by M. D. Cooper
“Why?” she asked, her voice sounding as tortured as she felt.
Silva’s eyes looked away, and the robotic voice emanated from her armor. “I’m surviving. Same as you.”
“I’m not surviving,” Rika argued. “I’m living! Who are you working for? Who’s trying to take Amy?”
Silva shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rika. I can’t disobey orders; I need you to come with me.”
Rika lowered her GNR and fired a round at Silva’s leg…but nothing happened. She looked at the gun and saw that the auto-feeder was bent; no rounds were in the chamber.
Silva met Rika’s eyes. “Drop it. Come with me.”
“You lower yours,” a voice ordered from behind Silva, and Rika saw Chase step out from behind a crate. Her own JE84 was in his hand, aimed at Silva’s head.
“Friend of yours?” Silva asked dryly.
“Lover,” Rika replied firmly.
Silva’s eyes widened. “A face, a lover; the world’s been a lot kinder to you. You just have it all, Rika.”
“Join me,” Rika pleaded. “Come to the Marauders.”
Silva tapped the side of her head. “No can do, corporal; I’m chipped. I have to follow orders.” Her tone was curt, but her eyes belied a deep sadness.
“You can fight it,” Rika implored. “I did—I was able to beat Discipline. I know you can, too. You just have to try.”
Tears formed in Silva’s eyes, the stoic attitude falling away. “I’ve tried, Rika, I’ve tried so hard. I can’t, though; I have to obey.”
“Rika!” Chase called, getting her attention. “Rika, we have to go!”
He tossed Rika her rifle, which she caught and leveled at Silva, who stood with her head hung low.
“I’m sorry, Silva,” Rika said placatingly as she walked sideways toward Chase. “Don’t follow us….”
The words burned in her mouth as she said them. Silva had been her best friend during the war: the indomitable leader of team Hammerfall, the woman who had kept Rika’s spirit alive through those long, dark years.
Rika had searched for her after the war. Even on Dekar, and then with the Marauders, she had sent out inquiries and hunted through feeds.
Now she had found Silva, but she wouldn’t come. It wasn’t even the same Silva; her spirit was broken. Somehow, the woman who the entire Genevian war machine—not to mention the Nietzschean army—couldn’t bring down, was now a shell of her former self.
“Go,” Silva whispered, cringing as Discipline wracked her body. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“That’s bullshit!” Rika swore as she ran backward, following Chase to the ship. “You’re stronger than this. I know you. I loved you Silva! Like you were my mother!” Rika shrieked the last words, and watched as Silva turned away, lifting the front of her helmet back into place. Becoming death incarnate as she raised her GNR and took aim.
“No!” Rika screamed, and fired her last sabot round at Silva; not shooting at her friend—or whatever she was now—but at her gun-arm. The round hit the weapon and shattered the mount, knocking the GNR off Silva’s arm.
Rika debated rushing back to Silva. Maybe I can convince her, or knock her out, or something…but weapons fire sounded, and shots ricocheted off her armor.
Chase fell back and ran right on Rika’s heels with his gun held up to protect her head. His other hand was on her shoulder as they rushed through the bay with the sounds of pursuit closing in.
Then the pinnace came into view from between two stacks of crates, and they rushed toward the ramp—at the top of which stood Barne and Leslie, laying down covering fire.
Rika felt hot tears running down her face as she rushed into the ship, pushed to the deck by Chase as the pinnace pulled away from the docking cradle and flew toward the grav shield.
She tried to rise to get one last look at Silva, but Chase shoved her back down as rounds tore through the air, into the interior of the ship.
Then the pinnace’s ramp closed, and Rika collapsed, letting the sorrow take her as her body was wracked with shuddering sobs.
RECOVERY
STELLAR DATE: 02.17.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Pinnace, departing Kestry Station
REGION: Oran System, Praesepe Cluster
“So, that was Silva,” Chase began as he sat beside Rika in the cabin she had escaped to shortly after the pinnace had burst out of Kestry’s bay, and into the relative safety of space.
Rika didn’t respond, though she managed a slight nod. She knew this wasn’t the time to lose herself in sorrow; the mission wasn’t done yet. They still had to get Amy to safety. But to find Silva here…on a mission, trying to kill her….
It was almost more than she could bear.
“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” Chase said as he reached around behind her, examining her re-opened wound. “I really am, Rika. You’ve told me a lot about her—how she was the one who kept you going.”
“She was always the strongest of us,” Rika whispered. “What could have happened to her?”
Chase shook his head as he reapplied the sealant to Rika’s back. “It’s hard out here, hard for all of us. We don’t know what she’s been through to end up here. But there’s a silver lining.”
Rika turned her head, meeting Chase’s eyes. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“She’s alive.” Chase paused and then clarified, “Now you know that Silva is alive. Maybe you’ll get another chance to save her.”
Rika drew a deep breath, sniffling as she did so. “If she survives long enough for me to find her again.”
Chase reached up and wiped a tear from Rika’s eye. “She’ll live. You mech girls are the toughest women in the galaxy. You can’t even take each other down.”
Rika smiled sadly and rubbed her cheek against Chase’s hand. The vision of Silva putting her helmet back on, her sorrowful eyes disappearing behind her death’s head mask, was replaying over and over in her mind.
What if Silva doesn’t want to be saved?
* * * * *
By some miracle, no one pursued the pinnace as they flew out of Oranian-controlled space. Part of their efficacious escape was due to the alterations Barne had managed to make to the ship’s beacon. But Rika suspected that maybe no one in Oran cared enough to take on the crew who had shot up Kandahar City’s spaceport, taken partial control of the Persephone Jones, and blasted their way out of Kestry Station.
One of the Oranian cruisers did break orbit from around Faseema to follow them, but it didn’t try to intercept their course. The captain of the ship seemed content to send a not-so-subtle message that they weren’t welcome, and not to come back.
Barne deemed it was nothing more than a defeated gesture from a defeated people.
Rika stood behind Patty’s seat in the cockpit, staring out at the growing shape of Serspa Station in the Politica-controlled region of the Oran System. Though the pinnace could make the interstellar hop to their rendezvous point for Amy’s hand-off, it would need a refueling before they left the system.
The feeling that something was still very wrong hung over Rika like a dark cloud. Even if Barne was right about the Oranians being weak, she couldn’t discern why the cruiser didn’t simply blow them out of the black. The ship had never even closed within weapons range.
It sent a bad message that one could act with impunity in Oranian space, and get away with it free and clear.
Then again, no Oranian citizens had been killed—that Rika knew of. Maybe the authorities weren’t going to waste their efforts on a fight between mercs.
One thing was for certain; if they had known Amy was on the pinnace, they would likely have done something very different.
“I have our bay assignment from Serspa Station,” Patty announced. “They want us to dock in an internal bay so they can inspect us.”
“I guess word got out that we made a mess on Kestry,” Chase said from the co
-pilot’s seat.
Patty shrugged. “They seemed more amused than upset, but you never know. I didn’t ask for debarkation permits—just food and fuel, so we can be on our way.”
“I don’t like it,” Rika stated. “They could top us off with one of their service ships; no need to have us dock for that.”
“You’re paranoid,” Patty soothed her. “I asked for one, but service ships are usually reserved for larger vessels that can’t land in a bay—or ones that throw off station rotation when there’s not enough mass to balance. You know that.”
Rika nodded. She did know it, but that didn’t mollify her. “I still have a bad feeling about this.”
Chase looked up at her. “Whatever it is, we can handle it. Basilisk can handle a few namby-pamby Politica flunkies doing an inspection.
“Chase! Seriously?” Patty exclaimed. “Now you’ve gone and jinxed us.”
“I didn’t take you for one of those superstitious pilots,” Chase teased her.
Patty snorted. “All pilots are superstitious. We fly tin cans through the deadliest places in the universe. Every little bit of luck helps.”
Rika couldn’t argue with Patty’s logic. Space was downright inhospitable in the best of circumstances. Throw in enemy stations and ships and stray space junk, and it was no wonder people still terraformed planets—even with all their pitfalls. At least on the surface of a habitable world, ‘outside’ wasn’t instantly fatal.
“I’m going to check on Amy,” Rika announced and left the cockpit.
The pinnace wasn’t large, but it did have a small galley, which was where Amy had spent most of her time, picking at food and playing Snark with Leslie.
When Rika entered, the pair was in the midst of a game.
“I thought I smelled popcorn,” Rika said, as she sat down and picked out a single puff from the bowl that sat to the side. Eating finger food was a messy affair when you had exposed joints for crumbs to get into. Popcorn was delicious, but it was the worst to clean up after; the little kernel bits got everywhere.
“Found it under a stack of disposable plates,” Leslie explained. “Nuked it up, and here we are.”
“We’ll be at Serspa Station soon,” Rika informed them. “Then we can stock up on all the popcorn you two could ever want.”
Amy’s eyes darted toward Rika, and then back at her cards. She ran a hand through her hair and tucked it behind her ears before glancing at Rika again.
“Something on your mind?” Rika prompted gently.
The young girl twisted her lips, drew in a long breath, exhaled, and looked Rika in the eyes. “I overheard Barne and Chase. They said you fought another mech out there…on Kestry.”
Rika nodded slowly. Where is she going with this? It wasn’t a topic she wanted to delve into at the moment; certainly not with Amy. Still, she couldn’t exactly tell the girl to drop it—she wasn’t a bastion of emotional stability, either.
“Was she like you?” Amy asked.
“Like me? You mean an SMI-2 model?”
Amy nodded. “Yeah…I just…. Well, one of them, of you, works for my father. I wondered if it was her that you saw.”
Rika raised her eyebrows. “An SMI-2 mech works for your father? For Stavros?” She wanted to add, ‘And you’re just mentioning it now?’ but kept that comment to herself.
“Yes,” Amy replied, nodding gravely. “When I first saw you, I thought she had come to save me. She’s always very nice to me. But then I realized it wasn’t her; you have a different helmet.”
Leslie met Rika’s eyes, her expression saying what Rika didn’t even want to consider. Of the quadrillions of humans spread across space, what are the chances that we would encounter one of a few thousand SMI-2 mechs on a mission?
Even less likely was the fact that their young ward just so happened to know an SMI-2.
“This mech. What’s her name?” Rika asked Amy.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. She never talks. Not aloud, at least. Father always calls her ‘Meat’, but I never do. She’s come to comfort me more than once after…” she went quiet.
“After what?” Leslie pressed. Rika could see the fear of what they might hear in the scout’s eyes.
“Uhh…you know, after father yells at me. Sometimes I do things that make him mad.”
Rika chewed on the inside of her cheek, holding back the question of what else might occur in the Stavros family. Not turning Amy over to her father wasn’t an option. The Marauders did the job they were hired for—the Old Man would have her hide, if she boned a job like this.
It wasn’t like she could keep Amy. What would I do with a young girl like Amy? The Marauders is no place for kids.
Why am I rationalizing this?
The look on Leslie’s face spoke volumes about what she thought of Rika’s adherence to the mission.
Leslie’s eyes lit up.
Rika sent a mental nod.
Rika had noticed. She wasn’t going to push for details—it was obvious Leslie had lost a young girl at some point in the past, be it daughter, sister, whatever—Leslie would share when she was ready.
Leslie had returned to playing Snark with Amy while the two women spoke. She had been making idle chit chat with the girl, but at Rika’s statement, she snorted aloud.
“What?” Amy asked.
“Ghagghh,” Leslie grunted. “Got a popcorn kernel stuck in the back of my throat! Don’t you hate that?”
“I don’t think you will,” Amy replied. “Father sent her on some mission before I was taken. She’s a long ways away.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rika asked.
“Yeah, she was looking for someone in the Pyra system,” Amy said absently. “Though I guess maybe she’ll be back soon. Maybe you will get to meet her. Maybe you two knew each other before—”
“Duty calls,” Rika announced as she turned to leave the room. “Save some popcorn for me.”
Amy grinned and pulled the popcorn toward her. “No chance, Rika. You can get your own.”
Rika laughed and walked down the passageway to the cockpit to see what new
calamity was waiting to befall them.
“Nice of you to join us,” Chase jibed when she arrived, and Rika stuck her tongue out at him.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, just a few Politica destroyers shadowing us…like, four…”
Rika looked at the scan data on Patty’s holodisplay and let out a low whistle. “That’s not really a friendly posture they have there.”
“Noticed that, did you?” Patty asked.
“No updates from the station?”
Patty shook her head. “Nothing; our docking coordinates are unchanged.”
“What do you think?” Chase asked.
Rika sighed and leaned against the cockpit’s doorframe. “I think they know who we have aboard.”
* * * * *
The pinnace settled into its cradle, and Rika hit the control to lower the ramp. Chase had tried to get her to send someone else out—given her lack of helmet and near complete depletion of ammunition, but Rika wouldn’t hear of it.
If whoever waited outside wanted them dead, they’d kill them—helmet or no helmet.
Rika walked down the ramp and surveyed the docking bay: there wasn’t a single crate, hauler, cart, or even toolbox visible. Nor were there any other ships.
What was present, however, were at least five hundred soldiers. Most were standing in orderly ranks, but a hundred were crouched with their weapons drawn, and another dozen stood behind crew-served particle cannons—any one of which could tear the pinnace to shreds.
At the bottom of the ramp, with a broad smile on his face, stood Stavros. He looked just as the images on the net had portrayed him: nearly two meters in height, broad shoulders, and a heavy brow. His black hair was cropped close to his head, but still had small curls. It was as though he really did think himself a Greek emperor of old. Just add a laurel and he’d be complete.
“Rika!” he greeted with a slight bow. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”
