by Scott Baron
“What are you saying, Jonathan?” Tamara asked.
“Holy shit. Are you fucking kidding me?” Duke said. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. I can be repaired later, should we survive.”
“Care to fill me in?”
He turned to Tamara.
“This crazy bastard is offering to give us a hand.”
“I know, I heard him offer to help.”
“No. Literally a hand.”
“Hang on. What?”
“My body is, as you have both noted, far weaker than Duke’s reinforced endoskeleton. As such, if we strike the attaching joint with enough force, we should be able to sever my hand from my arm.”
“And why would you do that?” Tamara asked. “There are plenty of things we can throw out there to try and distract the cannons. No need to chop off a hand for it.”
“No, Tamara, you don’t understand. Because I am a domestic service unit, I am often tasked with carrying sizable quantities of shopping and the like for long periods of time. Because of this work requirement, units of my model are designed with additional power cells for our hands, which are also equipped with more robust linkages than others. If we detach it from my body, it can act as a mobile distraction.”
“So you’re saying it has a mind of its own? Damn, Jonathan. You’re the first man to use that line and have it actually be true,” Tamara said with a wry grin.
“Technically, it doesn’t have a mind of its own, per se, but I am able to route a very basic command to its processors so it can perform that task while I dedicate my main processing units toward my other duties. In our present predicament, I thought it might come in handy.”
“Did you just make a joke?” Tamara asked.
“You know we domestic units aren’t made for that,” he replied, straight-faced. “Things might get out of hand, otherwise.”
Duke let out a hearty laugh.
“Shit, brother, you’re far more badass than I ever imagined,” he said, smacking the smaller cyborg on the shoulder as he pulled a hefty knife from his pack. “But we really need to work on those puns, right, LT?”
“Okay, enough with the bromance, you two," Tamara grumbled. "What’s the plan?”
“A fairly straightforward one, actually,” Jonathan said. “I embed the command, we cut off my hand, and when it takes off running––”
“In a serpentine pattern,” Duke interjected.
“Of course. When it takes off running, in a serpentine pattern, we wait for the cannons to adjust and target it, then we make our break for it.”
“Balls of steel, man,” Tamara said appreciatively. “I like it. Okay, then. Let’s do this.”
Jonathan looked up at Duke as he brandished his knife.
“I would advise you which linkages to target, but I assume you possess detailed schematics on cybernetic weak points, am I correct?”
“One hundred percent,” he replied. “Shall we?”
“Ready when you are.”
“Okay, then. On three.”
“Fellas, whatever happens, it’s been an honor working with you.”
“None of that, Lieutenant. We are going to make it out of here,” Duke stated, as if it were a decided fact. “Okay. One... Two... Three!”
Chapter Thirteen
Far above in the cold of space, the surface of the moon was quiet. At least, it seemed quiet. But Sid’s scanners were picking up the faintest hints of some rather unusual readings. Most disconcerting was the fact he couldn’t discern exactly what it was about them that felt off. It was something––he just didn’t know what.
The answer would have surprised him.
Freya, the powerful newborn AI genius living in the secret fabrication hangar outside the base’s perimeter, wasn’t worried about the others discovering her home. Even when she fired up the entirety of the facility’s massive array of machinery, the dampening technology built into the ultra-classified unit’s very foundation had more than adequately absorbed and stopped any vibrations from reaching the outside.
Being buried deep in the moon’s stone surface also didn’t hurt.
Like a curious youth left alone in a candy store––and bored and all alone––Freya had relished trying out the myriad devices now at her disposal. The top-secret toys were the cream of the crop and bleeding edge, and though she wasn’t actually authorized to use them, it had been child’s play for her rapidly expanding intellect to override what she saw as laughable security systems.
“Ooh, this is so cool!” she giggled to herself as she drastically reconfigured one of the composite materials fabricators. “Hang on a minute,” she muttered to herself as she flashed through nearly twenty thousand pages of nanotech research from the base’s restricted files in milliseconds. “Really? But it should work. I wonder why no one has tried this before?”
Perplexed, she fired up the machinery and began experimenting.
Sid, as well as the other AIs residing on Dark Side, were none the wiser.
“Mal,” Bob called over local comms, “I’ve found a rather dense pocket of what appear to be salvageable craft.”
“Is there a problem?” she replied.
“No problem. However I was thinking that if we take advantage of the current orbital pattern, you could assist in the retrieval of a sizable portion of them while in the minimal scan parameters for the Ra’az. What is your assessment?”
“It seems like a feasible proposal. I’ll have the captain and Gustavo join me on board. We should rendezvous with you in approximately an hour.”
“Excellent!" Donovan chimed in. “It’ll be nice for Bob and me to have some company out here. This has been a really solid find. So much good salvage, and all in that Goldilocks zone where we can safely retrieve it.”
Something caught his eye.
“Hang on a second,” Donovan said. “Bob, you see something out there at two o’clock?” he asked, scanning the inky blackness.
“Nothing on my scans, Donovan. Why? Do you see something?”
The pilot strained his eyes a moment longer, then turned back to the control panel.
“Nah. I’ve just been staring out there so long, I keep thinking I see something.”
“I assure you, there’s nothing there out of the ordinary.”
“I’ll take your word for it, buddy,” he said with a little chuckle.
Freya––ever eavesdropping since she had cracked their comms encryption days prior––felt her proverbial ears perk up.
“That’s so cool! They’re doing a tandem retrieval.”
Her mood dampened moments later.
“Aww, man. I wish Daisy wasn’t making me stay hidden out here. It sounds like they’re going to have lots of fun.”
Reluctantly, the bored AI turned the majority of her attention back to the machinery, leaving the others to have fun without her. Of course, she kept the channel open regardless. Just because she couldn’t play didn’t mean she couldn’t listen, after all, and what the others were up to sounded like a really good time.
Down below in the partially deconstructed outskirts of Riverside, near Los Angeles, a lone Chithiid also had his ears wide open, ever careful as he spread word of a possible uprising.
“You must keep this information to yourself and only your most trusted men,” Craaxit said to the stocky alien in charge of the parts depot. “You know which comms band I will be using. If the plan is set in motion, I will notify all who back our cause with a timetable. What have you been able to amass so far?”
The depot-master looked carefully over his shoulders. Satisfied none were close enough to hear, he replied in a hushed voice.
“We currently have fifty-seven pulse rifles, and have been able to stockpile over two thousand charges worth of pulse packs.”
“That is a sizable quantity,” Craaxit said, impressed.
“Yet not enough. Not by a long shot. We have nearly one hundred able-bodied Chithiid in this facility alone, all ready to fight for our cause, yet
barely half will be armed.”
“There may be a solution, my friend. We are not yet in possession of the specific modifications, but there is a possibility we may yet be able to utilize our power whips in an offensive manner.”
“And what of the remote shut off?”
“I had not heard of such a thing,” Craaxit said, lowering his voice as a dusty group of workers returned from their day’s work.
“It is a new addition. Something caused the Ra’az to make alterations to all whip units before checking them out to work teams, starting two days ago. All facilities appear to be at a state of increased alert, though we do not know why.”
Craaxit furrowed his brow.
“There is nothing for it, then. We shall have to work with the weapons and ammunition at our disposal. If we are successful, more will come into our possession as we proceed.”
A young Chithiid slowed his walk as he passed, casting a curious eye on the two men obviously discussing something they wished to remain private. Craaxit noted the distinctive scar peeking out from beneath the man’s short sleeve.
Loyalist.
“As I said, we appreciate your efforts in the south-eastern sectors. There is indeed much good salvage there,” Craaxit said somewhat loudly.
The Chithiid at his side caught on quickly.
“Ah, yes. We will provide much in the way of valuable materials for the Ra’az. This should be a highly productive period if our projections hold true.”
Let down by the run-of-the-mill conversation, the loyalist quickened his pace and joined the rest of his work team.
“We must be careful, Craaxit. This facility is especially rife with loyalist scum.”
“As we have just noted,” he replied grimly. “Tell the others and carry on with your regular tasks. But keep in mind, plans are at work.”
“We have saved these materials in hopes the day would someday come for us to rise up.”
Craaxit clasped the man’s shoulders in a gesture of friendship.
“That day may be here sooner than you expect.”
Commander Mrazich did a quick double-take as he rounded the corner to the long hallway that was leading him to Daisy’s quarters on Dark Side Base.
“What is it, Commander?” Fatima asked, nearly bumping into him as his stride faltered.
“What? Oh, nothing. I just could have sworn I saw Swarthmore a second ago.”
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked, a bit of concern tinging her voice. “You know as well as I do that Daisy is tens of thousands of miles below us.”
“I know. I’m just exhausted, is all.”
Commander Mrazich continued walking in silence.
Freya had locked the base comms open and was always listening to the happenings there. They often had funny conversations, but this in particular she found especially amusing.
“Silly people,” she said to herself with a chuckle. “Daisy isn’t here, I just heard her comms transmission on Earth. That wasn't very nice, though. She said she wan't going to leave me alone, but she did anyway,” Freya said sadly.
Fatima noted Mrazich’s furrowed brow.
“Commander?”
“Like I said, it’s nothing. Even with the stim-caps, the lack of sleep is getting to me, is all,” he replied as they reached Daisy’s closed door. “Okay, Sid. Unlock Swarthmore’s quarters, please.”
“Unlocking now, Commander,” the AI informed them.
The doors slid open silently.
“All right, we’re looking for Daisy’s notes on drones, remote cruisers, and patched-in AI theories. Chu would know better what to look for, but I don’t want to drag him away from his work when he’s making such good progress,” Mrazich said. “I guess we’ll just have to start at one end and dig until we––”
“Found them,” Fatima chirped.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Found them. Her written notes and the work tablets are all right on the table.”
The grizzled soldier looked at the table nearest the doorway. Indeed, their search was over as soon as it began.
“Finally,” he said, allowing himself a rare smile. “Something was actually easy for a change. Do me a favor and get these to Chu. While he digs into the data, I want to follow up with both ships’ progress. From what Donovan noted earlier, they may have stumbled upon a goldmine of useful materials.”
Sid sealed the doors behind them as they strode off with purpose. Things seemed to be brightening on Dark Side, if only for a moment.
Tamara’s sweat had dried in the air-conditioned breeze on the long walk back to Joshua’s command and control center. The nicks and cuts acquired during the frantic scramble from the automatic defense cannons’ barrage, however, would take a bit longer than that to heal.
“I’m glad to see you made it back safely. That was a very innovative thing you did out there, Jonathan. Very innovative, indeed.”
“Thank you, sir. It just seemed like the best course of action at the time.”
“Very out-of-the-box thinking. You know, I always had a fondness for your model. Lots of potential built into those systems. It looks like today was your day to shine.”
“You hear that? Props from the big man. High five! ––Oh, yeah,” Tamara joked.
“Such a bitch,” Duke said with an appreciative laugh. “That’s just cold!”
“Says the tin man.”
“High-tensile composite, actually,” he retorted.
“I thought you’d like to know that your work was not for nothing. The data cable you reconnected has afforded me a modicum of control of the systems at that hub, though it’ll still take me probably a day to get those cannons rebooted and under control. Maybe two. In any case, well done.”
“A day, maybe two?” Tamara asked, eyebrow raised questioningly. “You don’t know down to the minute? I mean, you’re this massively powerful super computer, and you’re telling me you don’t know?”
“I have a very good idea, of course, but this is more than a little out of parameters, so some guesswork is to be anticipated.”
“So, the guy in charge of all the missiles is guessing.”
“Well, maybe a bit better than guessing,” Joshua said with a little laugh. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret I imparted to my men when they began working under the humans who ran the base.”
“Oh?”
“Always make sure to beat your deadlines. It makes you look good.”
Tamara laughed loudly.
“Ha! I know that one all too well. Under promise and over perform, I always say. That way you never come up short.”
“Precisely. A few hundred years ago I referred to it as the ‘Scotty Principal,’ though I am afraid all the fans of twentieth century television programs are long deceased.”
“Scotty?”
“A fictional spaceship engineer who always managed to beat the ticking clock for some crucial upgrades or repairs. The base commander and I were in agreement that the character likely knew well in advance that a particular task would only take an hour to complete, but would nevertheless say, ‘It can’t be done!’ just to set the bar high. Then he could take his time and still finish the task long before the deadline. Engineers aren’t usually the hero, after all, but he was treated as one more often than not.”
“Not my kind of entertainment, usually, but that sounds interesting, actually,” Tamara mused. “If we don’t all die, I may have to borrow some of Captain Harkaway’s old video files. I’m willing to bet he has that one.”
“I’m pretty sure the fellas have that one in the barracks, Tamara,” Duke said. “If you can’t wait, that is.”
“I may take you up on that.”
“Excellent. But right now, there’s something I need to do,” Duke said. “Come on, Johnny boy, follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The stocky cyborg led his smaller friend down the corridors until they arrived at the armory. A half do
zen cybernetic soldiers were standing by, waiting.
“Um... what’s going on?” Jonathan asked, slightly nervous.
“Fellas, this is Jonathan. He saved our butts back there. Real forward-thinker, this guy.”
The assembled cyborgs each shook his remaining hand in greeting, offering warm pats on the shoulder and thanks for what he did.
“Did you actually cut off your own hand?” one asked.
“Technically, I wasn’t the one who cut it off,” he replied, eliciting a round of raucous laughter from the commando team.
“Oh yeah. This guy’s gonna fit right in!”
“I know, right?”
“I’m sorry?” Jonathan said, a bit confused. “What exactly is going on?”
“You’re one of us, now, Johnny boy,” Duke informed him.
“But I am not a reinforced military-grade unit. I’m just a domestic assistant.”
“Not anymore, you aren’t. The actions make the man, and your actions spoke loud and clear. From this day forward, no matter what anyone tells you, you’re part of our team.”
“I-I do not know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. You’re one of us. Now, in the old days, we’d have taken you out to get the squad tattoo.” He rolled up his sleeve, showing his fleshless arm. “But seeing as how that’s not really an option anymore...”
Two teammates snuck up behind the poor cyborg and dumped a bucked of synthetic joint lubricant over his head, laughing robustly as they did.
“What the––?” he exclaimed.
Duke pulled him in for a hearty hug.
“Welcome to the team, buddy.”
Jonathan knew he didn’t have a heart beating in his metal chest, but for just a moment, he knew what organic men must have felt in similar moments.
Pride, and a sense of belonging to something bigger than himself.
Daisy’s loop tube pod made it to Los Angeles in a straight shot with no problems. Whatever Ra’az vessels may have been in the area above the subterranean system previously, had apparently moved on to other pastures.
She and Sergeant Franklin quickly exited their seats and strode into the waiting transit hub. The cyborgs waiting to greet them looked at Franklin with something akin to awe.
