Heist

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  Behind him was Svend, clearly wounded by multiple blaster bolts. He lay on the floor, cradling a body in his arms.

  It was Bentley that he was holding.

  Shango approached cautiously. “Is she…?”

  Svend clutched her tightly to his body and shook his head. “No, she’s only unconscious. Her mind couldn’t handle the mass input.”

  “Input?” Shango kneeled to look closer at Bentley. “Do you mean…?”

  Svend nodded. “Her memories,” he said. “She’s had them returned to her.”

  +++

  Aboard the Geburah, Wagner System, Klaunox Sector

  Amroth watched from his command platform, his multiple viewscreens showing the security feeds they’d seized from the backwater space station that a ship matching the Chesed’s description had visited.

  He had a stern, shallow frown on his face as he pored over every frame. There were shots of Loco and Olofi brawling and evading security forces, and even some shots of their other female crewmember. But in all of this, he saw no evidence of the one person he sought out here.

  Fourier stood by his side, the hollow husk of Doctor Metzinger standing across from him like an automaton. The doctor wasn’t nearly as useful stripped of his essence as he’d been when acting of his own volition. His scientific ingenuity and his chaotic mannerisms were evidently intermingled in a way that could not be separated. Amroth only kept him there as a constant warning to the others, and in that respect he was still very useful indeed. He could read on Fourier’s face that the crestfallen adjutant knew he might be next to face punishment under the growing weight of his failures. Amroth considered seizing his soul here and now, simply to add renewed motivation to the crew. The prospect was enticing; Fourier was already an unimaginative sycophant. Stripped of his will, his performance could only improve.

  “The Chesed was here, we know that for certain,” Fourier reported in a desperate attempt to prove his utility. “She can’t have gone far.”

  Amroth remained silent, knowing that a lack of response would tell his adjutant everything he needed him to know. He began to search over seized footage of other stations in the system, summoning port logs and suspect trade manifests. Most men of his station would leave such analysis to their subordinates, but Amroth knew that there wasn’t a single person onboard whose eyes could catch what his could.

  “My Lord!” another voice called out, approaching the platform. “A word, if you will?” It was the youthful, blond Dark Knight who had last delivered Bentley to him. He didn’t seem afraid of Amroth, as the others did, but he was nonetheless very easy to read. Every shine of his eyes or excited twitch of expression shouted out an air of ambition. He’d seen this in the knight ever since he’d taken it upon himself to make Bentley’s transfer to the Geburah personally. Amroth had kept him aboard on the off chance that such a desire for upward mobility would transfer into initiative on this mission.

  Amroth wasn’t ready to indulge the knight’s ego, though; he knew to keep soldiers like this hungry. “Speak,” he stated. “I presume this is good news.”

  The knight bowed low. Two intelligence officers were standing behind him. “Of course, my Lord. I would not disturb you otherwise,” he said, rising into a salute. “We’ve been building a holistic biometric profile out of Bentley’s DNA and all other data the doctor had been gathering.” His blue eyes shifted to Metzinger, and Amroth noticed an odd little smirk on the knight’s face, as if he found the half-man’s predicament amusing. “We’ve been feeding it in to cross-reference on the universal APB running on her, and something just came back.”

  Amroth turned to look directly at the knight to give him his full attention now. “So her DNA turned out to be of use after all,” he mused. “Good. Where is she?”

  “We’ve traced her to deep space. The edge of the Klaunox-Orion sector. The data came out as classified for me,” the knight dropped his gaze, hinting resentment at his lack of clearance. “But it appears as though she was interfacing with one of our specialized android maintenance servers. It required a physical interface and the machine collected contact data that returned on our APB.”

  “Android maintenance…” Amroth thought aloud. If Bentley were in that segment of deep space, dealing with android maintenance servers, and further information was beyond a Geburah Dark Knight’s security system, he knew it could only speak to one place. “Thralldom,” he said, the slightest whisper of a grin forming on his thin lips.

  “The casino?” Fourier reacted, transparently trying to make himself a part of this good news. “But if she’s gone that far out—”

  Amroth ignored him, continuing to speak only to the younger knight, opting to give him the reward that he had so clearly been seeking. “Tell me your name, knight,” he ordered him.

  The young officer beamed. “Dallaire, sir,” he said. “Second Knight-Lieutenant, Dracon Garrison.”

  Amroth gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “Good work, Dallaire,” he said. “Dismissed.”

  Dallaire gave another bow and moved from Amroth’s sight.

  Amroth closed all of his recording consoles and instead opened the main ship interface. “Sending out new coordinates,” he announced. “Full speed ahead to Thralldom Station.”

  +++

  Medical Bay, Aboard the Chesed, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector

  The entirety of the Chesed’s crew had gathered in the medical bay, standing around the battered, sleeping form of Bentley. Jelly Bean moved around her bed administering a variety of scans and treatments. The atmosphere was somber, as though there was a worry that she might die, even though Shango had assured them no such risk existed.

  “Motherfuckers,” Loco cursed. “After we stick our necks out for those rebels they turn around and fuck everyone, huh?”

  Shango shook his head. “Nikola has assured us that Ivor and Angela acted alone,” he said. “He’s invited us all to a military tribunal he’s holding for them, in fact, to assure us that justice will be served.”

  “Should’ve just handed him over to the androids,” Olofi considered, his gaze occasionally drifting to Bentley as he spoke. “They’re the ones who were wronged, they should be the ones to hand out justice.”

  Loco clenched both hands into tight fists. “Oh, and we haven’t been goddamn wronged?” he said. “Look what that asshole’s done to our own. Give me five fucking minutes with him and I’ll show you some justice.”

  Jade and Olofi glanced at him as if they hadn’t expected him to care about Bentley at all.

  Loco seemed to know what they were thinking and averted his eyes from theirs. “Don’t get me wrong,” he qualified, “if they’d let her die, we’d be back to square one with the sword.”

  Jade and Olofi exchanged knowing looks, but indulged his excuse by not questioning it.

  Jelly Bean finally moved away from Bentley to rejoin the group. “Physical wounds will recover in a matter of days,” she reported. “As to when she’ll wake up… that is less certain.”

  “What?” Jade held back a gasp. “Like is she in a coma?”

  Shango waved one hand to dismiss the notion. “No, that does not appear to be the case,” he said. “Her mind will just require more time than usual to recuperate from the trauma of recovering her memories.”

  “So, they’re back?” Olofi queried. “All of them? Including how she ended up with Legba and the sword?”

  “One can only assume,” Shango replied. “However, from what Blackfriar told me about this technology, it can be less than tenuous even under the best of circumstances. Considering what happened, we cannot know for certain the extent to which she will retain what was lost.”

  “Then we’d better work fast,” Loco said, looking to Bentley at the bed almost greedily. “The minute she wakes up, I say we get every bit of info we can about the sword before it gets brain-farted into nothing. Could be our only chance. Hell, can we wake her now? Jelly?”

  “That would not be advised,” Jelly Bean responded to
him. “Forcing her to wake could have unforeseen consequences, including the loss of regained memories.”

  “Even were that not the case,” Shango added, “she needs to rest. She has been through a rather extreme ordeal. Nobody is to disturb her until she naturally wakes.”

  Loco looked deflated. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

  “Pretty sure I can,” Olofi said. “I get why you’re so eager, but seriously…”

  Shango gave the both of them a steely look that made them aware now wasn’t the time to argue about this. “We still have another unresolved issue,” he told them. “Amroth’s corteX app is likely still preparing for rollout.”

  Jade looked at him with renewed terror at the prospect. “What? But I thought when we destroyed all the data on the station we put a stop to that.”

  “I was hoping for that to be the case,” Shango admitted. “However, Blackfriar has shown me their extensive surveillance from Thralldom. They have acquired new pieces from scans of the liberated android servants. There is no doubt that the majority of the program was retained inside of the Geburah’s databanks during Amroth’s last few visits. At best, our victory at Thralldom has cost them three or four months of progress.”

  “Held against an eternity of universal servitude,” Olofi said. “We’ve barely even slowed him down.”

  “Beyond that,” Shango continued. “I think all of us can guess just what his endgame is with regards to this app.”

  Both Loco and Olofi reflected quietly on what he meant. Jade, on the other hand, was completely lost. “Endgame?” she asked. “You’re talking about total galactic domination here. Isn’t that the endgame? What else could he possibly take?”

  “Our souls,” Olofi replied. “And theirs.”

  For what might have been the first time in centuries, Loco looked absolutely frightened. There was no mask of bravado or defiant warrior’s stare. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Of course, that’s what he’s after.”

  Jade looked puzzled at all of their reactions. “Souls? Seriously? I know this is bad, but it’s bad enough on its own without getting all philosophical and melodramatic about it.”

  Loco looked at her with more uncharacteristic seriousness. “There’s no fucking melodrama in losing your soul,” he told her. “There isn’t anything. At all.” He glanced back at Shango. “All the better that we’re getting out of this sector stat. Best we take the sword as far away as possible. Hell, FTL us halfway out of the galaxy, away from all this shit. It was already getting too hot, and now…? Fuck.”

  “No,” Shango said, to Loco’s visible surprise. “We cannot leave, not with what’s about to happen. We need to stay and fight this calamity Amroth wishes to unleash. It will catch up with us sooner or later.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” Loco yelled suddenly looking a great deal more like his old, angry self. “Fight him? And the Geburah? We’ve been lucky on that twice now, and even those were just hit-and-run. How the hell are we supposed to fight that?”

  “We didn’t have allies then,” Shango calmly answered. “We do now. Ones unified in purpose against this foe.”

  “You mean a sabotaged ship of busted up androids?” Loco countered. “And the assholes who did the sabotaging and busting up? Yeah, real unified there!”

  “It wasn’t the rebels’ fault that Ivor went rogue,” Olofi said. “That doesn’t change the fact that they’re ready to help us fight the LaPlace if needed.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re on board with this now!” Loco shouted at Olofi. “You and I both know if we try and bring the fight to Cardboard, we’re just gonna lose the sword. If not our goddamn souls along with it.”

  “The sword is irrelevant in the face of this problem,” Shango spoke over whatever answer Olofi was preparing. “It is an acceptable risk.”

  It was Olofi’s turn to look shocked. “Now wait a minute,” he said. “Think about everything we’ve been through for that sword.”

  “Beyond that,” Loco joined him. “Think about what’s at stake if we lose it again. Probably forever this time.”

  “The sword is only a tool in our objective to return home,” Shango explained to them. “If Amroth and Malleghan manage to achieve their goals, the break in balance could result in there being no recognizable home for us to return to. Or, if they succeed in seizing control this time…”

  “That wouldn’t happen,” Olofi said, though more for his own reassurance than based on any evidence. “They couldn’t.”

  “Perhaps,” Shango half-conceded. “That is not for us to know, nor anyone truly until it is tested. But what I do know is that the androids of the Odysseus have been five steps ahead of everyone so far. Even us. And if Captain Blackfriar believes Amroth’s scheme is a threat of the level he seems to, then it is an existential threat to our cause and to us. We need to put a stop to it.”

  “Five steps ahead, huh?” Loco grunted. “Didn’t stop them from getting fucked up by a pair of disgruntled humans.”

  “You can’t blame them for letting their guard down around people who’d just proven themselves valuable allies,” Olofi argued with him. “Trusting people shouldn’t be seen as weakness.”

  Loco shrugged. “Tell that to the knives in their backs.” He turned away from everyone and took a few strides towards the med bay’s exit. “Speaking of which,” he said, stopping momentarily, “it’s high time we get over to that tribunal. I swear, if that guy tries to be soft on his kid I’m going to wring his fucking neck myself.”

  Olofi nodded, looking back at Bentley one last time. “Yes. We’d better get going. If nothing else, to make sure Loco doesn’t make good on that.”

  The group made their exit to head towards the Zion, leaving Bentley alone to rest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Aboard the Zion, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector

  The entirety of the Zion’s bridge had been restructured into a great courtroom, though not one that evoked law and order. Soldiers were crowded on either side of the viewing decks staring down at the players in the trial, shouting obscenities primarily about treachery. A vocal few, though, shouted anti-android sentiments in support of the one on trial.

  Ivor was stripped of his uniform, dressed in shoddy plainclothes typically used for covert operations on impoverished stations. He had no weapons on his person, and his hands were bound behind his back by roughspun carbon fiber rope. It was unnecessary as far as safety was concerned; there was no chance that the rebel warrior would dishonor himself by trying to fight against his comrades or show cowardice by fleeing a tribunal. However, the binding was as symbolic as it was practical: the rebels fought against overwhelming odds for the sake of freedom. To place one of their own in bondage signified that he had committed the most egregious of crimes.

  Loco, Jade, and Olofi were among the throng of onlookers above, and Loco was striking an imposing figure to give the group space at the guardrail. Shango and Jelly Bean, on the other hand, sat in the modified command center area, along with Barnabas, Blackfriar, and Svend. All of them were on the tribunal’s floor proper, being called as witnesses to Ivor’s crimes.

  Angela was marched in next, dressed down and bound just as Ivor had been. One of the tribunal’s bailiffs, a security officer donning a hooded mask to prevent the possibility of retaliation by crewmates sympathetic to the crime, kept the barrel of a blaster rifle securely planted between her shoulder blades. Unlike Ivor, it seemed as though they saw a distinct possibility of fight or flight on her part. Even the look in her eyes as she glared first at her comrades, then at Shango, and then finally at the androids, spoke volumes about what she might do if left unguarded.

  As though a switch had been flipped or an audio feed had been unplugged, the jeering and shouting came to a halt at Nikola’s arrival on deck. He was wearing a strange dress uniform, which featured a medal-adorned vest that left his well-muscled arms bare, showing a series of tattoos that wound around them from shoulder to el
bow. Shango recognized the patterns as symbols from an ancient human mythology, associated with a god of war and laws called the Arbiter. There was a mildly glowing red symbol painted upon Nikola’s forehead as well. His appearance made the trial seem like some kind of religious ceremony.

  “Brothers!” Nikola shouted when he reached his podium. “We stand here today to judge one of our own, who stands accused of losing the faith. Of betraying the cause that binds us in life and in death. Of casting away those sacred oaths that ensure we remain free men, even in the face of the overwhelming tide of tyranny.” He spoke with a fire and passion, but there was also clear evidence in his cadence of speech that these lines were rehearsed, spoken again and again in times of need.

  Nikola’s voice lowered just a little, and his next words sounded plainly like his own. “I regret that the one we stand to judge today is my own flesh and blood, reared and readied by my own hand. But be certain that in this tribunal, no blood of my blood shall save him from the Arbiter’s justice. In this place, you are all of my blood that we swore to shed each day in the name of a greater dawn. And in blood we are all equally bound.”