Thebes?” Rika asked, trying to remember the Alliance’s systems and worlds.
“Yeah. We’re on Pyra, their capital world. In the Albany System.”
Rika closed her eyes and nodded, finally recalling the interstellar cartography of the Theban Alliance.
“Jerry, give me a hand here,” the woman said before looking down at Rika. “Oh, by the way, I’m Leslie. We’re glad to have you on the team.”
“Stop talking to her like she’s a person,” the deep voice said. “She’s ‘on the team’ like my rifle is ‘on the team’.”
Leslie grimaced. “You’re going to have to ignore Barn
e. He’s not really good at anything but shooting.”
Another face appeared over Rika, and she saw a mess of blond hair atop a grizzled face.
“Lieutenant Jerry,” he said with a nod.
“Lift your…arms, and we’ll pull you out, and get you on the rack,” Leslie added.
Rika nodded, and allowed herself to be lifted out of the cryopod; though it was not as if she had much say in the matter. Not unless scurrying around on the floor and biting ankles could be considered a viable escape plan.
As they carried her to the rack, Rika confirmed that her location was indeed a warehouse; one filled with old wooden crates, amidst which appeared to be a small staging area filled with surveillance equipment, and no small number of weapons.
Leslie and Jerry grunted as they lifted her high and set the rack’s hooks into her hardpoints.
Leslie gave a long exhale and leaned against the rack. “Stars, you’re heavy.”
“I’ve heard that,” Rika said. “Who are you, if you don’t mind my asking? You don’t look like the guy that bought me.”
She saw Leslie wince and give a meaningful glance at Jerry, who looked away.
From behind her, Barne, who she still hadn’t seen, gave a throaty laugh. “That was probably Gregor, our outfit’s quartermaster. He always gets us the best toys.”
She could tell that Leslie and Jerry weren’t fully comfortable with the idea of having a slave on their team—though Barne was coping with the idea easily enough, by treating her as an object to be bought and used.
Rika found it ironic that, of the three, his reaction was the easiest to deal with. The way Jerry and Leslie were behaving made her feel ashamed. Barne just made her angry. Anger was something she could use.
Her anger at Barne and the situation she was now in could mask the sorrow she still felt from the final moments on Dekar Station; final moments that were, for her, just minutes past. She could still hear Chase’s grunts as Pierce’s guards beat him, and the painful lump was still in her throat, threatening to unleash the type of emotional outburst that would not serve her well in her current situation.
