by J N Chaney
Warren hesitated for a full second. It was long enough for the CoW sailor to collapse unconscious. He’d die anyway, one way or another.
“All right, Cooper, we’re clear,” Warren said over the comm.
“Copy that,” came the reply.
Once the other man had joined them, Warren motioned the small group forward and into the Commonwealth ship.
9
Warren found himself becoming distracted by the unfamiliar layout and design of the Commonwealth ship. Besides the myriad of blinking lights, there were foreign panels and screens displaying information he didn’t understand or recognize.
“That went easier than I thought it would,” Craig said, holding his rifle at the ready
“If you say so,” Lukov replied, frowning.
“Sure, we all got zapped, but it’s a small price to pay to off those CoWs.”
Relatively speaking, the breach had gone easier than Warren thought it would. After he’d disabled the anti-boarding weapon, the enemy didn’t have anything to stop them besides whoever was on board.
“It was almost too easy,” Warren said as he reloaded his rifle. “Maybe I’m being overly cautious, but that’s how it feels.”
Craig and Lukov share an uneasy glance but didn’t say anything.
After stowing his empty magazine, Warren stared at the plaque on the bulkhead and willed his onboard computer to translate the language. It worked.
“The bridge is to the left,” Warren announced. “Once we seize it, the ship will be ours. Afterward, we can let our people clean up our mess. Lukov, you’re with me. We’ll head to the power plant and secure it. Craig and Cooper, you two take the bridge.”
“Got it,” replied Cooper.
Craig was facing away and after a few seconds of waiting, Warren sent him a message.
YOU GOOD?
“Yeah,” he said, turning around. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I’ve done this a billion times. Maybe more. We really don’t know, do we?”
Cooper raised an eyebrow and looked back and forth between the men. Warren ignored his unspoken question.
“I’m glad you’re good. Let’s get this over with.”
Craig and Cooper hurried toward the bridge; Warren and Lukov went toward the power plant.
“I am hoping this all goes well,” the Russian muttered.
“One way or another,” Warren agreed.
Warren slowed when he entered a long passageway, doors on both sides. He could hear people moving around. There was no way to tell which ones were armed, and which were nervous mechanics or admins. Rifle up, Warren advanced, following the direction of plaques prominently displayed on the bulkhead. They passed several sealed hatches, but Warren ignored them as he pushed deeper into the ship.
“Lukov, our priority has to be speed. We don’t have the time to clear this ship compartment by compartment. Pop anything that comes out after us and let your sensor drone trail us,” Warren said over his shoulder, his eyes still sighting down his barrel.
“Sensor drones?” Lukov asked. “It has been many years since the Republic decommissioned those. Cost-saving measure, they say.”
“Then how come—“ Warren started to ask but squashed the rest of the thought. Another memory fragment. Just more evidence of what the Republic had done to him. This was a new problem too. If outdated memories were trickling in, he had no way to know what information was current. “Keep your head on a swivel, then.”
As the words left his mouth, someone shot at them. Not wasting any time, Lukov returned fire, his weapon discharging three times.
“Two enemy dead,” he said. “They had rifles.”
“Good shooting,” Warren said.
Ahead was another hatch with someone behind it. Warren could hear his enemy breathing, sucking in rapid gasps of fear. Signaling Lukov to remain still and quiet, he waited.
A few seconds later, the hatch swung open a little. Warren punched it hard, heard a satisfying smack from the other side, followed by a scream. A Commonwealth soldier, no older than twenty, lay on his black, his face caved in far enough to make one eye bulge from its socket.
He’s just a kid.
Warren staggered back a few steps. Even though he could see what he’d done, he couldn’t believe it. The kid had a weapon. He’d clearly been a threat—no doubt about it—but the realization didn’t make it any easier.
“Warren?” said Lukov from somewhere behind. “Snap out of it. He was enemy.”
It wasn’t okay, but Lukov was right. That was war.
Warren picked up the rifle he hadn’t realized he’d dropped. He and Lukov stepped over the body and continued moving. This part of the ship was all utility and would’ve made an OSHA inspector spontaneously combust. Pipes lined the walls, some of them so rusted the wires within were visible. Most appeared to have been spliced together and taped, rather than replaced.
“How does the Commonwealth manage to win any battles like this?” Warren asked.
Lukov laughed. “They are primitive, but it allows them to make hundreds more ships than we possess. It is like old Russia, in a way. Unlike Americans, we did not care if things were pretty, so long as worked. The CoW ships, they work. They kill many Republic ships. They fight. They are tough. And when something does go wrong, they are easy to repair.”
Warren grunted in disgust.
“Also, producing them like this is fast,” Lukov continued. “So one maybe does catch fire or explode. Who cares? There are many to replace it. This is the thinking of our enemy. For them it is noble to die in the battle. For us, it is inconvenient. It is the way of things.”
“They can’t keep doing this forever. Eventually they’ll run out of volunteers.”
“Perhaps,” Lukov said, sounding unconvinced.
“Two killed,” Cooper announced, interrupting their conversation. “We own the bridge. Powering down the ship now. Looks like they left themselves logged in. I wish we got paid for this shit. Craig and I would get a bonus for sure.”
Warren heard movement to his right. Someone was sneaking around a corner. Rather than pivoting to bring his rifle to bear, he waited until his enemy’s face appeared. Not a kid this time, but a full grown man aiming a weapon at him. A small, squeaking sound escaped the soldier’s mouth as Warren squeezed, crushing his windpipe.
“Ambush front!” Lukov called out.
Warren held his dead enemy like a riot shield and charged through the open hatchway. There was an impact, a grunt, and several thuds as Warren’s meat shield smashed into another Commonwealth soldier. He kept pushing, driving them back, until his artificial hand pushed through the first man’s neck with a terrible squelching sound and connected with the second man’s face. The last crunch was the bodies being slammed against the bulkhead. Warren stepped back, pulling his hand free from gore and wincing at the sucking sound as it came free.
Two more appeared in the middle of another hatchway. They were armed, but instead of fighting, they gaped at the carnage they saw. Two of their comrades were still standing, sort of. Each left a wet, red trail as they slowly slid down the bulkhead.
“Surrender and you’ll live,” Warren offered.
The man’s face twisted in a mask of rage as he screamed and fired his pistol, the shot missing Warren. He stepped in before his enemy got a chance to try again, grabbed his arm, and twisted the barrel out and away. Grabbing the man’s belt and lifting him into the air, Warren flipped the Commonwealth sailor face up before snapping the man over his knee.
When the other sailor raised his own pistol in a shaking hand, Warren grabbed the man’s head with both hands and squeezed until his fingers touched.
“Idiots,” Warren whispered. “Why couldn’t you just surrender?”
Warren heard the crack of weapon fire in the passageway to the right. Lukov was fighting someone. He retrieved his rifle and hurried toward the noise.
“I’m coming, buddy. Hold tight,” he transmitted.
Warren was running bl
ind, charging toward the sound of gunfire, grunts, and screams. It was instinct.
After doubling back twice, Warren turned around another blind corner and found Lukov emerging from cover as he tried to advance through an ambush. The enemy had a fortified position behind some storage crates in a long, narrow room.
“Surrender and you’ll—“
A lucky shot nicked Warren’s helmet, causing him to duck and return fire. Why wouldn’t they surrender?
Lukov fired twice, drawing their enemy’s attention. Then Warren got off a few shots of his own, drawing it back. Without speaking, the two cyborgs began to take their combatants apart, piece by piece as they rhythmically chewed away at their defenses, then their heads.
The last one looked at the twisted, torn bodies of his comrades and lost his nerve. He scrambled on his hands and knees, attempting to flee the fight. Warren finished him off.
“Why don’t they surrender?” Warren asked.
“Because we do not allow them to surrender,” Lukov replied. “The war computer forbids it. They are the enemy combatant. They must die. It is the purpose of war—to make the enemy die for his government, is it not?”
“It is,” Warren admitted, feeling his shoulders sag a little. “Let’s keep going.”
“What is the hurry?”
“We have the bridge, but if these assholes are ready to die for their government, they might be willing to breach their power plant and take us all out with them.”
Lukov nodded and raised his rifle, then they began moving again.
A minute later, Warren heard what sounded like hard-soled shoes against steel. It could have been a cyborg, but none of their people were supposed to be down here. He used a hand to signal for Lukov to halt.
The room beyond the open hatch was dark. It was also several degrees warmer than the other parts of the ship they’d been to. It had to be the power plant room.
“Come out!” Warren ordered.
There was no response.
“They will not come out,” Lukov said. “We must go in after them.”
“I need to give them a chance to live,” Warren said. “Come out now or we’re coming in!”
“They will not,” Lukov replied, lowering his rifle a hair.
“We surrender!” a woman called out from the darkness. Her accent made it clear English wasn’t her first language. “Please, don’t shoot. We did not want to be here. Please.”
“How many are in there with you?” Warren asked.
“There are two—no, three of us, including me.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Warren said as he stepped into the room.
“But—“ Lukov started, before swallowing the rest of his words.
The room was the cleanest and best-maintained one Warren had seen yet. The power plant—a huge cylinder with small, round viewing windows all around—occupied most of the space. Terminals along the round wall filled the rest.
There were three of them, as the woman had said. They all wore Commonwealth uniforms that were blue with a red stripe running down each sleeve. The red meant they were engineers—a quick way for other Commonwealth sailors to find one if there was an emergency. All three had their hands raised, their legs out in front of them, wearing the same terrified expression.
“Keep your hands where I can see them and this’ll all work out,” Warren said a second before a message appeared on his HUD telling him to kill his prisoners.
Warren hesitated for two seconds before the icon for his compulsion chip began to blink, warning him he was about to get shocked. He considered resisting. Maybe his willpower would be enough to overcome the war computer’s control. They were unarmed and could hold valuable information for interrogators. It made no sense.
“You must do as the war computer commands,” Lukov warned. “If not, it will take control and force you to do it. If that happens, you may need to be reset. Or you may be deleted. It is as I said, we never leave survivors.”
Warren cried out when his compulsion chip shot electricity through his body.
“This isn’t a war,” Warren transmitted. “This is a fucking extermination.”
He wanted to close his eyes and pretend someone else was about to murder these people. But if he did that, he might miss, or worse, cause them to suffer before they died. These sailors weren’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but they were trying to surrender. They didn’t want to fight anymore. Neither did Warren, but the damn chip left him no choice.
He moved his targeting reticle to the first one’s forehead and squeezed the trigger, sending a single round through the woman’s skull. He repeated the process as quickly as he could with the other two. At least they didn’t suffer. It was the most humane thing he could do for them.
They turned to leave when a blast of electricity shot through Warren’s body. He wasn’t the primary target, though—Lukov was. His partner went down in a heap, his armor smoking from the blast. Glancing past his friend, he saw a frightened-looking CoW sailor standing in a hatchway on the other side of the room. The man held a rifle-like weapon in his hands.
The young sailor turned the gun toward Warren, but he wasn’t fast enough. Warren put three rounds in his chest. Blood smeared against the wall as the rifle dropped from his enemy’s lifeless hands. Warren stared as the dead sailor slid down to the floor, wondering what he’d become and why they were fighting.
“Nice one,” Cooper said as he kicked the weapon away from the sailor’s body. “Everything else is clear. The ship is ours now.”
“Yeah,” Warren said, as he took a knee and inspected Lukov. The Russian didn’t move.
“Damn,” Cooper said. “That CoW zapped him good. Looks like he’s going to have to be reset. Tough break.”
Warren stowed his rifle on his back, picked Lukov from the ground, and hoisted him over his shoulder.
“Let the sailors do that,” Craig said from the doorway, fanning a hand at Lukov. “We don’t get paid for that. They do.”
“No,” Warren said. “Cyborg or not, we respect our fallen. I’m not letting some asshole sailors who think of us as nothing more than tools take his body. Now back off.” Craig stepped out of the way as Warren stormed past.
Warren couldn’t remember ever having been so angry in his life. It burned in him, magma pouring out from the depths of his soul. It felt like it might boil his brain, cremating him from the inside. He welcomed it. The feeling fed his resolve. He’d seen enough. He was going to find Hendrose and they were going to put a stop to it whether the tech wanted to or not.
He found his target before he got off the enemy ship.
Hendrose had his tablet out and stared at Warren’s tight fists with a fearful look. “Uh, we can handle that for you. You don’t need to carry him out.”
“You’re going to repair him,” Warren demanded. “No resetting. No wiping memories. Only repair. Somewhere private.”
The tech nodded, pivoted away. He barked a command at another tech, then walked quickly from the Commonwealth ship. Warren followed.
Instead of heading to the medical bay they used before, Hendrose headed up a level and used his palm to unlock a smaller repair room.
“Set him on that table,” the tech instructed. “Now press the green button over there.”
Warren did, and the hatch closed. They were alone.
“Nobody will be able to come in now,” Hendrose said. “Not without a lot of trouble, anyway. The Skipper could, but Captain Bligh’s got no reason to be here.”
“Don’t reset him,” Warren said again. “Use as many repair parts as you need, but don’t erase his memories.”
“Let me get some lights turned on so I can see what I’m doing.”
The room had only three repair tables and a few cabinets of repair parts.
Hendrose returned to Lukov’s side and lifted his data pad. “Okay, he’s still in there, but he’s got a lot of damaged parts. Relays, mostly. Electrical damage. Nothing critical, though. No
rmally something like this would require a reset, but I can fix him. I just need a little time.”
“When was the last time he was backed up?” Warren asked.
“According to his chart, a few weeks ago,” Hendrose said. “Why?”
“Because it’s a few weeks of this man’s life, which means it’s important. Keep working, but I have a couple of questions for you.”
Resigned, the tech looked up and nodded. “Mind if I get a few parts first?”
“Go ahead,” Warren said and followed the man with his eyes.
When the tech returned to Lukov and began removing the man’s armor, Warren asked, “Why don’t we take prisoners?”
“The cyborgs?”
“Anybody.”
Hendrose shrugged. “I’m not a combatant, and I don’t make policy. Everyone has their suspicions, but I guess only the Senate knows for sure. We’ve never taken prisoners, though.”
“When I was on that CoW ship, my compulsion chip forced me to kill a few of their crew. They’d surrendered and were unarmed. It seems to me this isn’t a war. It’s a complete extermination. So, my next question is this: Is the Grand Republic of Unified Systems good or evil?”
The tech stopped what he was doing and looked at Warren. “In war, each side feels like they’re the good guys. Isn’t that how it’s always been? If you’re looking for an absolute good guy, you’re out of luck. Both sides are guilty of war crimes—each for their own reasons. They say things like ‘protecting the homeland’ and ‘act instead of react.’ Typical talking-point bullshit. In the end, nobody bothers to ask. If you do, you could be labeled a CoW sympathizer or an outright traitor. I guess in the end, it’s not about who’s wrong or right. It’s all about survival.”
“And nobody listens to cyborgs, even though we have centuries of experience to pull from.”
“Accurate,” Hendrose murmured as he got back to work.
“This is why Craig keeps trying to get himself killed, right? All that history, gone. All the memories, gone. We aren’t even considered people.”
“Maybe.” Hendricks shrugged as he began digging through Lukov’s guts, hunting for broken circuits. “This is war. There’s nothing pretty about it. People die—even those who don’t want to be involved. Those are the most tragic—the bystanders who just want to be left alone.”
