Scrapyard LEGACY (Star Watch Book 6)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Not true …” the robot interjected. “Since I’ve been here I’ve picked up on no fewer than twenty-three spatial fluctuations … adaptations. Ricket is correct. Memory issues have already become a problem. Fragmentation. Oh baby … the world as you know it is coming to an end … coming apart.”

  They all stared at Two-ton for several beats, no one adding anything.

  “And now you know why the Caldurians didn’t practice data cloning any new habitrons. They can come back here and bite you in the ass,” Two-ton said.

  “Gus, I can’t stay here. We can’t stay here. As we speak, an enemy fleet approaches the Sol System. War is imminent. My wife … your son, Perry … are missing and probably captured. I only pray they are still alive. So the situation here can’t be dealt with right now.”

  Jason, turning toward Ricket, asked, “What do we need to do to bring things to a less critical standing? To alleviate some of the Parcical’s memory issues?”

  Ricket looked about the futuristic world. “To start, this habitat needs to be reduced in mass. New boundaries set. I would say to maybe one-third its current size … to start.”

  “That’s impossible!” Gus balked. “They’ll be coming for me with torches and pitchforks.”

  “I’m sorry, Gus … but you made this mess. You’ll have to assume responsibility for what you’ve created somewhere along the line.”

  Fuming, Gus glared at the recruits, now playing tag in the street.

  Jason, indicating to Ricket he wanted to speak with him alone, moved away from the others.

  “Captain, the inhabitants of this habitat … this world … are not responsible for their plight. Not at all.”

  “My grandfather has that sole distinction. With that said, we can’t exactly release them out into the universe, where they each share an identity with another being somewhere. Can you imagine the headache of having thousands of doppelgangers, vying for ownership—who is real and who is … a data clone?”

  Ricket said, “There may be a way. Perhaps we create a portal, say to another, alternative, multiverse realm. Provide them a way to travel beyond these confines … to move back and forth … from this habitat into reality … somewhere.”

  “Can you do that?” Jason asked.

  “I am not sure, Captain. I have never attempted such a thing before. But perhaps.”

  Jason considered what Ricket said. “Understand, our priority now is the approaching enemy fleet and our inability to defend ourselves. I’m leaving you here, Ricket, along with half the armed recruits. Help my grandfather trim the size of this habitat. Also, think more on what you just proposed. But acting on that aspect can wait. You have two hours; then return to the Parcical. I need you there.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  They both glanced up as the world around them flickered—the decrepit city replacing the new city. The fetch-it drone hovered nearby—looking lost. And then, just as suddenly, the glimmering city, constructed of steel-and-chrome, returned.

  “I need to get back, Ricket. I think someone sent that fetch-it for me.”

  Chapter 19

  The door latch jiggled again—someone was definitely coming in, Dira realized. Shit shit shit! Bathwater sloshed onto the floor as she spun around—first clockwise, then counterclockwise. She needed a weapon, anything, but there was nothing in the room. Looking for something to cover herself with, Dira spotted a stack of thick towels piled high on a lower shelf on a sideboard table. As she moved to climb from the tub, the door began to swing open. Crouching low in the water, she attempted to cover her exposed upper body by crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Wait! I’m not dressed,” she exclaimed toward the doorway.

  The door was swinging open but not in a direction that could view the tub—she couldn’t see who was coming in but neither could he, or she, immediately see her. There was no time—the stack of towels was well out of reach. Frantic, Dira glanced down at the floor where her discarded gown, now soggy, lay in a heap. She reached for it, pulling it close to her chest, then sank low beneath the water’s surface. Doing her best to position the thin fabric over her private parts, she kept her eyes leveled on the opened door, as something softly clanked against the inside of the tub.

  Prince, now-King, Gallderaunt stepped into the bathroom. His red-rimmed eyes first took in the cramped space around him before settling on Dira. He was holding a bottle of something by the neck, probably Tanganin, as the acrid smell of alcohol filled the room. He swayed on his feet. Stepping closer, his attention focused on what lay beneath the surface of the water. A cruel smile crossed his lips.

  Dira said, “Not like this … please! Just let me dry off. After that …”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

  “I’m sorry … about your father,” she said, instantly regretting she’d spoken.

  The new king’s eyes narrowed, his face flushing red with rage. And then he was upon her—one hand tightly grasping her wet hair, while the other punched her on the side of the head. Dira partially managed to protect her face by keeping her forearms raised, but his powerful, consistent blows were taking their toll. She felt dizzy—had begun to see stars—and knew a total loss of consciousness was imminent. She tasted blood when his clenched fist struck her hard in the nose, and instantly thought of Jason—how much she loved him. How much she regretted that their life together was to be cut short. I’m so, so sorry, Jason.

  As Dira was further forced beneath the surface of the water, she frantically reached up and clutched his two wrists—his bunched-up hands—that were pushing her down. Already deprived of breath, she uselessly twisted and struggled to free herself. His hold was steadfast and she was rapidly losing all her strength. Oh God … what she wouldn’t do for one last breath of wonderful sweet air. She was dying, she knew it. It was only a matter of time. Seconds, really. Dira released her feeble grip on his hands, ceasing to fight further. The burning in her lungs was beyond intense. And then she felt it—something metallic wedged beneath her right thigh. As her fingers curled around it, she instantly knew what it was—her SuitPac device. Her heart sank, remembering that it no longer worked, and, no longer able to fend off the instinctual impulse to breathe in, she opened her mouth and bathwater entered her lungs. Instantly, she gagged and retched. Her fingers tightened—unconscious muscle memory going into effect—the tips of her thumb and forefinger constricting—spasm-like.

  Dira was only partially aware that the SuitPac device had come alive; that the Caldurian-technology combat suit visibly covered her body in hundreds of tiny body-armor segments.

  Moments later, Dira felt the king’s firm hold on her head and shoulders begin to waver some. Suddenly breathing in, more like gasping, as the oxygen-rich air was fed into her helmet, a slight smile crossed Dira’s lips. King fucking Gallderaunt … you’ve messed with the wrong Jhardonian. Lifting an arm up out of the water, she made a fist then fired three consecutive plasma bolts from her suit’s integrated wrist cannons.

  Standing up in the tub, she coughed several times to clear her lungs and casually glanced back over her shoulder. Staring down at the lifeless body of young King Gallderaunt, she noted most of his head had been vaporized. What little remained of it was smoldering—a charred and blackened mess.

  Dira looked down at her arms, at the matte-black combat suit now covering her body. How she’d gotten the device to work was a mystery, but she sure wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She didn’t plan on deactivating the combat suit until she was safely back on the Jumelle.

  Dira stepped up over the rim of the tub and onto the bathroom floor that was now covered in several inches of water. She nudged the door closed, taking care not to make any undue noise as it latched shut. Taking in another gulp of the oxygenated air, she then exhaled slowly, hoping her luck would hold. She hailed the Jumelle but couldn’t connect. Next, she tried Gunny Orion. After a prolonged series of clicks—and ready to give up—Dira heard the familiar v
oice.

  “Dira?”

  “Orion! Thank God … yes, it’s me.”

  “You’re lucky you got through! NanoCom is flakey. Tell me your situation … where’s the Omni—”

  Dira cut her off. “Listen, I don’t know how much time I have. I’m being held in Lardel Hold. We’ve been taken prisoner. The Omni’s hurt … but I think he’s still alive.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m not with him. He’s with many others, locked up somewhere here in a place called Bastille Spire. A wretched prison, Orion. The crew of the Aquarius is here too.”

  “I know about the Aquarius, Dira,” Orion said. “Look, we were about to blow the space station bridgeway and make a run for help, but we were just contacted by one of the king’s emissaries … a Lord Digby.”

  “Who is he … what’s his role in all this?”

  “My guess … he wields substantial power with the monarchy,” Orion said.

  “How did he contact you?”

  “Apparently, he or his people can flip a switch. Temporarily deactivate the virus that’s infected the ship … something to do with our Caldurian technology. Hell, even our nano-devices. We’re all infected, Dira.”

  She thought about that. Was that how she’d gotten her SuitPac device to initialize? A temporary flip of a switch?

  “Well, virus or not, I’m standing here in my combat suit. Not so sure how long our NanoCom will stay operational … best we hurry.”

  Orion answered, “Good point. Lord Digby told me about the Aquarius, her crew being taken. And that as we now speak, there is a Sommis of Adriark fleet making its way toward Sol. Our lives will be spared, but only if we surrender the Jumelle.”

  “Well, both the king and the king’s heir are dead. So maybe they’ll rethink going to war with the Alliance …”

  “He already knew about the king and he didn’t care. The monarchy were nothing more than figureheads. Digby is the real one in charge.”

  “Did you see him? What does he look like?” Dira asked.

  “Saw him on the display. He’s tall … wears a black cape.”

  “With a glittery silver lining?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Orion replied.

  “I saw him here … less than an hour ago. He was consoling one of the king’s wives.” Dira thought back to when they’d first made eye contact and a shiver ran down her back. Yes, Digby was dangerous, but something more too. Something in his eyes. Intelligence. He was smart and … cunning. He had to be, for two of the most advanced warships in the galaxy to become so completely neutralized.

  Dira said, “What do you want me to do? I’m no warrior.”

  A moment passed before Orion spoke again. “Dira … I’m sorry. Today … you’ll have to become one.”

  Chapter 20

  Jason, Boomer, Billy, and half the contingent of greenhorns followed the hovering fetch-it drone through the portal—back into the Parcical’s Zoo.

  “Going to work with the recruits for a while,” Billy said. “You know where to find us, if anything comes up,” he added.

  Several minutes later, Jason and Boomer arrived at the bridge. They found Ryan sitting at the helm, looking bored. Seeing them enter, Ryan quickly stood—doing his best to suddenly look busy. Jason saw Ryan give Boomer a sideways glance. Jason still didn’t get what was going on between the two, and still didn’t care enough to ask.

  “Where’s Bristol?” Jason asked.

  “Oh … he’s up in Ricket’s lab, Captain. Sorry, the fetch-it drone was supposed to tell you that.”

  “You okay on your own?” Jason asked Boomer as he headed out.

  She gave him back a wide-eyed incredulous face. “Yeah Dad … I think I can manage.”

  Dodging in and out between ladders and narrow passageways, Jason jogged most of the way down to Deck 2. He found Bristol at one of the workbenches—an information cyclone model slowly rotated on its axis in front of him. Jason pulled up a stool and sat down beside him.

  “It looks different than it did before,” he said.

  “Yeah … well, that’s because it is different. This isn’t the Ingress Virus. This is the Ingress Virus countermeasures patch. Uses similar coding to the virus itself, but this sneaky hack-bastard will reap a whole lot of havoc … completely and forever cripple the transmission method of the virus. I haven’t thought of a catchy name for it yet.”

  “So, you have a cure?” Jason asked, excitement in his voice.

  Bristol shrugged, his brow furrowing. “You ever wonder why the common cold’s been so difficult to cure?”

  “Yeah. It’s … um … something to do with the virus constantly mutating. It’s different for every host, right?”

  “Something like that,” Bristol said. “At first, we thought the Ingress Virus was modifying itself for each new host … technologically, biologically, or otherwise. Whoever designed the virus was pretty fucking smart.”

  “Maybe Ricket can—”

  Bristol was ready for that: “I don’t need Ricket, I got this. As I said, the virus coders were damn good. Made something as impregnable as anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Jason silently wished Bristol would just cut to the chase. But he also knew this endeavor was an opportunity for the young man to step out of Ricket’s considerable intellectual shadow.

  Bristol continued, “What the coder or coders overlooked doesn’t have anything to do with the virus itself, but with the transmission medium.”

  “So that’s separate from the virus code?”

  “Most definitely! Nobody wants to create specific new code when certain aspects can be modularized. The Ingress Virus stands on its own … for the most part. That virus will work its dastardly magic regardless of who, or what, the subject is. It’s the transmission medium that’s unique depending on the application … the recipient. It’s altered in a way to trigger certain aspects of the attached virus.”

  “And up till now, you and Ricket have been trying to alter the virus itself, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “So how many variants are there? Of those transmission mediums?” Jason asked.

  “One for each type of technology infected. Getting back to my common cold analogy, this is where it gets tricky. The transmission medium modifies itself when imbedding itself into its host … be it a Craing vessel’s internal network, a Vastma Class vessel’s internal network, or the most elaborate, complicated, transmission medium of them all … the one developed for Caldurian technology. That code is one thousand times larger than the others mentioned … all combined.”

  Jason pondered on that for a few beats. “I do get that those Sommis of Adriark cyber-criminals are smart. But cracking Caldurian safeguards …”

  “I was getting around to that, eventually. It wouldn’t be possible. Even if they had a Caldurian vessel sitting there, ready to dissect. They’d need someone highly familiar with the technology … the coding.”

  “Someone like you, or Ricket?” Jason offered helpfully.

  Bristol continued to stare intently back at him.

  Jason closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Exhaling, he suddenly thought, Oh no! When he opened his eyes, he found Bristol, nodding his head. Granger! It had to be Granger. Though perhaps not on the same level as Ricket, or Bristol, he was one of a few Caldurians within the fleet, and he was, in fact, a technological wizard in his own right. But why?

  “I can’t imagine that he gave them what they wanted easily. Not without a fight,” Bristol said.

  “I don’t know.” What Jason did know, though, was that it was what it was. Treason was treason. In that moment, Jason could not think of a more guarded U.S. Fleet treasure; or a more important Alliance security concern. Without the combined might of their fleet of ten Star Watch ships—and their Alliance military assets—the U.S. Fleet assets were not only vulnerable but practically defenseless.

  Jason studied the model slowly rotating before them. “We’ll have to deal with that some other time. Fo
r now, getting the Parcical, along with the other Star Watch ships, back into fighting form is our number one priority.”

  “I venture to say there’s something even more important to consider,” Bristol said. “The Caldurian tech that’s functioning right now throughout our bodies. Our nanites … our nano-devices … all of it.”

  “And this model …?”

  “Transmission medium, with my patch inserted. It’s for biologic physiology. For us.”

  “And you can disperse this thing the same way, via NanoCom?” Jason asked.

  “That’s the other not-so-good news I have. The patched transmission medium code can be transmitted in a similar way, but the existing Ingress Virus would override it quickly. There are enough safeguards, counter measures, built in to ward off such an attempt.”

  “So we’re back to square one.” Jason wondered why Ricket wasn’t sitting there with them, also trying to figure it all out.

  “Inoculation will have to be done the old-fashioned way. Administer it personally, one person at a time. The truth is, Captain, there aren’t that many of us who have integrated Caldurian tech, although certainly all Star Watch crewmembers, all Sharks, and several dozen high-ranking officers do. Most reside on Liberty Station.”

  “You’re still talking thousands …”

  “Eight thousand three hundred and five,” Bristol affirmed.

  “Two questions. How long does it take to administer the inoculation, and can the subject be re-infected?” Jason asked.

  “Takes a minute … maybe two. It’s done through the respiratory system. An inhaler would work. You can assign a team to do the administering. And no, once someone is inoculated, that’s it. That person is immune.”

  “So it’s like a mist? Why can’t the ship’s environmental systems disperse it?”

  Bristol stared back at Jason, slightly tilting his head. “Well … I hadn’t gotten that far yet. But that might be a possibility.”