by Trevor Gregg
Unexpected Destiny
Trevor Ames Gregg
Contents
Prologue
1. A Deal With the Devil
2. Bot Fight!
3. Nosco
4. New Employment
5. Yellow Zone
6. Contraband
7. Liftoff
8. The Station
9. Primary Interlude
10. Searcher
11. The Captain
12. Alis
13. The Grind
14. Back Door
15. Filthy Creatures
16. Crash Landing
17. The Oracle
18. Where’s My Ride?
19. The Guardian
20. Secondary Interlude
21. The Revelation
22. Boarding Action
23. Gratitude
24. The Bridge
25. Consortium Station 51
26. Zauhaus
27. Fancy Meeting You Here
28. The Hegelin
29. Skurn
30. The Shuttle
31. Custodian
32. Eyes On The Prize
33. The Ashari
34. Tertiary Interlude
35. Enemy Space
36. Into the Fray
37. Squiggly
38. EMP
39. Wild Ride
40. Convince Me
41. Sky Jump
42. The Search
43. Hades
44. Energy Signature
45. Renmo Graza
46. Garloks!
47. Elarra
48. The Time Bomb
49. Skaljir
50. Exo-suit
51. Computer
52. New Gun
53. Stealth
54. Ambush
55. Stray Bullets
56. Foreknowledge
57. Despair
58. Fury
Epilogue
Note to the Reader
Cover art by Charlie Wilcher
[email protected]
Copyright © 2019 by Trevor Ames Gregg
All rights reserved.
This book is dedicated to my mom, the best sci-fi alpha reader an author could ever hope for.
Prologue
The shuttle door opened with a whir, revealing a stocky bald figure with cybernetic eyes that clicked and buzzed as they took in the surrounding fields. The wind whipped the tails of his leather duster around reinforced cybernetic legs, and he bore a large plasma rifle cradled in one of his burly robotic arms.
He stepped down into the knee-length dry grass, and stalked warily toward the nearest row of robotic warriors. He had spotted them from the shuttle as he circled the structure he had detected from orbit. They were arrayed out from the center complex in perfect rows. Even deactivated, they stood menacingly, standing as tall as the man but half again as wide. Arms ended in deadly looking weapon pods and they stood upon four spider legs that looked as if they were capable of great speed. Most intimidating, though, were the bots’ skull-like heads set in a rictus grin.
Crunching through the dry grass, he set off toward the structure at the center of the many rows of warriors. Its power signature had been truly unique and difficult to miss, having never encountered anything like it before in all of his research. As he marched on toward the central structure his thoughts strayed, as they always did, to his family. Or what had once been his family, before it had all been taken away from him. He didn’t know who he hated more, the Consortium for their betrayal or the Crevak Tribe for the violence they had visited upon his loved ones.
A lifetime ago he had been a peaceful man, a scientist and scholar working for the Consortium. They had given him vast resources and he had been set to accomplish great things. But the Crevak spies who kidnapped and ransomed his family had changed all that.
They had demanded his research in exchange for his family, and he had been willing to comply. But the Consortium had intervened, attempting to capture or kill the Crevak operatives. His family fell in the battle between the two forces, as did many Consortium operatives. Made a scapegoat and labeled a traitor, he managed to escape before they could incarcerate him.
His thoughts turned to the many years spent on the run, the solitude of deep space. He had hoped it would dull his grief, the isolation. But it did not, he still felt it as keenly today as the day it had happened.
After about an hour of walking, he was finally nearing the first structure. On his initial approach, he had sought a landing site near the central complex, but could not find anywhere to put down. Every acre of the surrounding fields had these deathbots lined up. He had been forced to land several miles away from the structures. Now that he was in front of one, he found it even more imposing than it had looked from across the plains.
The structure was a towering cathedral thrusting into the sky, its black surface a stark outline against the blue of the sky. It was made of a dark metal that was cool to the touch, despite the heat of the sun. Upon closer examination, he realized the entire surface was etched in tiny circuitry and embedded with mysterious components.
Circling the building he came upon a large door with a rudimentary control panel in the door jamb. Cycling the controls, he waited as the door split in the middle and both halves began to grind into the walls. Illumination sources in the ceiling flickered to life, lighting a broad corridor leading down below ground.
Plasma rifle at the ready, he descended down the gently sloping hall, traveling ever deeper underground, following the illuminated path. Some time later the corridor opened up into a large chamber, hoses and cables looping down from the vaulted ceiling, more unknown components covering the walls. In the center of the room was a dais, upon which sat a small black disk two or three inches in diameter.
As the man stepped into the room, a holo-panel flickered to life above the dais. He watched mesmerized, as lights and shapes flickered in and out of existence, glyphs from some unknown language. It began to strobe and the man fell to his knees, overwhelmed, his cyber-eyes struggling to keep up with the barrage of signals. The shapes began to flicker faster and faster, the lights growing brighter and brighter. Had he been able to, he would have shielded his eyes. However, with despair the man realized he couldn’t move.
As suddenly as it had began, the light show was over. There was only a blinking red light coming from the small disk resting on the dais. The man felt a strange compulsion come over him, and he stood and staggered toward the center of the room. He reached the dais and fell into it roughly while grabbing the device emitting the blinking red light.
As if of their own volition, the man’s arms lifted it up to the back of his head. He felt thin tendrils snake from the device and grab onto his head, tiny hooks in the underside burying themselves into his flesh. The tendrils contracted, drawing the disk to his skin. There was a sickening crack as his skull was penetrated and the device’s tiny filaments infiltrated his brain, as the man screamed in agony.
As his screams faded, control finally returned to his limbs. He reached up to the back of his head and grabbed the device, attempting to wrench it free, to no avail.
“Initiating sequence…” a robotic voice sounded out.
He spun in circles looking for the source of the voice, but was as alone as he had been when he entered.
“Epsilon Computer online…” it spoke again.
“Who are you?” the man asked aloud.
“I am Epsilon Computer. We are now linked by the mind lash. My resources are now your resources.” The voice seemed to echo in his mind.
“Are you in my head?” the man thought.
“Yes, I am now a mental construct within your organic gray matter.” It replied. “Would you like me to
calculate your future?”
A flood of pain poured into his mind, infusing every nerve with flaming agony. Images screamed through his mind, blinking by before he could grasp what they were. A buzzing sound built between his ears and rose to a crescendo. Then it all abruptly ceased, his senses returning to normal and the pain dissipating.
“What have you done to me, Computer?” he choked out.
“I have calculated your future course based on all appropriate variables, and have uploaded the results to your mind.” The computer’s robotic voice droned in his head.
He noticed something odd while it was speaking, a creeping feeling of familiarity, a deja-vu. The more he thought about, the more he could see. Next, he would stride out from the building into the fields, and the deathbots would be powered up, red eyes glowing with malice, awaiting his command. He could feel them in his mind, like an extension of his body.
Then, many thousands of spacecraft that were hidden inside the complex would emerge, and load up the bots. He would board one of the craft, load up the warriors, and head for populated space with his newfound armada. Finally he would wreak his terrible vengeance upon the Consortium and the Crevak Tribe alike.
1
A Deal With the Devil
Kyren knew it was going to be a good day. They would soon be able to afford the tickets to the next chapter of their lives. He and his brother were going into space and leaving all the slum-suckers and dirt-merchants behind. They had talked about it since they had been boys, but never dreamed they would have the money to get off the surface of Junoval to the station in orbit.
If only he didn’t feel so guilty about it. It’s not like it really matters, it’s just one match, he told himself. But he knew Athar wouldn’t see it that way, he had too much pride.
It had just been too hard to pass on Nosco’s offer, though. Fifty-k if he threw the next bot fight. That was enough to get him and Athar to Junoval station, plus some. From there it was just a matter of finding a ship that was hiring and they would be off to the stars.
He stared at his face in the mirror and did his best to stuff the guilt back down. Scratching irritatedly at the faint stubble lining his broad jaw, he looked into his own deep brown eyes and steeled himself. Splashing his face from the sink, water cascaded off his bronzed skin as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He smoothed down his wavy brown hair and tugged on denim pants and a black shirt.
“C’mon, hurry up already little brother! We’ve got to get to the arena,” Athar, Kyren’s older brother called excitedly from the other side of the bathroom door. His fist thumped against it repeatedly.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Kyren placated, slipping out of the bathroom.
“Help me load him up,” Athar implored.
Kyren threw on his well worn olive green canvas jacket and grabbed his red backpack, stuffing in his tablet and some tools, along with a few personal items. Then he maneuvered a three wheeled cart from near the door through their cluttered two room apartment and positioned it behind a small humanoid bot that was battered and worn. Athar tipped the bot up, groaning and grunting, while Kyren positioned the cart beneath it.
“This is gonna be one epic battle. You think we can take it all the way?” Athar said while wheeling the cart around stacks of bot parts and miscellaneous equipment, finally rolling out of their apartment. “This is the finals, after all.”
Guilt once again hammered at the door to his mind, but he ignored it. “Um, yeah,” was all he could manage.
“Hey, let’s see more confidence than that. We won’t make it past our first round with that attitude,” Athar said encouragingly.
Flushing, Kyren changed the subject as they took the elevator down to street level, “Wouldn’t it be great to get off this rock?”
Athar leaned against the cart. “Sure that would be great, but how do you think that is going to happen? Working at Mr. Chan’s restaurant isn’t gonna provide us the cash needed for the shuttle ride, not by a long shot. It’s a miracle we’ve been able to save and scrounge enough to even put Punchy together at all.”
“But what if we somehow came into the money. What if we could afford the tickets? Would you still do it?” Kyren posited.
“Do you have to even ask that question, little brother?” Athar said fondly. “You know I’d drop Punchy into the canal in a heartbeat to get into orbit.”
His reply helped to assuage some of Kyren’s guilt, as he savored the excitement at the thought of finally going into space with his brother. They trotted across the street in the dim evening light, dodging motobikes and minicars. Athar worked to keep up, pushing the heavy cart. Kyren jumped up on the sidewalk, coughing from the vehicles’ exhaust, and turned to help Athar maneuver the cart up over the curb. They began wending their way through the throng of pedestrians, the shattered facades of crumbling multi-storied tenements looming over them.
As the sun was setting, the nightlife was emerging. Kyren tried not to watch a man and woman slipping into a trash strewn alley and disappearing into the shadows. He spotted a knot of gangers occupying the sidewalk ahead, so he and Athar crossed the street amidst a cacophony of horns and screeching tires.
The fading daylight soon made way for the shimmering light of the holographic signs adorning the fronts of many of the shops, illuminating the sidewalks in flickering multicolored light. Forgetting his guilt for a moment, Kyren hummed a tune from a local media station, its full composition lost to him, leaving only the catchy hook.
“You’re looking cheeky. You excited or somethin’ now?” Athar said, grinning at Kyren. “It’s not a big match, you know, just the finals in the tournament, that’s all,” he said flippantly.
“Of course I’m excited,” Kyren replied. The guilt returned like an avalanche as the words left his mouth. “Nervous, a little too.”
“I’ll admit, I am a little, at least. Sure this is our first run in a sanctioned tournament,” Athar confessed. “And it’s not like we have state of the art equipment or anything. We’re all second hand gear and refurbished tech. But I do know Punchy has kicked ass so far. I mean we haven’t lost a match yet.”
“Well we will if we miss the train,” Kyren deflected, running ahead as they neared, travelers flowing out of the station around him.
2
Bot Fight!
A short train ride later, Kyren and his brother were setting foot in the Marketplace District, the center of Theta Block and the heart of its commerce system. They made their way up the wide, clean sidewalks, navigating their way through the light press of evening travelers. Kyren was relieved that Athar was quiet during their short walk from the station to the arena.
As Kyren and Athar approached, the crowd thickened and they had to jockey for position, working their way to the door. They were met with a wall of noise as they entered the great hall housing the arena. The gathering crowd was drowned out intermittently by the sound of bots firing up their systems. Buzzsaws screamed and pistons hammered away as the contenders warmed up their creations.
They reached their designated stall and quickly began to set up. As Kyren extracted his tablet from his pack and began to run diagnostics on the software, Athar tended to the hardware, adjusting servos and calibrating struts. He worked methodically over the bot’s worn and battered frame, making last minute adjustments to various components.
“How’s Punchy’s programming looking? I’ve got his chassis tuned, so you may want to recalibrate,” Athar suggested.
“Don’t worry, the routines are pre-calibrated to offset any change in hardware performance,” he replied confidently.
While Kyren used his tablet to queue up Punchy’s programs, he thought of a use for the funds that would be left over after buying the shuttle tickets. His tablet was archaic, a touchscreen model. He would buy himself a holotablet. And Athar, he would buy him a new set of tools, too. Kyren grinned slightly.
The first match began and the crowd let out a roar. Kyren and Athar paused briefly but failed t
o get a clear view of the combat floor from their stall. Saws whined and the clang of metal on metal rang out. They could only imagine the carnage playing out.
“Hurry up already,” Athar urged. “We’re up for the next match.”
Kyren ran the power up cycle from his tablet, and the small humanoid robot strapped to the cart went rigid. Athar upended the cart and the diminutive bot stepped out. A warm up routine was downloaded from Kyren’s tablet, and the bot stretched out its arms then simulated a yawn.
“Very funny,” Athar said dryly.
A second set of commands sent Punchy’s black armored form into a flurry of martial arts moves.
“That’s better, now you’re being serious,” Athar said with a broad grin.
Kyren quickly skimmed through his fighting routines, selecting one and uploading it. Punchy dropped back into a guard stance and began shadowboxing.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Here we go,” Athar said confidently, as they made their way to the arena.
