Damnation Robot

by Aaron Crash

  Blaze sighed. “It sucks Bill got so hurt. You’d think the Clickers would be able to regenerate a limb. I mean, they are bugs.”

  Ling turned the ship’s controls over to Blaze and activated the science controls. The holographic screens in front of him changed from gold to blue. “The Meelah are close to mapping nerves to circuits. But we are not there yet. Neither are the Clickers.”

  Blaze was in full pilot mode, hands and fingers on the golden holographic controls. The combat display on Blaze’s ocular implants changed to a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. Scarlet clouds swirled around his starship, and he watched as the water turned to vapor as it left the wings. He had full access to all of the controls, and his vision was busy with readings, fuel levels, shield levels, and hull integrity settings. His crew’s VHI ran down the right side of the schematics. . Cali was there, blinking strong. She was up and at ’em. If worse came to worst, he could throw her at the IPC attack ships, though that would be a dick move. The ultimate dick move. For everyone involved.

  “Okay, Ling,” Blaze said. “We are going to be breaking from the clouds in about forty-five seconds. Hopefully, it will be open space and no issues. Once we clear the atmosphere, we’ll get on a spacetime wave and get on out of here. If not, and we run into IPC trouble, you work the guns but try and take out their engines. I’d rather not murder Humans if we can help it.”

  “Understood.” Ling’s controls changed from blue to red. His display lit up with controls for the weapons: theta-particle cannons, plasma guns on the wings, and the highly illegal fusion torpedoes loaded in the front and rear tubes.

  They drifted out of Decatur V’s atmosphere. The space was clear. Fleabugger glowed in the distance: the moon, the structures on the surface, the docking ring above, as well as the Nostromo Suites, the bubble rooms where they’d stayed after the Lizzie Borden had been impounded.

  “Lizzie, you still have Xerxes’s signature?” Blaze asked. The demon had about ninety-minutes lead time on them. Any longer and the archduke of necrotechnology would be impossible to find.

  At the very limits of the Lizzie’s scanning systems, boosted by IPC outposts that dared penetrate the Sargasso Expanse, he saw the red blip eating away the light years. They had to get to Xerxes, now.

  “Fernando, we good on the SWD engine? We gotta make a wave now and fast.” While the Clicker was better with bodies than engines, Fernando was their backup Spacetime Wave Drive engineer. They couldn’t trigger the wave from inside the atmosphere of the planet.

  “One moment, Gunny,” the Clicker replied. “Mapping the route now. It’s clear. We shouldn’t have any issues. Ready to engage in five, four, three, two—”

  An explosion rocked the Lizzie Borden. From out of the gas giant, not one, not two, but three full Cavalier-class attack ships rose from the clouds. Red mist wisped over their dark shapes. The ships’ surfaces were rough with technology, uneven and jagged. While the main vessels were round, each had a top and bottom fin, loaded with plasma turrets and theta-particle cannons.

  “Nombre de Dios!” Blaze cursed. “Well, guys, things just got a little interestin’.”

  From the sides of the ships, panels opened and arms extended to reveal an array of slapper missiles, which would incapacitate Blaze’s starship. But mixed in were nuclear-tipped warheads—weapons designed so the outpouring of toxic particles would dissipate before they could hurt any civilians. No deadly nuclear clouds after the explosion, just the blast itself, which would turn the Lizzie Borden into a crushed tin can.

  Yes, if they went peacefully with the IPC cruisers, they would pay a fine, maybe do a little minimum prison time at the Nouveau Leavenworth Correctional Facility near the Afrique Quadrant. Or maybe Trina could get them out of the fines and sentencing completely. But if they paused, even for a few minutes, they might lose Xerxes, his information on Granny and Arlo, and the possible location of the Onyx Gate. No, they couldn’t stop.

  A golden ray of theta-particle energy blinded Blaze for a minute. “Ling, take out that cannon!”

  “Which one, Gunny?” Ling asked in a mellow voice. “Each of the attack ships has two weapons fins, top and bottom, for a total of six cannons.”

  “Pick one, Ling…” Blaze took evasive maneuvers, pushing the engines, wheeling the ship around, spinning her this way and that. He and Ling were strapped into their chairs. Bill and Elle would be secured since Fernando wouldn’t have left them just lying there. Blaze hoped Cali and Trina were holding on. “Talk to me, Fernando. We were one count away from surfing away on a spacetime wave. Status report.”

  “They hit our engines with a glancing blow. I’m in the engine room now and—” His voice was lost in the howl of a gas leak, and comms went out for a moment. In that second, Blaze felt his lunch rise in his throat. He shouldn’t have eaten Pearl’s buffet. The mystery meat was rat meat, he knew it in his gut. Rat never agreed with him. And he’d eaten his fair share over the years. Rats could multiply fast and create colonies of protein pretty much anywhere with enough oxygen. Pound enough rat steaks together and it was like ghetto gyros. Or sewer schnitzel, depending on the spices.

  Fernando’s voice snapped back, but his words were garbled. And the hiss of the leak made him hard to understand. “Give…me…minutes.” Comms went dead.

  “Hopefully, he meant five minutes,” Ling murmured, still so mellow.

  Theta-particle bolts filled their vision, plasma machine guns slammed into their shields, and a dozen slapper missiles streaked toward them.

  Blaze maneuvered the ship through the energy attacks, but their shields were down to fifty percent, and those slapper missiles would knock them out of action if they even got close. Ling was busy taking out cannons, so Blaze triggered a fusion torpedo. It shot out from the rear tube and lit up space with a miniature star. The sun-fire explosion devoured the slapper missiles.

  “Fernando,” Blaze shouted, “how many minutes?”

  Static greeted him, and he heard clicks but nothing in English. He needed to let Fernando focus. Blaze’s job was to give the Clicker time to figure out the SWD engine. The IPC wouldn’t follow them into the Sargasso Expanse, since they had brains and weren’t desperate to chase down a demon.

  “Hold on!” Blaze called to every deck.

  A frozen line of theta energy blinded him again. One of the round, finned attack ships bobbed up in front of him. Two were behind. They were trapped. Or so it would seem. Blaze pushed on the virtual sticks and went zooming down, then leveled off and fired every ounce of engine power to get them back to Fleabugger. They’d drifted on strong winds for forty-five minutes through the atmosphere of Decatur V, but now, in open space, Blaze could open the Lizzie’s engines up. They’d be back there in only a few minutes.

  “Blaze, doubtless there will be more IPC resources at the New Oberlin—”

  The gunnery sergeant cut off the Shaolin sloth. “It’s called Fleabugger, and I know. The docking ring will have defenses, and they’ll fire on us. But I’m thinking we’ll make it hard for them to shoot at us without damaging private property and endangering IPC consumers.”

  “What about Union citizens?” Ling chirped.

  “Is there still a Union?” Blaze grinned wolfishly, ducked the Lizzie under a theta-particle beam, then another, another, another. His starship was feeling like an extension of himself. Plasma cannons peppered the bottom of his ship. He checked to see if the cellar retained containment. It did. Thank all that was holy. Though an idea was creeping into his head, and it involved the ghoulies and ghosties they kept trapped in there.

  The three IPC attack ships were converging on them. Blaze flashed by gunners on the fins of one of the Cavaliers, close enough he could flip them off. Their turrets swiveled, and a theta beam struck the top of the Lizzie, slicing through metal.

  Lizzie’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Hull breach on deck three.”

  “Fix it, Lizzie!” Blaze yelled.

  Ling fired at the theta cannon that had hit them, knocking o
ut the gun, but leaving the gunner unharmed. No use having a bounty put on them for murdering an IPC lackey.

  Blaze drove the ship down into the clouds of the planet, but didn’t go deep, and then they were up again, into the clouds and out, in and out, while the attack ships dogged them. A nuclear blast ripped through the atmosphere, jarring Ling and Blaze.

  “Fernando! How are we doing on the SWD?” the gunny asked. The IPC was getting serious.

  The Clicker responded. “We will have…a spacetime wave…” He was cut off by the gush of something wet striking the floor. “In…minutes…”

  “This lack of communication is not helping us,” Ling said softly and then worked the rear plasma guns, taking out slapper after slapper. He sighed, most contentedly. “I do find such space battles relaxing.”

  Blaze, on the other hand, was sweating, and a dark feeling cut through this gut. “Ling, remind me to smoke what you smoke before battle.”

  “I do not take any mind-altering substances,” Ling said with a grin. “I have learned to master my fear, for my only true opponent is my own self. Under the conflict is Meelah, always Meelah, eternal and infinite.”

  “Not the time for Zen lessons, you Meelah maniac.” Blaze dove the ship back into the clouds, red mist blinded them for a moment, and then he was up and out of the planet’s clouds, heading toward the Nostromo Suites.

  But they had to fly past a spiral of the harbor first. And the harbor had defensive turrets. Three of the gun towers turned and fired plasma blasts at the Lizzie in rapid succession.

  “Incoming!”

  The plasma fire cut through the tip of their left wing. The Lizzie swirled through space, out of control, careening toward the bubble hotel. Blaze fought to get control, taking into account the damage to the wing. If Fernando had said fifteen minutes until the SWD created a spacetime wave, they were screwed deep.

  The bubble lobby of the Nostromo filled the windows. They had energy shields, but at the speed they were going, if the Lizzie struck the lobby, it would crush his ship like a fly hitting the windshield of his Old Man Harley Fatboy back on Earth. He managed to only clip the shield, which undoubtedly left a gash in the bottom of the ship. Near the cellar. Lizzie showed him the damage, flashing, but then his whole ship seemed to be dripping red with damage.

  The IPC attack ships, however, weren’t firing. Like he thought, they didn’t want to risk shooting through a room and killing some poor slob sitting on the toilet. But the three vessels, the Relentless, the Inspiration, and the Adamant, all stayed on the perimeter as Blaze flew by room after room. Most of the bubbles were opaque, but one had a circular window, and he was given a view of a woman in a sheet, watching him buzz past her. She looked familiar. Yes, he knew her! Couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered kissing her upturned nose…as well as other things. Goddammit, but he had to get better with names.

  Weapons fire struck the bridge’s window. Three plasma gunners and even a theta cannoneer had disconnected from the Adamant and were spinning down toward them, riding in their gun turrets, protected by blue-energy shields.

  “Pendejos are forcing my hand,” Blaze spat. “Fernando!”

  Pure Clicker cursing clacked back over comms, completely unintelligible. He’d heard such swearing during the last days of the Bug War. Fernando was having a bad moment. Which might ruin all their days.

  “Gunny,” Ling said gently, “if I shoot at the gunners coming in, I’ll kill them. If I miss, I might hit a room. And the lovely Irene Curie might get hurt. We saw her when we passed. Not sure I want to murder anyone today. Thoughts?”

  “Irene! That was her name. That’s right. She lives at the Nostromo. Totally forgot.” Blaze glanced at the specs on Lizzie. Her shields were down to twenty percent. “Okay, I’m done dicking around here. Ling, keep us in the hotel, keep those gunners off us, and don’t stop for a second or they’ll board us. I’m going to go giftwrap three packages, one for each of our friends up there.”

  Ling took control of the ship, both navigation and guns, as Blaze sprinted from the bridge. The ship dipped, and the corridor dipped with it, but Blaze had fought enough on the Lizzie to anticipate such changes. He slid down the passageway, grabbed hold of the railing on the central staircase, and tossed himself over the railing just as the ship leveled off. He struck the third deck, bounced off a wall, and hit the floor rolling but came up on his feet.

  He was at the first airlock to the cellar. He struck the switch, and the doors slid open revealing rusted spiral stairs going down. He clambered down to the second door and cranked it open. Beyond it, there was a small entryway in front of the last door into the cellar. On shelves were Elle’s snare spheres, waiting for her to cast the last of the upload magic to transfer the ghouls inside the traps into the cellar. He snatched up three of the orbs, stuffed them in a bag hanging there, hoping the ghouls weren’t too malevolent. They just had to be evil enough to give the IPC something to fight other than him and his ship.

  And all the while they were messing around with the IPC, Xerxes was getting farther and farther away. Elle’s exorcism spell must’ve unnerved the demon. Otherwise, he’d have come back to finish what he had come to do: take out Blaze and his team. Kind of cool that an archduke had been sent to murder them. Blaze and his hunters must’ve been doing well for hell’s royalty to put out a hit on them.

  But, who the hell was Xerxes’s lord and master? The breeder demon, Arachnarax, had warned them of Xerxes, and then Xerxes talked about his father. It all felt like layers and layers of hierarchical demon fuckery.

  Blaze’s thoughts were interrupted by whispers and weeping on the other side of the third door. The ghoulies inside the cellar sensed him. A ghostly pale face broke through the metal, eyes sewn shut, mouth toothless and leaking black ichor. A dozen hands, some claws, a demon’s pincher, and one chubby toddler fist all erupted from the airlock door, reaching for him, clasping at the air. The containment sigils scratched into the surface of the room glowed a blinding-hot white, but they held.

  Blaze turned, slammed the second door behind him, and went up the stairs and out the first door. He ran down the corridor, past Cali’s room and the library. Nothing from Trina, she must be holding on for dear life.

  But Cali’s voice broke through comms. “Blaze, I want to help. Please, let me out.”

  He ignored her, found the forward mechanical access tactical tube, or MATT, and slipped inside. He crawled down the ladder as the ship buckled and dipped, throwing him about. He dropped down into the bottom fusion torpedo tube. Three of the massive cylinders were there, ready to fire.

  Still nothing from Fernando. And Ling was too busy flying, fighting, and firing to chat. But Cali was awake, and she was on comms. Why had he given her implants again?

  “Blaze, I know I’m not supposed to use comms, but I hate being in here. I hate that I can’t help. It’s why you saved me in the first place, right? To help. Otherwise, you should’ve killed me.”

  Blaze broke open a fusion torpedo, revealing the core, like fifty hydrogen shells all stuffed into a foot-long box. “Cali, it’s not a good time. You would’ve killed us if we hadn’t sedated you and locked you up. Once we get out of the jam we’re in, we’ll have more time to talk.” Ugh, talk, which was what Elle wanted. Maybe the IPC would kill them, and he could avoid that particular conversation.

  Cali’s voice broke. She was crying. “I’m sorry for what I am. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry.”

  “I know, baby.” Blaze sighed. “I know. We’ll talk. I promise.”

  She broke communication. He could only growl as he removed the very volatile fusion core of the torpedo. He slipped in a snare sphere, setting the auto settings. “Please, let this work.” He fixed up the other two warheads in the same manner.

  He then opened a panel to reveal a window. He saw a bubble room, completely transparent, below him. A couple stared up at him from their bed, covers clutched to their necks. Blaze waved. Both shocked people waved back.


  An IPC plasma gunner raced by under him, swung his guns about, and fired on the Lizzie Borden, close enough that if he missed, he wouldn’t hit one of the Nostromo’s floating rooms. Ling flung the starship back but not before Blaze grabbed the rung of the ladder of the MATT pipe. Then he was crawling upward and back to the third deck’s corridor. Cali was silent as he ran past her room, up the stairs, back to the bridge. The minute he was through the door, he took back over pilot’s controls, throwing up his hands, flying even as he took a chair, buckling in.

  The Lizzie streaked up past the Nostromo’s penthouse, the biggest room, where someone was throwing a swank party. Party guests all clustered to the window to watch the Lizzie Borden zoom past, followed by dozens of bubbled gunners and a few theta cannoneers.

  Once the Lizzie Borden broke through the top rooms and entered free space, the Relentless and the Inspiration drew near, firing a web of theta beams and plasma bursts.

  Instead of flying up through the web or trying to dodge the bursts, Blaze stopped the ship. The front shields failed under the onslaught.

  Denning’s voice thrummed over external comms. “That’s it, Blaze. Your front shields are gone. It’s time to give up. No one has died yet. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “So, Denning, you don’t believe in ghosts or demons, do you?” the gunnery sergeant asked.

  “No, we’ve been over that,” the IPC bureaucrat spat.

  “What about the commanders of those Cavaliers? They don’t believe either, do they?”

  While they talked, the Adamant rose up behind the Lizzie. Her gunners and cannoneers had flown back into the fins. Those guns and cannons were aimed at the Lizzie. No escape.

  “Let’s ask them,” Denning said.

  In seconds, all three commanders of the IPC ships were on external comms.

  “Captains Bain, Landau, and Tate. Do you believe in the supernatural?”