Project Starfighter

by Stephen J Sweeney

  “All good?” Sanderson asked the drone.

  “The subject is in an acceptable condition,” the drone announced. “I will signal for a medical unit. Done,” it confirmed, barely half a second later. “It will arrive shortly. Thank you for your cooperation and help.”

  “And the money?”

  “The money will be deposited into your bank accounts shortly.”

  “Three-way share,” Sanderson said, pointing out the recipients. “Myself, Nicola Beechwood, and Jacob Worth.”

  “Three-way share?” Jacob commented, sounding quite pleased. “Thought it was going to be four or five. Might be able to afford somewhere better with that. That’s ... what, eighty-something each.”

  Chris felt Jacob’s weight lift as the man, relaxing, relinquished his hold somewhat. With Jacob briefly off-guard, Chris was able to heave him aside and spring to his feet. Jacob made a lunge for him but was too slow, Chris bounding out of the way.

  “Ah, whatever,” Jacob said, waving him away. “What’s done is done. You should get yourself out of here, kid.”

  “Chris Bainfield,” Chris reminded him.

  Jacob once again swatted the words aside, without much of a care. He was clearly too busy mentally spending the reward money.

  “Wait, three-way share?” A woman was stepping forward with a shotgun, perhaps the one Chris had heard being discharged earlier. “What about me?”

  “You didn’t do anything,” Beechwood said.

  “Neither did they,” the woman said, pointing at Jacob and Sanderson. “They just nodded and agreed.”

  “Didn’t see you agreeing to nothing,” Sanderson glared at her.

  “Did you see me not agreeing to anything?” the irate woman snapped.

  “Me, as well,” another man said, stepping forward. “You going to shut me out of the deal because I didn’t say anything?”

  “We agreed to help turn in Wooding,” Jacob said, indicating himself, Sanderson, and Beechwood. “You weren’t in on it, as far as I can tell, and so you don’t get a share.”

  Chris saw that things were starting to get heated and that the five might end up going for one another’s throats. The six other men and women who had scattered when the drone had first appeared also seemed to be getting ideas of what their share should be. Chris cared for none of it. He didn’t trust the drone, nor what it was offering. He noticed how the thing had become decidedly mute since Jasmine Wooding had been turned in. The friendly tone deployed when the drone had first arrived had gone, replaced by one that was monotone and robotic. Chris had a hunch what was coming next. Time to leave.

  There were a couple of vehicles parked up outside the diner, one with wheels, the other employing an anti-gravity hover system. Given the choice, Chris would have gone with the hover. It was faster, no traction or friction to slow it, and usable on almost any surface. But he would take anything that was available. He knew there was only a very slim chance that the keys or starter card would have been left in either vehicle.

  The men and women continued bickering, gesticulating a great deal, pointing at Wooding, the drone, and one another. Sanderson’s hand was dangerously close to his holstered pistol. There was little doubt in Chris’ mind that the moment he moved to pull it, chaos would erupt. Not that Chris imagined the drone would seek to do anything to prevent a shoot out.

  Jasmine Wooding was standing where she had been brought, next to the drone. She was in a bad way, her face red and blistered from the burns she had suffered. Her hands were in a similar state, as was the skin that had been exposed through her damaged uniform. Her eyes met Chris’ as he began making his way towards the two vehicles, causing him to pause. Jasmine said nothing but shook her head a very minute amount, cocking it ever so slightly towards the vehicles.

  Go, she was saying. Get out of here. Save yourself. Forget about me.

  Chris nodded back to her. I’m sorry.

  Other than Wooding, no one was paying him any attention; they were all too focused on one another, arguing over who was more entitled to the riches promised in exchange for the poor woman. But Chris had seen a starter card resting on the table where some of the men and women had been sitting. It was for the hover. He picked up the card as he skirted the table, made his way quickly over to the vehicle, and used the card to enter and start it.

  “HEY!” a voice shouted.

  Only once before had Chris driven a vehicle such as this. Thankfully, it was quite a lot like using a regular car. Only the handling differed. And right now, with the hover facing directly down the road, he only needed to go straight. He pushed the accelerator control on the steering wheel, and was speeding away as one of the men came racing around the diner.

  “SON OF A BITCH!” the man screamed.

  Chris continued to accelerate down the road, towards the tall buildings of Tira’s cityscape, far in the distance. He heard a bang, followed quickly thereafter by the thump of shotgun pellets slamming into the back of the hover. Another blast from the shotgun came soon after, though no pellets found him this time. Even so, Chris slipped down a little in the seat, thumbing the accelerator button on the wheel harder. No further shots came and Chris saw through the rear view mirror that he was already a good distance away from the diner and the hover’s original owner.

  Chris needed to get to the city as quickly as possible. He knew Sid Wilson was there somewhere, probably holed-up in his flat. Declared a wanted man, the guy was even more vulnerable now. With WEAPCO deploying drones to locate the most prominent members of the Resistance and offering up that substantial reward for their heads, Sid would be handed over quickly. Two hundred and fifty thousand. That was a lot of money. Ten years’ salary for most.

  Chris thumbed the accelerator with urgency, but found he was already pushing the hover as fast as it would go. No matter, he would be at the city limits in a little under ten minutes at this rate. The buildings loomed larger with each passing moment, the features of the Wade-Ellen Spire, the tall WEAPCO tower that presided over the city, becoming steadily more detailed. It was glittering with light that issued from its many floors and windows, the top of the spire projecting multicoloured, laser lights out into the sky. They would become more visible as the sun set, and the night drew in.

  Chris then spied some objects on his right-hand side, moving across the sky and kicking up dust as they descended to the ground. WEAPCO bots, three of them. But not the medical type the envoy drone had originally promised. These were clearly sporting armaments, cannon arms sprouting from their sides. Chris saw in the hover’s mirrors that they were speeding towards the diner. It seemed that those who had handed over Wooding had now realised that they had been deceived, the men and women scattering as they saw the bots drawing nearer.

  A few moments later, angry red bolts erupted from the three bots’ cannons. They were as deadly as they were accurate, two of the retreating figures falling to the ground as the laser bolts struck them. The envoy drone held its ground, knowing that its companions’ fire would not strike it. Jasmine Wooding was still standing next to it. Then, as a bolt struck her, she was down. There came flashes and the muffled sounds of pistols and the shotgun as those around the diner attempted to defend themselves. They were unsuccessful, as Chris had known they would be, their weapons having little impact on the defences of WEAPCO’s robots.

  Chris reached for his phone, activating it. “Call The Doc,” he said, naming Sid by his Resistance handle.

  “Will call The Doc, unless you say ‘Cancel’,” the device affirmed.

  The phone rang for a time but no one picked up. Chris cancelled the call as it went through to the voicemail system. Though Chris had exchanged a number of messages with Sid Wilson, Chris had never actually spoken to him. Something about Sid wishing to keep his true identity hidden. Chris could only hope that it was serving him well.

  A bright flash came from behind, followed by a tremendous boom. The diner had been blown to pieces, a fireball leaping skyward where it had once stood. Chr
is could just about make out a vapour trail from one of the bots, where it had apparently just loosed a rocket. The bloody things were psychotic!

  Chris returned his attention to the road ahead, just in case the once-clear route had suddenly become blocked further up. He was coming up to a long bridge that was crossing the Atlas Gorge. A sign told him that it was still eight miles to the city.

  “Send a message to The Doc,” he commanded his phone. “Doc, it’s Chris Bainfield. I’m coming into Tira. We need to meet, ASAP. Your life is in danger. WEAPCO are sending bots to look for you. I’m coming to get you. I need you to tell me where you’re staying, but be careful who else you trust.”

  Chris almost swallowed his tongue as he glanced once more into the rear view mirror. Having destroyed the diner and eliminated all the members of the Resistance around it, the drone and the war bots were now coming after him. Hell, and they were moving fast.

  “Send,” Chris told the phone.

  “Sending message,” his phone said.

  Chris thumbed the accelerator desperately, hoping to somehow coax more speed out of the hover. It was of no use, and he was barely halfway over the bridge when the drone and the bots were on him. Swerving across the three lanes, Chris looked for a gap in the central reservation that would allow him to cross to the other side, and make the bots’ job of killing him that much harder. He thought he could hear the drone telling him to pull over and get out of the vehicle. He ignored the voice, seeing the break in the divider he had been looking for. The bots’ cannons opened up and caught the hover at the very moment that Chris swung it through the gap.

  The hover spun, and Chris’ world became a blur as the vehicle struck the dividing concrete barrier, flipped up, and began tumbling lengthways over it. There was another bright flash and an explosion as a second bolt caught the hover. It corrected the hover’s motion just long enough for Chris to see the vehicle crash through the lightweight barriers at the sides of the bridge, its momentum slowing greatly as it did so.

  There the vehicle teetered for a few seconds before it tipped over the edge, tumbled down into the gorge, hit the ground, and exploded.

  Chapter 2

  Chris was certain that jumping from falling vehicles was something that only action heroes in films ever did. Those actors certainly made it look a great deal easier than it was in real life. Looking down over the edge of the platform again, Chris couldn’t see either the bots or the drone. They had followed after the hover as it had fallen into the gorge and hit the ground far below, descending to inspect the wreckage and check to see if he had somehow survived. They had swept for a time, their forms mostly concealed behind the curtain of thick, black smoke that billowed up from the remains of the vehicle. When they found no body in the wreckage, Chris hoped that the machines would simply reason that he had been incinerated in the explosion, clothes, flesh, bone and all.

  Reason. There was something that Chris was certain that WEAPCO’s drones and bots weren’t actually capable of. The god-like AI machines that apparently worked and possibly ran the core of the Corporation’s business came close from what he understood. Yet, if that were true, he could not understand why they permitted such suffering and only extended the benefits of WEAPCO’s achievements to a select few within the Corporation itself? Chris had always believed that an advanced being, artificial or not, would have made war a thing of the past and found a way to bring equality to all. Something about WEAPCO didn’t add up.

  But such philosophical contemplations would have to wait until later. Right now, Chris needed to get to Tira and find a way to reach Sid before it was too late. And given his present state, it was likely that WEAPCO’s machines might well beat him to the man.

  Chris tried to stand again, starting with his left leg, before gingerly putting weight on his right. The pain was strong and instant, so he lowered himself back down, swearing under his breath.

  The jump from the falling hover as it had tipped over the edge of the bridge had saved his life, Chris somehow managing to gain enough momentum to carry him the extra few feet he needed to land on one of the suspended platforms beneath. It had come at a cost, however – the distance he had fallen having been far greater than he had anticipated.

  There was little doubt in his mind that his right foot was broken. It was aching terribly, even without him putting pressure on it. Still, better his foot than his leg, and better that than losing his life. Returning to the road above would be slow going, especially as he needed to climb a ladder.

  Still no sign of the bots or the drone. They must have moved on without him noticing. At last confident that they were long gone, Chris turned his phone back on. He had switched it off the moment he had landed on the platform, sure that the signal from the device would allow the machines to track him. The phone’s screen was cracked in several places from where he had dropped it, but it was still usable. No messages from Sid. Chris depressed the frontal button to activate the voice command system.

  “Call The Doc,” he instructed the phone.

  “Sorry, there is no network coverage,” the phone reported. “I cannot complete your request at this time. Please move to a more open area or try again later.”

  Damn. Was something blocking the signal? Or had the impact broken something key to the phone’s transmission systems? He power cycled the device, checked the settings as best he could, and tried again. The results were the same.

  “Show me a map of my location,” he told it.

  “Sorry, there is no network coverage. I cannot complete your request at this time. Please mov—”

  Chris cancelled the request. He would just have to use the regular mapping system, without any location tracking assistance. Maybe for the best, he thought.

  He struggled to his feet, limping over to the ladder. It was quite a long way to the top, and with his right foot in its current condition, he would have to hop up the rungs one at a time. Putting weight on his right foot to allow him to go quicker simply wasn’t going to happen. This could take a while.

  ~

  After what felt like an age of climbing, Chris pulled himself onto the side of the bridge. He rested there for a time, seeing the damage to the barrier where he had originally burst through and gone over the edge, as well as the blackened marks on the road itself from where the bots had attacked him.

  He couldn’t rest there for long, he had wasted too much time already. The sun had set and it was growing dark. Eight miles to the city, the sign had said. Uninjured, that was a distance he might have been able to run in about an hour. Walking, perhaps just under two. In his present state, could he do it in four, even? It could take a lot longer.

  Chris had heard the occasional vehicle passing over the bridge as he had hauled himself up the ladder, and had hoped that, seeing the wreckage, a driver might have stopped to check on what had happened. But none had. If he was lucky, someone driving by might see him now as he hobbled towards the city and offer him a lift. Though he could end up having to walk the entire way.

  And what if the bots, able just this once to reason that he had given them the slip, came back looking for him, and ended his crusade there and then? Chris gritted his teeth against both the pain and that thought. Not if he could help it, they wouldn’t.

  ~

  After hobbling the first mile or so, Chris was fortunate enough to flag down a car heading towards Tira. It wasn’t the first that had passed him, but this one had been the only one that had stopped. The driver was an older woman, somewhere in her early fifties. She looked over the uniform he wore, appraising it carefully.

  “You with that resistance movement?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Chris admitted.

  The woman sat silently behind the wheel for a time, then nodded to the passenger door. “Alright, get in.”

  Chris did so, detecting from her tone that she would do him this one favour only, and that he should not talk or ask any questions. His phone jingled in his pocket as the car made the journey towards
Tira. Messages from Sid.

  I’m staying at the Watergardens, Flat 617. What’s happening? Where are you? the first asked.

  Chris, are you okay? the next had said, timestamped around fifteen minutes later.

  Chris, if you’re still alive, get back to me, the last read. That had been sent nearly two hours ago.

  Chris tapped out a response, telling Sid what had happened and that he would be arriving shortly. The woman eyed him suspiciously as he did so, and so Chris kept the task brief, pocketing the phone once he was done. They shortly arrived in the city proper, the woman pulling off the main road and into a side street.

  “There you go,” she said, unlocking the door and prompting Chris to get out.

  Chris noted that they hadn’t come as far into the city as he would have liked. “Could you ...” he began, but the woman only shook her head. She clearly didn’t want to be seen with him. “Okay, thank you,” he said, as he awkwardly got out of the vehicle.

  “Good luck,” the woman said, before driving off. Her words rang hollow, her voice conveying something more like pity for a man on a fool’s errand rather than encouragement for one on a hero’s journey.

  Chris studied his surroundings. This wasn’t a nice part of town. It was where the lower dregs of society tended to gravitate. The junkies, the dealers, the drug-addicted sex workers, and those with little left to live for. He had walked through this area a number of times in the past, often quickly, to get away from it as soon as possible. Slowed by his broken foot, he would be seeing a great deal more of it than usual. He began hobbling through the filthy streets, ragged newspapers and sticky substances clinging to his shoes as he went.

  “Spare some change?” a heavily-bearded man, lying inside a sleeping bag, asked.