Defiance

by Bear Ross

  “Apologies, Pilot Kramer,” Jev, the bot-tender replied, sliding down a mechanical track behind the bar’s counter. Jev’s external lights pulsed, changing the channel. The mechanical server whirred back to where she was seated, head cameras at a slight bow. “This Unit should have been monitoring the transmission output. Next beverage is on the house.”

  A handful of shouted protests ensued from the crowd as the current program, a top ten review of the most brutal arena kills in the last ten years, flashed to one of the other hundreds of Gatekeeper-controlled sports feeds.

  The new program was some live event with amateurs no one cared about in one of the lower-class arenas. The bar's mix of alien and human conversations lowered in volume, then went back to their normal hum. A dark laugh rose from one of the tables as one of the mechs on screen lost an arm to a rotary cannon burst.

  Jessica Kramer sighed and accepted the beer. She was not in the mood for this cheap, sordid booze-shack. She was especially not in the mood for seeing her brother Jered die, once again, in a gate-damned ‘best-of’ show while surrounded by strangers.

  Five painful years had passed since that day at Berva Proxima, but Jered Kramer’s spectacular, pointless death inside Judah still made the retro-arena network feeds. Per Jered’s old contract, part of the money from those broadcast residuals still went to her, his last living relative on Junctionworld. It wasn’t much, just enough to get by in this miserable garden of mechanized slaughter.

  The fact that Jessica Kramer paid her existence taxes, housing levies, and the dozens of other Gatekeeper fees with the money generated by their use of Jered’s death footage was a bitter, ironic twist that made her want another beer. And another. And another, until her memory of that day went away in a black smear.

  The years since the events of that day continued to haunt her, yet here she found herself, waiting for the next tap on the shoulder, the next inevitable ethyl-alcohol-soaked challenge by some lunkhead to see if he or she measured up to a Kramer. Jessica caught the wink and nod between two mech pilots as they looked in her direction and murmured a joke. She tried to ignore them, then decided she would probably break both of their jaws later, if she had time before her upcoming gladiator match.

  Jessica seemed to catch too many people staring at her before they averted their eyes. Maybe it was her father’s paranoia, coming back to manifest in her. She took a deep drink from the new beer and tried to relax. With a subtle movement, she re-engaged the snap on her pistol’s holster. The impulse to kill every being in the room definitely came from her mother.

  The Fourth Gate Kramers. Five years ago, it was once a badge of honor, one that struck fear in the hearts of enemy pilots and Gatekeepers alike. It was a phrase that paid. Feh. Now, that name and a five-credit debitpress could barely get you a watered-down beer in a place like this. In a chipped glass, of course.

  “Jev, another, please,” Jessica said to the bot-tender.

  “One moment, Mech Pilot Jessica Kramer,” Jev answered in a robotic tone. ”You advised This Unit that you are due for a match tonight at Red Iridium Arena. Your customer profile preferences indicate you are to be served only four beverages on days prior to an arena challenge. Do you wish to override?”

  A holographic release form appeared in mid-air in front of the beverage bot.

  “Yes, please. I'll be fine, Jev, thank you,” Jessica said. She pressed her glowing thumb through the proffered image. She noticed the two jokers across the bar furrowing their brows in confusion when she thanked the bot-tender. It was easy to be rude to drones and bots, even though Jev's rudimentary AI appreciated the courtesy at some small level of semi-sentience. Being polite to a machine might be silly, but it showed humanity, which was a scarce quality in this ugly little pocket dimension called Junctionworld. She got that from her mother, too.

  The beer glass filled from the bottom through a one-way valve. She watched the level rise in thirsty anticipation. This was the last one, she promised herself. Well, maybe the one after this one...

  Jessica's back was to the door, but she felt something in the room shift. One hand accepted the beer, the other went back to the grip of the pistol on her rib cage.

  “Sentients and sapients, I greet you in the Ways of the Old Code. May the illumination of the eight gates shine bright upon this establishment,” said a smooth electronic voice from the doorway of the bar. A large metallic pod filled most of the portal, its gleaming body lined with low pulsing lines chasing each other. Two Model Nine bodyguards in heavy body armor stood on either side of the pod, their weapons pointed at the bar patrons.

  “We wonder,” the pod’s voice said, almost like a purring coo, “if there are any among you gentlebeings from the house of Kramer, of the Fourth Gate? If so, we have a proposition of a business nature.”

  Jessica smirked, pulled her hand off the butt of her revolver, and looked over her shoulder to the Gatekeeper in his floating armored pod. Both of the bio-printed bodyguards trained their weapons on her.

  “Mikralos, is that you, you payment-stretching, gate-damned pustule, after all these years?” Jessica said, lifting her fifth beer to her lips.

  The Gatekeeper floated to her spot at the bar. His reinforced life chamber was a gleaming pink fishbowl shrouded by the rest of the protective silver chassis. Jessica continued to drink, suppressing a shudder at the sight of the grotesque little overlord.

  The Gatekeepers were not an ancient race, not like the Szran->click< or the Redfolk, but they were a powerful one. They had conquered Junctionworld and its Eight Gates, after all. Mikralos and the rest of the Gatekeepers looked like fat, distorted babies in a traveling artificial womb, but they each packed more firepower and advanced shielding than a Concordium main battle tank. The bodyguards were almost for show; a status symbol, of sorts.

  “Ah, daughter of the Fourth Gate Kramers, Jessica,” Mikralos said. “We greet you in—”

  “In the Ways of the Old Code, yes, yes, Mikralos,” Jessica said, twirling her hands in a rolling motion. “Spare me the Gatekeeper formalities and 'Old Code' crap. What do you want?”

  “Very well. Direct and to the point. Very Human,” Mikralos said. “As you may know, we are still in possession of your deceased sibling's combat armor. Well, what is left of it, such as it is. Collateral for his unpaid debts, of course.”

  Jessica bristled and turned her bar stool to face the hovering overlord. Mikralos's bodyguards flicked off the safeties of their weapons with an energy-charged whine.

  “Yeah, you still own Judah, our old family ride, I know,” Jessica said. “Jered's death ripped my world apart and busted the Kramers out of business. It's a sad story, sure. Get to the point.” She tried to keep a nonchalant tone in her voice, but her knuckles were turning white around her beer.

  “Not to mention the accompanying murder-suicide of your parents,” Mikralos said. “Then insolvency collapsed your valiant and once-prosperous team, scattering them to the various gate paths. Much has transpired since then, according to our sources. A series of regrettable occurrences, indeed, Mech Pilot Kramer.”

  “We understand you're now piloting in the Light Exo Leagues? Limited Ordnance class, yes?” Mikralos said.

  She nodded.

  “How…quaint,” the Gatekeeper said, faux pity dripping from his speaker’s voice.

  Jessica wasn't sure if the reminder of her parents' deaths or her diminished status in the minor leagues of the mech fighting organizations stung more. She began to stand up from the stool, and the bodyguard weapons edged closer as she rose.

  “Why you encephalitic, atrophied waste of a—” Jessica said, her voice edged with intoxicated anger.

  “Consider your next words carefully, mech pilot,” the voice coming from the Gatekeeper's armored module said. “We have come to this base and loathsome place to conduct business, not to recount your tedious and pedestrian past miseries. Now, sit down, and consider this token.”

  A smooth metal claw emerged from the skin of the Gatekeepe
r's pod. It held a cylindrical object about the size of a thermos, scorched on one side, dented on the other. An array of wires and conduits stuck out of a small port on top of the battered object. A small red light glowed in the middle of the module’s scorched patch when it dropped into her hands.

  “You... you pulled Judah’s control module out of the wreckage,” she said, slumping to her stool as she ran her fingers over the blistered paint.

  “Yes, pilot Kramer,” Mikralos said, “though the damage was severe, our associates manage to recover the battle computer from your family's mech, 'Judah.' Arkathan circuitry, from a time before they were wiped out. A very handsome component in both structure and capability. 'They don't make them like that anymore,' we believe is the parlance of your father’s homeworld.”

  “I know, trust me,” Jessica said. “My current mech's control module can barely keep me walking and shooting at the same time. It's a basic machine-brain, but it's all I can afford. I haven't even bothered to name it—”

  “We offer this to you, human, but not lightly,” Mikralos said, cutting off her rambling. “Do you wish to entertain our terms?”

  Jessica took a long drink from her beer glass, draining it. She looked over her shoulder to the bar bot.

  “Jev, set me up another, please. Put it on the kind Gatekeeper's tab, here,” she said.

  She took the new glass and blew the foam off the top in the direction of the nearest Model Nine bodyguard.

  “Let's hear it, Mikralos.”

  “No gate-damned way, blob. You want this done, you do it yourself,” Jessica said. She stormed down the alleyway, away from the Gatekeeper and his bodyguards, towards the back door of Jev’s bar.

  “We would, Pilot Kramer, but appearances must be kept,” Gatekeeper Mikralos said. “There is an order to how these things must proceed. Protocols must be followed. 'The Ways of the Old Code,' and such.”

  “You mean you get to clear the dark cloud hanging over your arena,” Jessica said, her face turning flush as her volume became louder. “Using me to set up some disgusting, chintzy 'blood vengeance' match. That's low, even for a—”

  “Again, you test us with your words, when we offer only benevolence and good will to you,” Mikralos said, calling to her as she started to walk away. “Besides, we both have something to gain. We are being more than generous in placing the services of a very distinguished design and fabrication facility at your disposal. We both have lingering questions, Pilot Kramer, questions that can only be answered by the 'Judah' control module. A control module that only activates when in the presence of members of its controlling house.” Jessica stopped and turned.

  “Yeah, I noticed the red indicator light come on,” Jessica said. “That's the first time Judah’s woken up since Jered died, isn't it?” Mikralos's pod made an awkward bobble motion, and the lights on his pod's surface seemed to fidget and twitch.

  “Well... yes and no,” Mikralos said. “Your sister, Hannah, sought an audience with us after your brother's death, demanding to analyze and question the command module. Unfortunate missteps were made on her part during the negotiations. We... could not accommodate her requests. She departed Junctionworld soon after with her technical associate. ‘Tevren,’ we believe, was the second human’s name.”

  “And good riddance to the both of them, too,” Jessica said. “But let’s call it for what it really was, Gatekeeper: you tried to extort Hannah to access the data in Judah’s module, even though it might have shown what really happened, and cleared the reputation of your lame dung-pot of an arena. Before she left, Hannah told me you wanted half a million credits for your gate-damned 'accommodation.'” Jessica spit after mentioning her sister’s name.

  “It is not as simple as you say,” Mikralos said, his pod’s claws making a swirling gesture of embarrassment. “But, yes, that small detail of the occurrence is accurate. Let it be known that her offer and our financial requirements were at odds. Knowledge is power here in Junctionworld, and power costs credits, pilot.”

  “Even though the incident made your Berva Proxima a joke, and nearly put you in receivership?” Jessica said.

  A jagged series of pulses ran along the ribbons of light carved into the Gatekeeper's carapace.

  “Our financial matters at the time, and since then, are our own concern, pilot,” Mikralos said, an edged grate now present in his pod’s smooth voice. “You needn't occupy your feeble mind with pondering that which you do not understand. You need only remember your place.”

  “My place?” Jessica said, incredulous. “Oh, that's nice. Fine. So, what's changed? What's new, that this oh-so-generous offer is now on the table?”

  “We have come into new information concerning your brother's death,” Mikralos said. “Naturally, since his humiliating demise caused the gladiator sports media to cast aspersions on how our beloved Berva Proxima is operated, our ticket sales and subscriptions have suffered. The facilities are in disrepair. We have even had to resort to... to renting out the main arena floor for trade shows and sales conventions.”

  “Mmm... I’ve seen the commercials on the data webs,” Jessica said, cocking her head. “You must be pretty desperate, since those ads run non-stop. That one about the ‘Transdimensional Insurance Agent Convention’ really cracks me up. Not exactly the high-profile, upper-crust stuff you're used to, is it, Honored Mikralos?”

  “It is a slow, sordid ruination, Pilot Kramer. Tread carefully,” Mikralos said.

  Jessica took one last drink from her beer, then threw the glass to the ground, shattering the vessel on the alley’s hard, filthy pavement.

  “Oh, I'm sure life must just be horrible for you, Mister Gatekeeper, sir,” Jessica said, taunting Mikralos as she wiped a dribble of beer from her lips. “You poor, poor thi—”

  The lights tracing over the Gatekeeper's pod froze and turned to black. A silver claw was around her neck, pinning her against the wall, her boots kicking at the air. Her hands scrambled to hold onto the slippery liquid steel. Her vision grew dim around the edges. The blood vessels in her eyes pounded, and her lungs burned for air.

  “We have been more than patient with your clumsy verbal jabs and snide remarks,” the Gatekeeper’s voice hissed, “but do not delude yourself into believing you can mock us, underbeing. Ever.”

  Mikralos lowered her to the ground and hovered away. Jessica kept one arm on the alley wall where he dropped her, coughing and hacking for air. The other hand searched for her pistol. The holster was empty.

  She looked up, sputtering through tears and snot. One of the bodyguards, the one she blew the beer foam at earlier in the bar, had her revolver in his hand.

  The handgun’s cylinder was empty, the pudgy 20mm cartridges dumped in the puddles of muck at his feet. The bodyguard toyed with the weapon, bobbing it up and down as he offered it to her.

  Still trying to catch her breath, Jessica reached for the pistol. The Model Nine trooper snapped the revolver's cylinder shut with the flick of a wrist and tossed it into a pile of trash bags ten feet away. The impact and noise sent a hidden den of octorats scurrying.

  “Gate damn it, meat-bot, that pistol’s mine,” Jessica said, snarling through ragged breaths. “You wanna play, Niner? Okay, let’s play.”

  She spit, clearing her throat, and snapped a knife out from a sheath in her boot. The hum of its high-frequency blade drilled a hole in the air. The second bodyguard's energy rifle, its muzzle glowing, rose. The vibro-blade's grip in her hand switched from hammer to icepick, the blade positioned along her forearm. She wiped her mouth with the back of her knife hand, and moved for her other blade.

  “Enough!” Mikralos said, his speaker booming the words. “We have business to conclude, human. Control your savage impulses, or the deal is off. No command module. No vengeance death match. No answers to your questions.”

  Jessica stopped her advance and sneered at her opponent, switching the vibro-knife off. She spit at the feet of the Nine holding her at rifle point.

  “It
is regrettable that we had to lay our claws on you, Kramer,” Mikralos said, his lights pulsing slower as his voice became more composed. “For the sake of our potential business dealings, we will overlook your impertinence. Walk with us, Mech Pilot. Our conveyance is in a holding pattern overhead. We are summoning it now.”

  The Gatekeeper's transport was a larger, sleeker version of his personal pod, a mix of limousine and anti-grav yacht. It, too, was a silver color with pathways of light embedded in its hull. It glided into the alley from far overhead, its shimmering shape descending from the flickering gray skies over Junctionworld without a sound.

  A ramp flowed from the rear of the craft, and Mikralos moved up the freshly-materialized incline. His bodyguards followed, their weapons still trained on her. He gave a command to the crew waiting at the front of the craft, and then turned to Jessica waiting at the bottom of the ramp.

  “Tomorrow, at this same time and locale, we will send this same transport unit for you,” Mikralos said. “If you find the terms we offered acceptable, walk up the ramp, and you will be taken to a private fabrication facility, the best in Junctionworld. There, you will be equipped to fight the man who killed your brother. Together, Pilot, we might correct this long, torturous ordeal. May fortune smile on you, Mech Pilot Kramer, at your shield match tonight at Red Iridium.”

  Her head still hurt, a combination of the beer and the choke-out. She watched the craft spirit away on silent, glowing grav-drives. The octorats made another disturbance in the alley’s trash piles. Jessica looked down at her watch.

  Gate damn it, I’m running late, she cursed to herself, trying in vain to ignore her emerging hangover.

  By the time Jessica found and reloaded her revolver, she was running even later for tonight’s fight.

  Chapter Four