The Orion Conspiracy (Max Mars Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  “Why didn't Chace transmit this information back to the FCIS?”

  “Any transmission made from this facility will be intercepted and decrypted by the Orion Station Security Agency,” Winston said. “Transmitting the data would have blown Chace’s cover. Plus, he also felt unsure about contacts within the FCIS.”

  Max looked surprised. "You think there is corruption within the FCIS?”

  “It is entirely possible that insurgents have infiltrated the agency. Also, do not dismiss the financial incentives for participating in illegal weapons trafficking.”

  Max took a solemn pause.

  “I am the key to bringing the network down. They will do anything to see to my destruction.”

  “You’re safe with me.”

  "I don't know if even you could protect me. The corruption on Orion Station is systemic.”

  “Let's get back to the hotel room and wait for Dylan. We’ll get you off the station and back to FCIS headquarters,” Max said, trying to reassure the worried bot.

  The two stepped into the hallway. There was a moderate amount of foot traffic—people coming and going. Max scanned the corridor—no one seemed overtly hostile. But it didn't take long before a flurry of plasma bolts streaked in their direction.

  Several goons at the end of the corridor blasted at the two. Glowing plasma bolts sliced the air, eviscerating innocent bystanders. The head of a woman walking next to Max exploded, splattering bits of crimson goo across the bulkheads. Her limp body flopped to the deck. Shrieks of terror filled the narrow corridor. Pedestrians scattered in all directions.

  Max ducked for cover and returned fire. “Go, go, go," Max shouted to Winston as she laid down a steady stream of suppressive fire. Winston took off running down the corridor. Max blasted off a few more shots, then sprinted after him. There were too many goons to stand and fight toe-to-toe. Max was outnumbered and outgunned.

  Plasma bolts zipped all around her as she raced to catch up with Winston. They turned the corner at the next junction and sprinted down the hallway.

  The goons gave chase, peppering the corridors with a steady onslaught of plasma projectiles. Sparks showered from the bulkheads as projectiles impacted. Pedestrians were sliced by blistering bolts, or mowed down by the thugs as they barreled through the passageways. The goons all wore face shields, obscuring their identities.

  Max ran as fast as she could. Her heart was pounding, and her quads were burning. Her chest heaved for breath. She would turn and fire the occasional shot over her shoulder in an attempt to slow the goons down, but they kept coming.

  Max was a conditioned athlete. Her superior genetics ensured that. There was no doubt, she was probably one of the fastest runners on the station. But Winston was faster. Winston didn't get tired. His muscles didn't fatigue. He didn't need oxygen. He could maintain this speed until his joints wore out, which, according to the manufacturer, would be sometime after a billion use cycles.

  Max and Winston snaked through a few passageways, then sprinted out into the park. It was a lush green oasis with synthetic trees and grass. There was a lake in the center of the park that was home to an array of ducks and other wildlife. A domed skylight provided a stunning view of the cosmos and let in natural light from the nearby star, Delta Centuri.

  The park was surrounded on all sides by luxury apartments. It was the only place in the whole station where you could get a balcony that had a natural view and sunshine. And they weren’t cheap either. Why anyone would pay that kind of money to live on this facility was beyond Max.

  Max and Winston sprinted over the gentle rolling slopes, weaving between the trees. Plasma bolts blasted all around them, impacting the synthetic trees, leaving smoldering craters.

  Max angled her weapon back and fired a few shots off, and continued running. She managed to take out one of the goons. His body crashed to the synthetic grass.

  People in the park scattered.

  Max made her way across the park to the financial district. She sprinted down an avenue, then cut across an alleyway. This section of the station resembled the downtown area of any major metropolitan city, only this city was encased in a dome. The streets were narrow and populated only with pedestrians, hover boards, and personal hover scooters. The transit system was a deck below, and tram cars navigated an interconnected maze of passageways spanning the circumference of the station. It was the fastest way to get from one end of the sprawling complex to the other.

  Max twisted and turned through the streets, then plunged down a staircase to the sub-transit system.

  Winston followed behind her. “Are you sure this is such a good idea? According to the transit schedule, another tram won't reach the platform for another 96 seconds. We will be in a most vulnerable position.”

  Max ignored him and sprinted down the steps anyway. Alarms sounded as they ran through the tollbooth without paying. A security bot started after them, but changed his mind as the goons’ plasma bolts sliced through the air. The security bot quickly retreated back to the safety of his booth.

  The horde of goons raced through the toll scanners, sprinting after Max and Winston.

  Just as Winston had predicted, the platform was empty. There wasn't a tram in sight.

  Max took cover behind a support pylon and returned fire at the goons. Winston hid behind a pylon as well, making himself as slim as possible.

  The crowd waiting for the tram dispersed in screaming panic. A flurry of plasma bolts filled the compartment. Sparks showered from the pylons as plasma projectiles impacted.

  Max angled around the barrier and squeezed off a few rounds, then ducked for cover.

  The goons had held up near the entrance to the platform, firing from around the corner. A team of them advanced to a near support pylon. Max wasn't going to be able to hold them off forever, and she was almost out of ammunition.

  28

  Max fired off several more rounds, taking out one of the goons as he attempted to dart from one pylon to the next. His head vaporized in a pink mist, and his body splatted against the platform.

  Winston counted the seconds until the tram arrived. As he reached 96, the tram pulled up to the platform and the doors slid open. Unsuspecting passengers began to step off. One lady took a plasma bolt to the chest. She was dead before her high heels hit the platform. She crashed down, shattering the set of crystal inside her shopping bag. She was apparently on her way to return some items to the shopping district.

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out this was a bad place to get off the tram. The majority of the passengers cowered in the compartment, praying the doors would close soon and the tram would be on its way.

  Max angled around the pylon and unleashed a torrent of plasma projectiles at the goons. But her stream of fire abruptly ended as she ran out of ammo. The magazine was empty. She holstered the pistol, then shouted at Winston to sprint for the tram. The two raced across the platform as plasma bolts zipped all around them.

  Max dove into the tram compartment just as the doors slid shut. She looked back at her attackers through the window as they peppered the tram with plasma bolts. But the electromagnetic shielding of the tram kept the projectiles from registering any damage. The projectiles dissipated in a static discharge.

  Max flipped off her assailants as the tram began to move away.

  In an instant, Max and Winston were zipping through a maze of dark tunnels in the station. Passengers gawked at the odd couple—eyes wide and mouths agape. Who were these people? And what the hell had just happened?

  Max and Winston took a seat as the other passengers slowly peeled themselves off the ground, trembling with fear.

  Max gave Winston a look. "Nice friends you’ve got there."

  "They are not my friends. I warned you that multiple entities seek to destroy me."

  "Those guys were a bunch of pussies. If I hadn’t run out of ammo, they’d be scraping them off the platform."

  "While I can appreciate your confidence, that is not
exactly how I recall the situation."

  Max chuckled. "We are still alive, aren't we?"

  “You are alive. I only give off the impression of life due to my anthropomorphic features and artificial intelligence.”

  "You need to lighten up."

  Winston looked confused. "Are you suggesting I acquire more illumination? Or that I should lighten the shade of my body panels?"

  "It's a figure of speech. I'm surprised Chace didn't give you a more casual personality profile."

  "I have a defective social processing module. I believe it is one of the reasons why Chace was able to afford this model."

  "So, he got you at a scratch and dent sale?"

  "I am neither scratched, nor dented."

  Max laughed. "I'll take a look at your circuits after a while. If you and I are going to spend any length of time together, you're going to need to acquire a sense of humor. Otherwise it's a deal-breaker."

  Winston appeared worried. "I would very much like it if we could maintain our friendship."

  Max smiled at him. "Don't worry, Winston. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

  "That's reassuring."

  Max pulled out her mobile device from her pocket and called Dylan, but there was no response. Max and Winston stayed on the tram until they reached a stop near the Plaza.

  The two cautiously stepped off the tram and made their way to the lobby. Max wasn't at all comfortable with the fact that she was out of ammunition. And the lobby was full of potential threats.

  Max weaved her way through the crowd to the elevator banks. It was an agonizing few moments while she waited for the bell to ring, and the doors to slide open. Max and Winston stepped inside along with a few other passengers. She kept a watchful eye on them. One by one, they stepped off at various levels without incident. Max breathed a sigh of relief.

  She stepped off the elevator with trepidation and made her way down the corridor. But the hatch to Dylan’s suite was in shambles. It had been blasted open, having taken heavy fire from a plasma rifle.

  “Wait here,” Max whispered to Winston.

  Max pushed into the suite with caution. She could see from the entrance foyer that the place had been ransacked. She glanced to her side—the kitchen was empty. All the cabinets had been flung open and several dishes were smashed in pieces on the tile. Someone had been searching for something.

  Max proceeded down the foyer, into the living area.

  The hard barrel of a plasma pistol pressed against her skull—a thug had been waiting around the corner for her.

  “Just take it nice and easy,” the thug said “Don't do anything stupid.”

  29

  The plasma pistol fired as Max made her move. With lightning speed, she shifted her head aside, dodging the plasma projectile. She simultaneously grabbed the assailant’s wrist, pushing the weapon aside. With her other hand, she reached across and grabbed the barrel. She twisted the pistol back, snapping the assailant’s finger caught in the trigger guard. She planted a knee in the attacker’s groin. He doubled over as she stripped the weapon from his hand. She swung the barrel around and took aim.

  But the goon sprang to his feet and tackled Max before she had fully lined him up in her sights. He pinned her to the ground, and the two struggled over the weapon. He slammed her wrist against the ground, and the weapon clattered away, skidding across the deck.

  Winston just watched the whole thing. He looked terrified and wasn't about to step in.

  Max kicked the thug off of her, and the two scrambled to their feet. They both took defensive postures, sizing each other up.

  The goon jabbed twice, then swung a hard right. Max deflected the blow and wrenched his arm around. She slammed her knee into his abdomen. As he doubled over, she finished him off with an elbow to the back of the head. The blow sent him crashing to the ground. He tried to push himself off the floor, but Max put a boot in his rib cage. The snap and crackle of broken bones filled the air.

  Max trotted across the room and picked up the pistol.

  Her attacker was still groaning on the ground. She moved back toward him and put the pistol against his head. "Who are you working for?"

  “Fuck you,” the ass-clown said.

  Max pistol-whipped him in the back of his head. The blow opened up a juicy gash on his scalp, and blood oozed into his hair.

  "We can play this game all day long,” Max said. “Who are you working for?”

  "You'll find out soon enough."

  Max whacked him again."

  "Jesus, Lady,” he said, grimacing.

  "Hurts, doesn't it?"

  "Look, I was just sent here to get the robot."

  "By whom?”

  "Thornton. I work for Thornton.”

  “Go back to Thornton and tell him I’m coming for him. I don’t like it when people try to set me up. And I sure don't like it when people try to kill me.”

  Max backed away and let the goon get up. “If I see you again, you’re a dead man, you got that?"

  The goon nodded.

  She kept the weapon trained on him as he staggered to his feet. On his way up, he grabbed for a small backup pistol from his ankle holster. The goon should have learned his lesson. He wasn’t faster than Max. She could strike like a cobra.

  A plasma bolt incinerated his head before he his backup cleared his ankle holster.

  The goon’s body crumbled to the deck.

  “Dumbass,” Max muttered to herself. Her eyes afflicted to Winston. "You were a lot of help,”she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "As I'm sure you are aware, it is against my programming to harm a human being—even in self-defense."

  "Well, you could have grabbed the gun during the struggle. That wouldn't have harmed anyone."

  Winston shrugged. "You seemed to do okay without my help."

  Max sneered at him. "Come on. We need to get out of here."

  "I agree. I don't feel entirely safe here."

  Max stepped into the hallway, and made her way to the elevators. She tossed a few credits onto the supply cart as she passed a cleaning bot. “6302 is a real mess.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the bot responded, having no idea it would find a dead body waiting. Though, on Orion Station, it wouldn't be unusual.

  Max pressed the call button, and waited for the elevator with her pistol aimed at the doors. She wasn't taking any chances.

  The elevator dinged, and the occupants screeched in terror as the doors slid open—a plasma pistol staring them in the face wasn't exactly what they expected.

  Max lowered her weapon and let the occupants ease off the lift. They hugged the wall as they skirted around her and moved cautiously away.

  Max and Winston stepped aboard and hit the lobby button. The door slid shut, and the elevator descended rapidly. It stopped on a lower level and Max kept her weapon aimed at the door.

  Horrified hotel guests looked on in terror and instantly raised their hands in the air at the sight of the weapon. It was an elderly couple.

  Max felt bad—she had probably almost given them a heart attack. “Sorry. Elevator’s full."

  The couple slowly nodded and waited for the doors to close. The lift plunged down, and after a few similar incidents, Max and Winston reached the lobby. With crowds of people coming and going, Thornton's goons could have been anywhere.

  Max and the robot casually stepped off the elevator and strolled through the lobby. There was a large common area with couches and coffee tables and display screens. There was an office area, a bar, a restaurant, and a coffee shop. The high vaulted ceilings were supported with towering columns. It was elegantly adorned with exquisite decor. There was an old-fashioned black grand piano, and an entertainment bot was sitting before it, playing a beautiful rendition of Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21. He was joined by a small orchestral accompaniment, each instrument played by a bot with virtuoso skill. They were all dressed in tuxedos, and filled the lobby with beautiful music 24 hours a day, seven days a week. With
bots like that, it was impossible for human classical musicians to make a living. They had a skill and breadth of knowledge that was unparalleled. They could play any song from any classical composer upon request. Their renditions were flawless, yet contained all the nuances and passion of the best human performances. All of which were incorporated into their database. If they ever made a mistake, it was on purpose to give the music a more natural feel.

  Max kept the pistol at her side, ready to engage any threats. It was smooth sailing at first. But a quarter of the way through the lobby, Max caught sight of something troubling at the entrance. The goons that she had left behind at the sub-transit station had caught up with her.

  30

  Plasma blasts erupted, filling the lobby with deadly projectiles. Max took cover behind one of the marble pillars. She fired at the masked goons as they stormed into the lobby.

  Panicked guests scattered in all directions, screaming and hollering. Hotel employees ducked for cover behind the check-in counter. The robots kept playing Mozart. The concerto echoed off the vaulted ceiling and provided the soundtrack for the shootout.

  Plasma blasts peppered the marble pillar Max was hiding behind, sending chips of debris showering out, leaving small craters behind.

  Winston took cover behind one of the columns and fidgeted nervously. He was extremely high strung for a robot.

  Max angled the barrel of her plasma pistol around the pillar and unleashed a flurry weapons fire. She took out two of the thugs in quick succession, but more spilled into the entryway, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  Max ducked behind the column, avoiding the stream of plasma projectiles as the goons returned fire. The intense bolts sizzled as they ripped through the air. The lobby filled with haze and the distinct scent of charged particles.

  Two of the goons sprinted to the side lounge. They took cover behind a couch. Max knew they were attempting to flank her. She was now taking fire from multiple positions. If the goons advanced laterally any farther, the pillar wasn't going to offer Max much protection.