Bastion Saturn

by C. Chase Harwood

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Both. A sharp-dressed juvenile or maybe a dad trying too hard on Halloween.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” He fished for something to say about her outfit, but nothing but tits-and-ass comments came to mind. He finally settled on, “You look like a snow bunny.”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Why, thank you.”

  Spruck ducked his head into the room. “Um, we gotta an issue.”

  Caleb grimaced, then forced a smile. “Of course we do. Why should we get a chance to relax for even a moment?”

  “What’s up?” asked Jennifer.

  “Bert. Apparently there’s an APB out on him. He’s being held by the security firm next door. They have instructions to isolate him and space him. They haven’t figured out yet how to keep him isolated while getting him to the airlock.”

  Saanvi and Natalie caught up as Mr. Oshima escorted them all through the tunnel that connected the monastery to the security firm on the other side of the moon. Saanvi asked, “Do we know why?”

  Caleb said, “No, but I have a pretty good guess.” He was almost outpacing their escort.

  Jennifer said, “Slow down. No point in going in there hot. And since when do you care about Bert?”

  “I don’t give a shit about Bert. They can do me a favor and use him for parts, but I’ll be damned if someone messes with my shit without asking me first.”

  Oshima said, “Mr. Day, these people will not appreciate your attitude. If you wish to regain your robot, you must show some decorum.”

  Caleb scowled but slowed down.

  They reached the end of the hall, the passage fitted with a large single vault door. They passively submitted to a scan inside and out before they were allowed to proceed. The security personnel on the other side were all female; tall, badass, and as far as Caleb was concerned, hot. They reminded him of the women in an ancient music video that had been repopularized just before he left Earth: hair in a tight bun, heavy smoky-eye makeup and burgundy lips. He felt appropriately dressed as a comic book character. Then he chastised his baser self, saying under his breath, “I gotta get laid.”

  “What’s that?” ask Jennifer.

  “Um? Nothing?”

  Having delivered them, Mr. Oshima turned and made his way back down the tunnel, departing without a word. They were escorted down another nondescript hallway until they reached a larger chamber that acted as a hub and a central public zone. Women dressed in variations of the same sharp-looking uniform and heavy makeup moved about with purpose while others in off-duty wear lounged at what was basically a beach bar complete with palm trees. There wasn’t a man to be seen. “Welcome to the Island of Lesbos,” whispered Caleb to Spruck.

  Saanvi gave him a discrete smack in the arm, while the woman who escorted them narrowed her eyes with distaste. They passed an open gymnasium where more women worked out. Several were practicing various forms of martial arts and engaging in mock combat.

  A short ride in a glass elevator brought them to the top landing and a bank of offices that looked out over the chamber. Another pair of guards stood vigil outside one office. They stepped aside to let the gang enter. The room was garishly ornamented: faux oak paneling with ornate carvings, large oil paintings of hunting scenes, and knickknacks worthy of a British library circa 1780. A massive desk with carved lion’s feet took up the center of the room. None of it was genuine. There was no way to haul all of this out across such a distance. Weight rules had been very clear. No matter your personal wealth, you left Earth with a single bag, which meant that all of this stuff had been printed at obscene expense.

  A white man who appeared to be about forty stood behind the big desk wearing a perfectly tailored faux Savile Row wool suit. His heavy sideburned black hair was slicked back with pomade, and in the dim light, he seemed to be pointlessly wearing Wayfarer style sunglasses. Well that completes the music video portrait, thought Caleb. A hookah took up one side of the desk, and the man held the tip of one of the pipes to his mouth, letting a cloud of vapor pour forth from his nostrils. Their escort took a position behind the group as the man set the pipe down. He calmly let his eyes linger on each of them in turn before finally saying, “Good day.” His upper class English accent was unmistakable. “My name is Charles King. I am president and owner of Amazon Security Services. I understand that you wish to make a case regarding a humanoid robot that we have in our custody.”

  Caleb said, “Yes. There seems to be some mistake, and the robot has been classified as some type of danger.”

  “There’s no mistake. The robot’s serial number matches one that the authorities on Hanson have logged as a security risk level 10. We have the unit isolated. The logistics of removing it from the facility are nearly complete.”

  Caleb tightened his fists together behind his back and said, “Um, that’s not going to work. The bot is ours and we are claiming him, it, back.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, old chap. We comply one hundred percent with the agreed-upon security procedures for the system. The Hanson notice is quite clear and quite legal. The robot needs to be destroyed.” He stepped around the desk revealing feet clad in buttery Italian loafers. “May I inquire as to how you came to claim ownership of it?”

  Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, Mr. King, but why the heck—pardon my language—does Bert need to be destroyed?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, Ms. Boyce. However, we have received a request from Hanson PD to inquire as to the nature and disposition of those who might be traveling with it.” He looked at Caleb. “Again, you claim ownership, Mr. Day. Can you show proof of such? The robot’s records clearly state that it remains the property of a lab on Phoebe.”

  “Salvage rights. We found it.”

  “OK, may I inquire as to where? A record of the find, perhaps?”

  “No, you may not. It’s not your business. We also follow the rules of the system. Liberty through Anonymity is rule one. We haven’t had the time to make it to Hanson or Soul to get the registration changed, but the bot is ours.”

  “I see and I apologize. You continue to be missing the legal leg to stand on for such a claim. If you had documented the salvage . . . We sympathize with your frustration and apologize for the inconvenience. I’ll have you escorted back to the monastery.”

  “What are you getting for destroying the bot?” asked Natalie.

  “Pardon?”

  “You haven’t asked us to buy our bot back so you’re not getting paid in money. What are you getting for your trouble?”

  “We are merely complying with rules, Ms. Beal. And may I state, that yours is a very curious group. Your profile fits a BOLO that has been bouncing around the system via a Chinese concern that has a contract with Hanson PD.”

  The group stiffened.

  “I’ll fight you for him,” blurted Jennifer.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll fight your best security person or whatever you call your people.”

  The woman behind them snickered.

  Jennifer continued, “I win, we get Bert back, no questions asked. Your person wins and we make no trouble.”

  “I’m counting on you to not make any trouble either way.”

  Caleb looked hard at Jennifer and said through gritted teeth, “What are you talking about?”

  “An old school contest. Trial by combat, with Bert as the prize.”

  Caleb glanced at the Amazon behind him and then back at Jen. “You want to fight for Bert?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Saanvi uncharacteristically thrust her chest out, “I have to go with Caleb here.” What the hell?”

  Jennifer looked at King directly in the eyes. “Would you remove your sunglasses?”

  King took off the glasses revealing what everyone guessed had to be augmented eyes. He looked directly at Jennifer, his pupils shrinking but still remaining much larger than a normal human eye.

  She smiled. “Special Forces, am I righ
t? So here it is. I know you can read my emotions, tell me if I’m lying. I kick your best person’s ass and we get our robot back. Simple.”

  “And what do we receive in exchange for this request?’

  “Relief from boredom. You get a show. I bet your people could use a show. We can even invite the monks. They can appreciate a good fight.”

  Caleb stepped around to be in her field of vision. “Who are you?”

  “Jennifer Boyce. A friend of yours. We all have hidden skills.”

  Natalie said, “Girl, I know you had some matches back in school, but—”

  Jennifer held up her hand. “Enough.” She stared at King. “Deal?”

  King put his glasses back on and spoke to the woman standing behind them. She had at least thirty pounds and six inches on Jennifer. “I suspect that you would be the right candidate for such a spectacle, yes, Claris?”

  “I would be, sir.”

  “Interested?”

  Claris gave Jennifer a once over and said, “It would be a pleasure, sir.”

  King removed his glasses again. “Shall we make it to the death?”

  “What?” blurted Caleb. “No!” He looked at Jennifer. “No, right?”

  She looked at King and said, “I’d rather not kill anyone.”

  “Hmm. Pity. OK, then if you lose, we get to have that sporty ship with the cloaking device.”

  “No!” said Caleb, Spruck, and Natalie simultaneously.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Caleb said, “Jen, it’s not worth it. I won’t let you do it.”

  Jennifer coolly took in Claris. “Bert’s one of us. I’m not leaving here without him. I got this.” She looked Caleb in the eye. “I got this.” She turned to Spruck and Natalie. “I promise.”

  Claris snickered. “That’s a promise that’ll be fun to break.”

  A sparring ring already existed in the gymnasium area. Extra seats were brought in, and the crowd of female voices grew respectfully silent as the monks filed in. When all were seated, King allowed a moment of silence to hang before he stepped into the ring still sporting his sunglasses. He nodded to the monks and offered a short bow to Hiro Tanaka in particular. “Welcome distinguished guests and good neighbors. We are happy to provide some light entertainment in the form of trial by combat. While the combatants have chosen not to fight to the death, they have agreed to fight until one of them becomes incapacitated. In other words, there is no referee, and there will be no tapping out.”

  Caleb, Natalie, and Spruck had front row seats. Behind them were the Cockneys. Saanvi stood with Jennifer behind the crowd. Jennifer was dressed in a spandex tank top with knee length spandex pants. Saanvi said, “Are you sure I can’t tape your fingers or something?”

  Jennifer smiled. “I don’t punch.”

  Saanvi paused and scanned the room before saying, “I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “Nope.” Jennifer held Saanvi’s wrist. “You’d want me to fight for you wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not a robot.”

  “Neither is Bert, really.”

  “He . . . It is a robot, Jen. It’s a machine.”

  “Not to me.”

  Saanvi sighed and nodded. “I talked with their medical staff. They have really good people here. And equipment. If needs be, they can print up an organ in a jiffy using your stem cells.”

  Jennifer closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out through her nose as she listened to King announce her. She opened her eyes, smiled, and said, “See you in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be right there ring side.” She gave Jennifer a kiss on the cheek, then slapped her on the ass. “Go get her.”

  Claris was already in the ring and dressed the same as Jennifer, but her skin glistening with grease. Jennifer frowned at that, but shook it off. She pulled herself up and stepped between the ropes. Caleb, Natalie, and Spruck yelled out encouragements toward Jen and found their voices to be the sole participants.

  King said, “One blast of the horn and you begin.” He looked at Jennifer. “The fight is over when you break.”

  Jennifer cocked her head and grimaced like she was dealing with a nasty smell. “Kind of a sadistic fella, aren’t yah? Daddy beat you much?”

  King ignored this and stepped down out of the ring with the assistance of two of his people.

  Claris quickly stepped close to Jennifer and sneered. Then, as if she had practiced the timing, the horn sounded and she simultaneously delivered a crushing punch to the top of Jen’s chest. Jennifer gasped as the air shot out of her. A second blow was only slightly less devastating, as she backed and ducked, the fist glancing off the edge of her temple. A swinging kick swept one of Jen’s legs and she nearly dropped to the matt. She caught herself at the last moment and backpedaled while trying to reset her lungs. The crowd of women cheered as Claris didn’t slow down, staying right on her, with Jen backed into the ropes. The larger woman brought a knee up with the intent to deliver a crippling Charlie horse to Jen’s thigh, only to be surprised as Jen side-stepped it and used the leg’s momentum to keep it going up, flipping the woman over to land face down on the matt.

  Several of the monks smiled.

  Claris barely noticed the change in position, sweeping her leg to try another trip, catching one of Jen’s ankles. Her second foot caught Jen’s thigh with a hard enough kick to summon a gasp from the crowd.

  Jennifer felt a jolt of fear shoot through her as the pain shot up through her hip.

  A twist and a flip and Claris was back on her feet, fists up and coming in fast. Jennifer limped hastily to the opposite corner.

  Spruck gripped Natalie’s hand saying, “Not the Belle.”

  Natalie shook his hand off with annoyance.

  Claris stopped in the center of the ring and regarded Jennifer with a predator’s smile. She was a cat toying with a mouse. “I’m going to hurt you now. Nothing personal.” She charged. Jennifer stepped toward her and grabbed Claris’ punching arm, trying to use the woman’s own momentum to flip her, but the greased arm slipped free. As Claris passed, the huge woman punched with her free fist, connecting hard with Jennifer’s jaw.

  Jennifer heard a ringing in her ears as her vision skewed and a sharp pain shot across her entire head and into the opposite shoulder. She ran again to the opposite side. The crowd of women alternately cheered their champion and booed Jennifer. She made eye contact with Caleb sitting on the edge of his seat, white knuckles crushing the chair arms, eyes wide, clearly helpless. She could hear Claris’s heavy foot falls right behind her. Just as the woman reached her shoulder, Jen ducked, reached up and got a grip on one of Claris’s wrists. This time it didn’t slip, and she used the woman’s momentum to throw her over her shoulder, slamming Claris’ back hard to the ground while her legs dragged and bounced down the ropes. Despite the blow, Claris managed to reach up and poke a finger into Jen’s right eye.

  Jennifer staggered back, her eye clamped shut with her hand slapping over it. Again, Claris almost effortlessly flipped herself onto her feet.

  That’s when Jennifer heard her battle-hardened mother yelling at her. The memory filled her head with such a rush as to almost make it seem real. “What the fuck, little girl! Nobody beats up my baby unless it’s me!”

  This time when Claris charged, Jennifer’s body remembered everything that her mother had drilled into her head. Judo was about using the opponent’s own strength to beat her. The grease had been smeared off enough so that Jennifer could get a good grip. One moment Claris was on her feet delivering a devastating blow, the next she was head over tea kettle slamming hard to the matt with Jennifer on her like a twisting anaconda. With one fluid movement, Jen wrapped her legs around her victim, locked Claris’ left arm in a hold that forced the elbow joint to bend the wrong way. Claris screamed as Jennifer applied her upper body weight to the joint. Unable to find her voice for making words, Claris tapped furiously on the matt. Jennifer held tight, her body like a tightly twisted rubber band. Her eyes cas
t about for King. When she spotted him, he was seated in a relaxed pose, hands crossed behind his back. She knew he could read the question on her face. He lifted his right hand, made a fist with the thumb extended sideways in the style of a Roman dictator. Without hesitation he pointed the thumb down.

  Jennifer gritted her teeth. “Sorry, girlfriend.” She applied further pressure until an audible snap shifted Claris’ scream into an impossibly high pitch, silencing the room.

  Jennifer then got her victim into a quick choke hold, applying it until the screaming turned to a gurgle, then silence and the woman passed out.

  Jennifer extricated herself and stood exhausted.

  Her friends stared in amazement. The Cockneys stared in amazement. Claris’s fellow security women offered only small whispers, while also looking on stupefied. The monks sat impassively, but Tanaka offered Jennifer a private smile. King turned and walked to his elevator.

  A single pair of hands began clapping slowly. Tanaka stood and was joined by the rest of the monks. Steadily, the remainder of the room fell into polite but reluctant clapping as well.

  An Amazon Security doctor climbed into the ring to attend to Claris’s prostrate form. Saanvi followed her and guided Jennifer to the ring’s edge.

  Jennifer caught Caleb’s eye and he slowly mouthed, Wow.

  Later, on the monastery side of the moon, a meal of fish, rice and seaweed sat before the gang, prepared and presented in a simple Japanese way. In addition to Tanaka, Oshima and a few other monks, and the Cockneys sat at the table as well. Several bottles of chilled sake were already empty. Bert stood at attention at the edge of the small room that was traditionally floored with tatami mats. Like a loyal dog, he had placed himself directly behind and to the right of Jennifer. A yellow bruise was welling up on her cheek, and the poked eye was bright red with burst blood vessels, but otherwise she appeared well. A shower and a return to her white jumpsuit had mostly restored her. The sake didn’t hurt, either. Caleb was sitting right next to her and kept stealing glances. She finally whispered, “What?”