Unstable Prototypes

by Lallo, Joseph

  "Remember, boys!" Karter taunted as he was ushered out, "Candy bar!"

  When the inventor had left the room, and the engineers had started to file in, she carefully tapped her way through the list of equipment which, at the touch of a button, she could have at her disposal.

  "Bombs. Heavy weapons. Ship engine upgrades. And it took him barely two days to build, with virtually no resources," she muttered. "If only this man could be controlled. We wouldn't need that snake holding the purse strings anymore."

  She looked to the hand she had sliced off of him. It was still drifting lazily through the air in the zero gravity bay. In what was almost certainly no coincidence, it was floating with only the middle finger extended.

  "... But why trade one psychopath for another?" she growled.

  Chapter 10

  Lex paced as much as he could manage in the cramped accommodations, which was approximately two and a half steps. It had taken Ma a frustratingly long time to tap out the parts list for the CMEA. During that time, Lex applied some adhesive bandages that Garotte had on hand to the minor cuts he'd suffered during the fight, then pulled on his shirt. Since then, his host had made a few dozen calls, using at least seven different names and four accents. He'd learned that eight of the eighteen prototype ships had been stolen, all in precisely coordinated strikes, all with evidence of inside connections, and all within the last six months. Three were gunship variants, five were troop transports. As the information accumulated, it became clear that he was correct in his assumption that the men who took Karter were ex-military. That was essentially the only piece of the puzzle that had become any more concrete. Finally, Garotte hung up the final call and did not make another.

  "So what's the deal? Where are we?" Lex asked.

  "My assessment? We are looking at an organization that has been festering in the background for years, but something changed in the last few months. Before that, they were small time. Not small-scale, mind you, but small in influence. They are an odd bunch. A few earmarks of terrorism, but a few from the world of clandestine shadow organizations as well. That doesn't mesh. Terrorists are all about visibility. Were I to place a wager, I would say that they had been cultivating themselves, trying to gain strength and influence without being visible enough to be crushed by security or law enforcement. Then, perhaps seven months ago, they got a big backer. Fund injection, perhaps new leadership. Now they are arming themselves for the score they've been planning, but still staying below the radar."

  "Okay, so assuming you're right, how does knowing that help us?"

  "How does it help us decide what to do next? Not a lick. I haven't got a single name or location to go on. The best I can hope for at the moment is to try to keep an eye on one of the resource dumps they are likely to hit, and hope that we can catch them in the act. Other than that, I've got the two or three military contacts I've still got left from the old days keeping their eyes open. Now, what it does help us do is know what we are going to need when the time comes to fetch our boy. Namely, firepower. They are going to be very well armed and very well trained. Not just in combat, but in tactics. You and I will need better weapons than what I've got on hand, and we'll need an additional-"

  "Whoa, hey. I'm sorry. Did you say I was going to have to handle weapons?"

  "Yes. Strange as it may seem, in a rescue mission involving veteran soldiers, there may be some fighting."

  "But... I fly things. That's my area."

  "Indeed, and quite skillfully, from what I've seen. Useful though that will no doubt prove to be, in a group of two, achieving success in an action such as this will require a degree of multitasking. If it is any consolation, CQB is not my specialty either. I rather prefer the sniper rifle over the shotgun."

  "CQB?"

  "Close quarters battle."

  "See! I don't even know the acronyms! Listen, if you need me to fly you into hell and out again, I can do that, but I draw the line at pulling triggers."

  "If it is all the same to you, it is my hope to stay as far from hell as possible for the foreseeable future. Listen, my boy. I can appreciate your apprehension, but if you are truly dedicated to performing this task as quickly as possible, then you simply must involve yourself at this level."

  "No, I'm sorry, I just can't do it."

  A yipping noise drew his attention to Ma, who gestured with her head toward the screen.

  "You infiltrated VC," the message read.

  "VC? VectorCorp? This man infiltrated VectorCorp?" remarked Garotte. After a brief but earnest attempt to maintain composure, he burst out laughing.

  "What's so funny?" Lex asked.

  "Nothing. I am sorry. Clearly the computer is malfunctioning somewhat more deeply than we'd anticipated if she thinks that you managed something like that."

  "No, I really did that," Lex said defensively.

  "VectorCorp? The galactic mega-corporation?"

  "Yeah."

  "How did you manage that particular feather in your cap?"

  "Karter gave me a bunch of doodads and I snuck in. So if we're going to be doing this via stealth, and we swing by Karter's to pick up his mental cloak, then maybe I can lend a hand."

  "Some of Karter's toys would be rather useful," Garotte agreed, "The assortment I've got on hand are a tad limited."

  Ma shook her head and tapped out, now with the aid of auto-completion, "Big Sigma being watched. Moat disturbed by my exit. Entry not possible."

  "Bah. It is to be expected, I suppose. I shall lay it out for you, my boy. Stealth is our intention, but the skill of our foes virtually guarantees that, if we slip up even once, we will be locked down, flanked, trapped, and thus required to blast our way out. If you aren't comfortable with that, then I am better off without you, regardless of your past pedigree regarding infiltration," Garotte affirmed.

  "So you're going to do this solo?"

  "Confident though I am in my skills, I am afraid not. While we await one of our leads to bear fruit, I shall look into acquiring additional help."

  "Zerk," Ma tapped.

  Garotte sighed. "This machine's dedication to unleashing that particular blight upon the cosmos is becoming worrying. No, I was more interested in something at least moderately controllable. Silo fits the bill quite well, I would say."

  "What's Silo?" Lex asked.

  "Silo can rightly be called a who, I believe. An expert in combat in general and heavy weapons in particular, and another individual unfortunate enough to have been involved in the testing of Karter's equipment. Sentenced to a more substantial prison term than I, and in a more substantial prison. As we have seen, however, if the proper preparations are made, liberating an inmate can be a rather simple task."

  "Wait... how can springing someone from a major prison be easier than taking on an ex-military group of terrorists?"

  "Because there are rules of engagement and official avenues of inquiry in a prison. A few forgeries and impersonations will earn you at least a few minutes free of flying bullets, which should be more than enough to get in and out. The greatest weakness and greatest strength of most extremist organizations is the absence of a central bureaucracy."

  "Do you need me to do anything?"

  "I will need you to give me a lift to a more civilized planet so that I can secure a ship of my own with a greater passenger capacity. After that, I can think of no further use for you."

  "And you're sure you can do this?"

  "I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but it wouldn't be the least likely success story to my name. Now if you will excuse me. Prior to our arrival, I had indicated that chief on my list of requirements were a shower, a shave, and a drink. I am in flagrant violation of my own schedule," he remarked, sliding a well locked briefcase from behind a pile and clicking it open to reveal a bottle of aged whiskey and a rocks glass. A finger of the stuff was poured out.

  "You didn't strike me as-" Lex began, but a raised finger silenced him.

  In a series of slow, reverent sips, he drained th
e glass. A quick swipe with a tissue blotted it dry before it and the bottle were returned to the case, which was then locked.

  "You were saying?" Garotte said smoothly.

  "You didn't strike me as the whiskey type."

  "Normally I am a G&T man, but to consume one without the benefit of ice and a wedge of lime seems utterly criminal. If a drink must be consumed neat, then best to choose a drink best consumed that way. Now if you will excuse me, I am overdue for a shower and shave."

  "Wait, after what happened to me, you're seriously just going to go take a shower?"

  "Keep in mind, my boy, the experience that they have had with each of us. To them, you are the idiot with the dog, whereas I am the lunatic with the gun. The two perceptions inspire entirely different behaviors," he pointed out, revealing a straight-razor from within one of the crates and flipping it open, "I am confident that they will respect my personal boundaries. I shall return shortly. Don't touch anything."

  With that, he marched out the door and down the hall. Lex took the opportunity to stow his dirty clothes and dig out a bottle of water and a granola bar. After consuming each, and staring at the wall until his brain was willing to move in a straight line, he took a deep breath and considered his current status.

  "Okay... I give this guy a ride, and then I am out of this mess. That's not so bad. I can deal with that. Are you okay with that, Ma?" Lex asked.

  She set aside whatever task she was working on and swiped out the reply, "I trust Garotte's judgment for this. Thank you for your help."

  When she finished with the statement, she went back to swiping and tapping purposefully at the pad. Virtually every moment that she was not actively supplying the answer to a question or offering up a helpful comment was spent in this manner.

  "What are you doing?" Lex asked.

  She made two quick screen gestures, prompting a synthetic voice similar to one of her own to speak from the slidepad's speaker. "I am composing responses to anticipated questions and piping them to the slidepad's built in screen reader via a gestural shortcut so that I can more quickly and intelligently interact in the absence of a functional transmitter."

  "That's clever," he said.

  "Thank you," the speaker chirped.

  "Are you going to stick with Garotte while he does this thing?"

  "This mission is the entire purpose for my departure from the planet. I am dedicated to aiding in any way that I can, and I shall do all in my power to assure that it is completed quickly and with a minimum cost in human life and property damage," she spoke.

  "No offense, but how much help do you think you'll be able to give without that transmitter?"

  "My lack of a transmitter reduces my role to one similar to that played by a human or other organic life form," she said.

  "Yeah, but at least humans have thumbs."

  "With irritation: Opposable digits are not a prerequisite for usefulness," she spoke.

  "Hey, I said no offense... Wait, you actually had that sentence prepared? Am I that predictable?"

  "Yes, Lex. You are that predictable."

  Lex looked at her flatly while something very much like a smirk graced her face.

  "I'm getting outsmarted by a small furry animal."

  "Though I appear to be a small furry animal, I am in fact an abridged form of a super computer's artificial intelligence."

  "Oh, come on! You knew I was going to say 'small furry animal'? Those words specifically?"

  "Yes, Lex. You are that predictable," she repeated, now with an unmistakable grin.

  He crossed his arms and glared at her. "You know, animals aren't supposed to smile."

  "Though I appear to be a small furry animal, I am in fact an abridged form of-"

  "Alright!" he objected.

  "-a super computer's artificial intelligence," she finished, swiping again to add, "I apologize, but due to the nature of my current means of communication, I am unable to interrupt a statement once it has started."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  As Ma went back to her task, Lex decided to catch a few Zs. Since piloting a ship outside of the mapped routes that most commercial ships relied upon was a dangerous and questionably legal business, sleep often came in twenty minute lulls in the trip itinerary. As such, Lex had become a master of the cat nap. Given a few minutes and something to lean on, he could catch forty winks at the drop of a hat. With nothing better to do, he cleared some space on the top bunk, hauled himself effortlessly up, and promptly passed out.

  #

  In her personal quarters on her space station, Commander Purcell was busy looking over the early reports from the engineers. To the best of their ability, they had failed to identify any aspect of the fabrication improvements that Karter had made that were overtly dangerous. The warhead similarly appeared to be a standard one. The various component systems had been enlarged and simplified, likely to make the design simple enough to be manufactured with the jury-rigged fabrication lab, but cautiously administered tests returned reliable results. He had, in the space of a few minutes, manufactured a weapon that was an order of magnitude more powerful than anything they had in their armory. This fabricator would change everything. She'd briefly considered abandoning the CME Activator entirely. With this device, they could almost certainly manufacture their own smaller, more conventional anti-electronic weapons. It would take time to stockpile enough to launch a successful campaign, but a delay was preferable to the inevitable disaster the lunatic inventor was downright eager to cause.

  Unfortunately, this space station and virtually everything that they had been able to achieve in the past seven months had been solely due to the financing and information of their mysterious benefactor. Though the resources had allowed them to come a long way in a short time, they did not yet have the foundation to achieve their goals without continued support, and that meant keeping the mystery partner happy. It had been made quite clear since the beginning that the primary interest was the acquisition of the design and means of production of the CMEA and the subsequent elimination of its inventor. Until she'd succeeded, she was stuck with both men.

  As though he had been listening in on her thoughts, the man himself chose that moment to ping her with a request for secure communications. Purcell brought up the appropriate interfaces, pulled out her keyboard, and established a two way connection.

  "Report," typed Remote.

  "Fabrication facility complete. Before device can be completed, raw material must be acquired."

  "Have you experienced any resistance?"

  "Only from the inventor."

  "That may change."

  "Explain."

  "I have been informed that inquiries have been made regarding your activities, originating from two separate sources."

  "Which activities?"

  "The acquisition of the most recent additions to your fleet, primarily. I researched the names associated with some of the more successful inquiries. They were last active three years ago, when they were used to acquire information for an operation that would eventually result in the incarceration of a group of mercenaries, each of whom have got connections to the inventor. One of the mercenaries escaped from custody several days ago."

  "You think that it is related?"

  "It would be foolish not to."

  "How could the inventor arrange for the release of a collaborator? He has been in our custody for weeks, and he hasn't had any communication. His home base is under constant surveillance, and no outgoing transmissions have been detected."

  "The inventor is not to be underestimated. You would be wise to dispatch men to the retention facilities that are holding the other members of the inventor's squad. Coordinates will follow the conclusion of this communication session."

  "I cannot afford to spread my headcount too thin," Purcell typed.

  This financier had been moving steadily from the role of adviser to supervisor. His insistence upon dictating precisely what she ought to do and how was pushing
Commander Purcell to the end of her patience.

  "The one thing you have is manpower," Remote replied, "The second source of inquiry appears to be journalistic in nature."

  "That is of no concern."

  "It is of great concern. Right now your group is invisible and able to prepare. If you were to be revealed, forces could be mustered against you."

  "The entire purpose of this operation is to illustrate on a grand stage the validity of our message. That cannot occur if we are not visible. We cannot be taken seriously if we are not known."

  "And if you are shut down before you can apply the device, you will only ever be known as a pathetic, ineffectual paramilitary group. I suspect one of your men may have given information to the press. Get your men under control, tell them to keep their mouths shut, and do only what you need to achieve the goal at hand. There is a massive press convention on Tessera. If a solid piece of reliable information were to spark there, it would spread into a wildfire. You can't afford that. You have your orders. Do what you must to acquire the necessary resources to complete the devices as quickly as possible. End Transmission."

  With that, the connection dropped. Purcell clenched her fist and pounded angrily at the wall. She pulled the datapad from its mount and flipped her way through the information her men had provided, including a list of institutions confirmed to have supplies of Esche Alloy. There were a few nearby, but most only had enough for one or two warheads. One of them, however, had enough for six, with more to spare. A smile came to her face. She stood and marched from her quarters, prompting the soldier at attention outside of her door to fall into step behind her. It was Crewman Marx, the man who had somehow fallen into the position of second in command. In a normal organization, a position like that would have been earned by performance or seniority. In Marx's case, it seemed to have had more to do with proximity.

  "Get five squads ready," she ordered without looking, winding her way through the halls of the station, "Three equipped for surveillance, two equipped for assault and acquisition. I will provide the coordinates and exact orders for the surveillance squads shortly, but they will be keeping an eye on some prisoners who, if released, may become problematic. These are military prisons, so we should have men on the inside. Tell them to keep their eyes open. I want to know if anything happens involving those inmates. The other two will be going on an asset retrieval mission. High risk. I want people with experience in heavy ordinance and urban combat. Understood?"