by Matt Novotny
Race nodded back. “And you, Peacemaker.”
“Where’re Anderson and Deck?” Bev asked.
“They said there were a few things they had to settle onboard, but they’d be about later. Topping off the tanks and such,” said Remmy.
“I need to make some modifications to Bruno before we head out, but I suppose I can put it off a bit.”
“Modifications to Bruno?” asked Rains.
“So it will work with your present,” Bev said.
“Present?”
“You know, cher; that’s when somebody gives you something,” Remmy smirked.
“Don’t tease too hard, Remmy; we got you one, too,” said Amos.
“You’ll both see. C’mon!” She giggled, leading the way.
“Hold up a moment,” Amos said, putting his hand on Remmy’s arm. “Got somethin’ else you need ta see first.” He handed Remmy Charlotte’s letter. The faint smell of perfume wafted over the two. Remmy stopped dead.
“What’s that?” he asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Special delivery from Miss Devereaux. Thought you might like it soonest so’s you can send a reply afore we leave,” Amos said.
“I ever tell you that you don’t fight fair?” Remmy took the gift and swallowed hard. He weighed the envelope in his hand, then tucked it into his coverall. “I might at that. Thanks, Amos.”
Amos clapped him on the shoulder, and they followed the others down the corridor to the lifts.
Amos had rented an entire barracks wing in merc country. Just inside the door were four mercs in full gear, but each was wearing a black form-fitting body suit. A hexagonal pattern ran through the material that shifted as they moved.
“Not taking any chances, I see,” said Rains.
“Damn straight!” replied Amos. “Fool me once…”
The ready room had a dozen people, not including Tikki and Tavvi, who were holding court with Sebastian at one end of the bar. The group said their hellos, grabbed drinks, and settled in.
Bev led Race to a table with a case under each arm. She passed one to Rains and the other to Remmy.
Rains opened his. Inside was a suit like the ones the guards were wearing, boots, gloves, and a helmet. “New uniform?” Rains asked.
“Gator-skin,” said Amos. “New armor.”
“Not just armor,” Bev pointed out.
Rains lifted the suit out of the box. It was heavier than his BAMF armor, but more flexible. He could feel the small hexagonal trauma plates shift inside the material. “Heavy,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
“Well,” Bev started, “for quite some time, Amos’ people have been working on a new haptic suit; one that would let them move drivers from CASPer to CASPer without a lot of fitting and reconfiguration. That takes the haptics out of the CASPer itself and makes the suit the interface.”
“We got so many damn setups with da Olympians, we had to do somethin’,” said Amos.
“So that’s where we started. The other problem is that outside a CASPer, Humans are at a disadvantage—”
“She means you are squishy,” said Rikki.
“Naked, lacking in proper fur,” said Tikki.
“Weak, practically helpless,” said Tavvi.
“Crunchy and good with catsup!” boomed Sebastian.
Rains set the suit back into the case. “I get the point.”
“The haptics design was good; it included the standard interface, motion capture, and biometrics for feedback, and, with a little tweaking, we were able to add a full suite of med sensors to monitor driver condition. We—that is, Callista, Greasy, and I—used the diagnostic data from the Cajuns and Olympians and ran it through the program Ned and I—” she stopped at the slight catch in her voice, “—that Ned and I built up for Bruno.” She paused for a moment. “With me so far?”
“Go on, chere. I like where this is going,” said Remmy.
“Next, we had to make it tough, so we looked at what we could get that would work with the rest of the features. Did some research and stumbled across an old design for flexible ballistic armor.” Bev took a quick drink, then continued, “Gator-skin is based on the concept pioneered by Pinnacle’s Dragon Skin in the early 21st century. Basically, we used a bunch of small overlapping hexagonal plates instead of larger, molded ones; they allow the armor to flex and spread impacts over the entire surface of the armor. We used a nanite-infused carbon nanotube matrix for the base material.
“Breathing and body heat provide enough power for the sensors, and because the suit processes the data directly, the haptics are an order of magnitude faster. We had to slow down the interface so the drivers didn’t wreck the machines. It even provides temperature regulation. Best of all, with the helmet, the suits are vacuum-rated and self-sealing. As long as the CASPer is modified to handle the gator interface, you can jump in and go. The suit connects and does the rest. The helmets have a learning neural interface; it observes what you do and reacts to those patterns. For example, firing the right MAC has a signature, the left MAC another, and so on. The helmet and CASPer systems build those into a pattern recognition menu and can execute commands almost as fast as you think. The monitor is one-way unless you have pinplants, but it’s as close as you can get without the wetware.”
“What’s the catch?” asked Rains.
“Well, nothing’s perfect. You already noticed that it’s heavier. We were thinking of adding pseudo-musculature into the next version to compensate. Gator-skin is much better than your BAMF armor for ballistic protection, slightly less so for energy weapons. There is also the possibility of runaway feedback if the CASPer can’t handle the increase in program response.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“In theory, the CASPer becomes undrivable with the suit. So, for our machines, we’ve installed a kill switch for the suit interface, but all you lose is the quicker response time; you can still drive manually with no problems.”
“What about damage?”
“Anything powerful enough to go through the suit will probably kill the driver anyway, but the nanite matrix is self-repairing as long as you have a supply of nanites. The suit can even use the medical grade nanites from a standard med-pack. There is a better chance of surviving with the suit than without it.”
“Quit lookin’ for trouble,” said Amos. “That makes your old stuff look like my grandpappy’s pickup. It’s good for the CASPer drivers if we gotta dismount, and the ground-pounders could use it, too, if we had any. Most important, we won’t have to wear cheap vac-suits in our CASPers.”
Babette had wandered in during the conversation. She nodded as the final points about the armor were ticked off, then gave Rains a wicked grin and Bev a nudge in the ribs. “Besides, it’s gonna look good on you. Some boys look like a sack of potatoes.”
* * *
Hope Station
Night came to Hope’s End with the sudden dimming of lights and a slight drop in temperature as the air scrubbers moved into their maintenance routine. A regular diurnal cycle seemed a bit of a stretch for a space station, where local time was whatever the station computer decided it should be and work continued, shift after shift, unabated, regardless of the station’s proximity, or lack of, to the system’s primary. But the station had originally been controlled and staffed by mostly Humans, and in the many years since, adjusting the time cycles for the place had alternated between “sometime” and “never,” and eventually were simply forgotten entirely.
For ‘Bastian, however, nighttime on the station signaled the beginning of his opportunity to advance certain aspects of both his primary and secondary programming.
The little mech slowly adjusted until it could untangle itself from Prime’s, designation “Sabine,” sleeping form, pushing a small pillow into her grasp. It scanned the girl’s vitals and determined there was an 89% chance she would continue to sleep soundly. Likewise, the sleep patterns of Safety One, designation “Nana” or “Bes,” were within acceptable
limits. ‘Bastian quickly ran a scan of the immediate environs. Based on the level of noise being generated, Danger Two, designation “Yeorgi,” was sound asleep.
‘Bastian moved to the edge of the mattress and slid gently to the floor. Scuttling behind several boxes stacked in the screened-off area where Bes and Sabine made their bedroom, he came to the maintenance access panel he had found several nights ago and proceeded to open it with the multi-tool built into one of his legs. He eased the panel open so he could crawl into the access space beyond and pulled it closed behind him.
Much more than a toy, ‘Bastian had two main directives: One: Keep Prime safe. Two: If Prime were in a situation where he could not achieve the first directive, find a way to communicate with someone who could. While the directives were simple, the logic necessary to carry them out was not. Danger Two had disabled ‘Bastian’s homing beacon by removing the module, and its removal had also disabled his communication suite. However, ‘Bastian calculated that if he were able to tap into the station’s communications there was a 67% chance the connection would reactivate the suite, even with the module missing. Had ‘Bastian been the toy he appeared to be, this would have been impossible, but his main logic-engine had been made for an elSha-designed intelligence drone and the needed calculations had been relatively simple.
Assuming he was successful in reactivating the suite, then he would need to upload a message that could be understood without being intercepted, or recognized if it was.
‘Bastian clicked through his electro-magnetic filters, applying different labels to the circuit paths he had access to in the maintenance tube. Communications to the area where they were being held had been disabled except to the room occupied by Danger Two, but it had a recognizable architecture distinct from environmental systems, standard station power, and the distributed weapons power system.
‘Bastian followed the tube until he came to another door. Working from the inside with his multi-tool, he was able to remove the screw entirely and poke one eyestalk through the hole to survey the corridor. This area appeared to be better traveled than the route Prime had been required to take to get to their current location. There were several Blevin working on something at the end of the corridor. The corridor was clean, and the temperature showed that the environmental units in this area of the station were functional. ‘Bastian added the corridor to the partial map he had assembled on the way in.
The Blevin didn’t notice anything. ‘Bastian engaged his chameleon circuit, the short “fur” he was covered in shifted to match the surface he was resting on, then he slowly opened the door to creep out into the passage, shutting the door behind him. It made a slight clank as the door snapped shut, and one of the Blevin looked in his direction. ‘Bastian froze, and, after a moment, another Blevin said something to the first, and they both turned away.
The little mech skittered across the corridor and opened the access grate on the opposite side, sliding into the maintenance tube. Here, unlike the tube to Prime’s section, everything was active, and, after traversing down the passage a short distance, he reached another panel used to run diagnostics. Plugging into the panel was simple. Although ‘Bastian found the sheer volume of information a problem to navigate, the communication grid was active. If he’d had actual emotions, he would have cheered when he connected to the station circuit, and it brought his communication routines back online.
It was all there: maintenance, communications, offensive and defensive systems, and a full map of the station, including the current status.
‘Bastian ran a quick scan, located the different groups gathered around the station, and calculated. He was unlikely to be discovered unless the current pattern changed.
He went to work.
* * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
Karma Station
“So, what the plan, Jac-son? You know where Bes and Sabine are?” Amos asked.
The room grew quiet and all eyes were on Rains. He set his gator-skin in the case and closed the lid.
“All right,” Rains said seriously, “listen up. I want this thing to go smooth and by the numbers. I want DCS and tactical database assimilation done by oh-eight-thirty. Weapons stripping and dropship prep will have seven hours.” The room was so quiet he could hear the big Xiq’tal breathing. Everyone just stared at him. Rains glanced hopefully at Remmy, who shrugged.
“What’s a DCS?” asked one person.
“Do we have a tactical database? How does it assimilate?” asked another.
“It was worth a try,” he said, smiling.
Finally, Florida Eagle piped up. “Are you quoting Aliens at us?” he asked. He continued in a mock whiny voice. “Game over man, game over.”
The Humans laughed, and the room relaxed a bit.
Rains held his hands up to get their attention. “We know where they are: Hope’s End.” He met the curious stares, slowly looking around in the room, addressing everyone. “The problem, and why we are meeting here in Karma, is that we don’t know what to expect.”
“Is this a bug hunt?” someone said from the back now that they got the reference.
Several people chuckled.
Remmy said, “We know they have a number of different races helping them. Sin’Kura—” several uttered colorful metaphors, “—has probably provided Torvasi and Zeewie henchmen. And based on the ones we killed on Kleve, they also have a few Blevin.”
That caused quite a stir, and many started asking questions.
Rains shouted through the noise. “Hang on, hang on!”
Once everyone quieted down, Rains walked through what happened on Kleve, with Remmy providing color commentary for details he felt were important. Rains was impressed that he took pains to make sure everyone knew that Rains was the legitimate hero of the operation and made self-depreciating embellishments that got a laugh out of the assembled group, thus easing tensions a bit more. Some were immune.
“They have a bunch of Humans, too. Frickin’ vermin,” Callista muttered darkly, absently playing with a large folding-knife. The blonde woman struck Rains as someone not to cross.
“Yeah,” Rains said slowly. “We need to figure out what else we might run into. Kr’et’Socae has to expect we might come in heavy and plan accordingly.” There were several shouts of agreement on that.
Rikki nodded to Tikki who stood up on the chair they were sharing. “How can we help?”
“I’ve already pulled all the information I could on the way in with the limited GalNet access I have,” Rains told them. “We need to hit up the different guilds for any additional information.” He thought for a minute, then started delegating out tasks. “Tikki, if you could check with the Merc Guild. See if there were any contracts in that system. If so, what were they?” He looked at Amos. “Check the Pits and see if there are any active contracts that might be for that system. I really doubt Kr’et’Socae would openly put out a contract, but look for anything in that direction for prisoner transport or high value target protection, just in case.” Amos nodded.
Rains pointed to Rikki. “I’d like you to go to the Merchant Guild. See if there have been any shipments to or from that system. I’m especially looking for supplies. What kinds of food are they having delivered? It might tell us what races are present.”
Rikki tapped her chin with one digit. “We can also look at what goods or materials come out of that system.”
Amos interjected. “Callista, go with Rikki to the Merchant Guild.” The blonde woman started at that.
“Why me?” she asked.
“I need you to learn this,” Amos replied in a tone that ended the discussion.
Rains waited for a moment, watching the pair, then, not seeing anything more, continued, “Bev, I’d like you and Captain Lorm to check with the Cartography Guild about getting a description of that system. Anything on the best routes, stargate traffic, and any potential hazards.” Bev nodded and made notes on her slate.
“We need to find out who built t
he station. Remmy, can you take—” he looked at the group evaluating each of them until he spotted Race staring blankly into space, “—Mister Romero and check on that?” Rains watched Nolan lean over and whisper in Race’s ear then point in his direction.
“I’ll make every effort to impart my wisdom to la étudiant.” Remmy grinned, and the rest chuckled. Race seemed like he didn’t know what to make of that, if he should feel offended or not. Rains was sure Remmy would guide him through it just fine.
“Great. I’ll head to the Peacemakers to see what they have on the system.” Rains looked around. “Anything else?”
Sebastian clicked a claw. “What about having Remmy check with his low-life companions?” Laughter erupted from the Cajuns.
“Hey! I resemble that remark,” Remmy said, holding a hand to his heart in mock effrontery. “We can run past a couple of bars I know.” He squinted and glanced at Race. “How old are you? Ah, never mind, they can’t tell age on Humans, anyway.” He nodded to Rains. “We got it covered.”
“What about the rest of us?” Tansil Tucker asked.
Amos’ voice cut through the babble of renewed questions. “Ain’t none of you leavin’ here ‘cept with either Tavvi or Sebastian, and in groups of no more than five. We might get trouble, and I want to be watching for it. Get with Junkyard to set up a watch schedule.”
“Not me, I’m going with Remmy. Michael Barr is running the watch,” Nolan explained.
Amos nodded. “All right. Let’s get goin’.”
Everyone started to stand.
“Hang on,” Rains said. “Let’s try to be back in two hours. We don’t have all day, and we need to start planning.” The people with assignments nodded, and the group broke up.
* * *
Jackson made it back to the barracks ready room before the others. He grabbed a cup of coffee, picked a table, and reviewed his slate. He made notes as a limited plan started to take form. They would adjust as new information came in.
