It was now or never…
N-Vigorate
Three minutes earlier…
The opened utility door revealed a variety of synthetic limbs. One of them had been selected by Bonnie. Much like the others, a titanium-based extensions was the order of the day.
Only, this one was equipped for war as well as balance.
"The Cortex K-12," Tripp attached the magnetic thigh plate to Bonnie’s stump, "Interesting choice."
"It really belongs in Weapons and Armory," Bonnie looked down at Tripp and noticed something behind his ear. It resembled a black squiggle. Despite her enhanced vision she elected to look away and braced herself for the forthcoming jolt of pain.
The magnet on her stump sucked the silver plate on the false limb into place with a heavy ‘schwump’ sound.
"There, you’re all set."
Bonnie looked down in time for Tripp to smile at her from between her legs, "Thanks."
"No problem."
"While you’re down there?" Bonnie chuckled at her own joke.
"Very funny," Tripp pushed himself upright and held out his palm, "Test it out?"
She grabbed his hand in hers, standing to her feet. She looked down her midriff and swiveled her new right knee left and right, ensuring the device worked. "Feels great."
Tripp smiled obliquely. Something was bothering him.
"What’s up?"
"I’m sorry, Bonnie."
"What for?"
"Just, you know… the whole Androgyne thing. USARIC has a lot to answer for."
"Oh, that?" Bonnie hopped back to the chair and rammed the calf on the armrest. She arched her back down and grabbed her knees, squinting at her new toe. "I’ve decided I don’t care any longer."
The end of her boot unraveled to the tune of mechanical switches. A barrel formed at the end.
"You don’t?"
"Why should I?" Bonnie whacked the side of her hand on a lever on the side of her leg, arming the device. "I’m as human as you or anyone else when you think about it. One thing I don’t understand, though?”
“What’s that?”
“If I’m really a series three unit, why do I need the N-Vigorate chamber? Can’t I recharge during power down?”
Tripp walked over to the door and pulled out a blast sheet from the hinge, “Your battery took some damage, Bonnie. Once we’re up and running fully, we’ll need to take a look inside and see if we can fix it.”
Bonnie nodded at the sheet, “Can you set up the target?"
"Sure."
Tripp clamped the free end to the wall. The image resembled the common dart board, complete with a bullseye. The USARIC logo stood proudly across the top.
"This okay for you?"
"That’s great, step away," Bonnie pressed her elbow to the adjacent arm rest and took hold of her thigh, "I may be synthetic. But my organs are real. My brain is real. I remember everything I need to."
"That’s very true," Tripp was relieved that Bonnie had become accustomed to her existence. "You’re more human than human, in some respects."
The bullseye focused into view at the end of her brand new limb, "You know it."
Tripp offered her some sympathy, "Sometimes I wish every time I went to sleep I could forget.”
Bonnie held out her tongue, taking careful aim at the bullseye on the sheet.
"Be careful what you wish for, Healy."
Bonnie fired off a blast at the sheet. Tripp jumped back as the bullet burst against the bulletproof sheet and vaporized into a thousand pieces.
"Direct hit," Bonnie smiled and stomped her new foot to the ground.
"Wow. That new leg of yours really kicks ass," Tripp calm his breathing down and approached the sheet. "Umm…"
"What?"
A bullet hole spat out smoke right in the middle of the USARIC logo - her intended target, and a statement well and truly made.
"Angry much?"
"As I said. Direct hit."
Tripp’s forearm buzzed. The three tattooed lines swirled around to form a name: “Wool ar-Ban.”
"Who is it?" Bonnie asked.
"It’s Wool. Must be an update on Jelly," he ran his fingers across the ink on his forearm, "Wool?
"Tripp, please?" Wool’s strained cries shot out of his wrist.
"Yes, Wool. I read you."
"She’s sick, Tripp. Really sick…"
"Where are you?" Tripp’s waved Bonnie over toward him.
"Outside Medix," Wool’s voice croaked over the transmission, "It’s over for her. I need you come here."
"What do you mean she’s sick?" Tripp shot Bonnie a look of urgency, "She’s crying," he mouthed.
Bonnie raised her eyebrows with suspicion, "Crying?"
"She’s all over the p-place, Tripp. I…"
"—Wool, stay right where you are. Don’t do anything."
"She’s in s-so much pain, I need to—"
"Wool. No. For God’s sake, don’t do anything hasty. Stay where you are."
Tripp brushed the palm of his hand across his forearm, cutting off the call. "We need to get to Medix. Right now."
"Is she okay?"
"You heard everything I did."
Tripp pulled the door open and stormed into the walkway with Bonnie.
It was only a two minute walk across the level three gantry from N-Vigorate to Medix. In this very moment, it felt at least three times longer than usual.
Despite the earlier otherworldly happenings, the ship was once again intact. It was as if the cracks and damage had never occurred. A long, distant virus-fueled nightmare.
No creaking, no weird sounds. By all accounts, everything seemed just fine. The ship’s engine was alive - the vibrations that rocked the Opera Beta’s interiors provided a welcome and familiar comfort.
That was all Tripp and Bonnie were able to enjoy as they hightailed it across the metal grills on the ground. Plumes of steam shot out around their boots as they snaked around the corner. They prepared themselves for whatever was happening to Wool.
Bonnie eyed around the pipes on the walls, remembering what she’d heard about the ship falling apart. "I don’t get it, Tripp."
“What don’t you get?"
"Botanix leads out into that weird, pink place. The one with the creature things. Why is everything back to normal?"
"I don’t know, Bonnie."
"For our assumed captain you sure don’t know very much."
Tripp couldn’t take Bonnie’s inadvertent rudeness any longer and stopped on the spot, "Bonnie."
Tripp ran his knuckle across his freshly-formed five o’clock shadow. His finger inadvertently brushed against his earlobe - just in time for Bonnie to catch the black text behind it, tucked out-of-sight above his jawline.
A familiar company by the name of Manning/Synapse.
"Tripp?" she smiled at him.
"Don’t play the dummy android with me, Bonnie. You made be more advanced than the rest of us—"
"—Au contraire," she said with side order of snark.
"What’s that meant to mean?"
“Nothing.”
“No, seriously. What did you mean by that?”
"Drop it, Healy," she nodded up at the far end of the walkway, "Enough pillow talk. Let’s get to Wool before she does something stupid."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Engine & Payload
Space Opera Beta - Level Ten
In any ordinary situation Baldron would have to use the primary airlock to exit the spacecraft. Harnessing the weightlessness of space, he’d use the outer-suit thrusters to “fly” along the exterior of the ship to the fat end to attend to the ship’s thrusters. But this was no ordinary situation. Being grounded on Pink Symphony proved to be a much quicker prospect for fixing them.
Engine & Payload, much like the other chambers on the ship, could be reached by using Opera Beta’s lone elevator. Room enough for ten passengers.
The metal cage whizzed down the circular tube.
Jaycee an
d Baldron each carried a large nuclear canister in their arms. Being close to seven feet in height and built like a tornado fused with a bull, Jaycee barely registered the weight of his nuke.
Baldron, on the other hand, felt the need to place the end of his canister to the floor and rest the tip against the wall of the elevator.
"How many times have you done this before?" Jaycee asked, turning his head away from the whizzing of the panel lights sprawling up and down across his helmet’s visor.
"At least a dozen. Delicacy is key, here."
"Like dropping the end on the ground like a big fairy, you mean?" Jaycee chuckled through his internal radio microphone.
"It’s heavy. We’re not all built like brick houses like you."
"True enough," Jaycee grinned, enamored by the fact that Baldron’s Decapidisc fit perfectly under the rim of his helmet, "Still. Nothing to lose your head over, eh?"
Baldron knocked the edge of the disc with his gloved hand, "This is really going to get in my way while I try to work."
"I’m sure you’ll live. Probably."
The friendly female announcement whirled around the elevator, "Level Ten. Engine and Payload. Have a nice day,"
The doors slid apart, revealing the enormity of Engine & Payload. Zero gravity set in immediately, lifting the pair’s feet from the ground.
"Zero G?" Jaycee asked.
"Yeah. Gravity doesn’t help much when you’re dealing with ballistics or nuclear paraphernalia," Baldron swung his arms around his canister. He planted the sole of his boot on the elevator wall and propelled himself forward, "Follow me."
Jaycee’s boots levitated away from the floor. He enacted the same movement as Baldron and pushed himself into the chamber.
A dimly-lit arena resembling the inside of a set of vocal chords.
Thick, twenty-foot high columns provided an obstacle to the port panel on the far wall. Conversely, it helped the two men kick themselves toward their destination a lot quicker.
"Ugh," Baldron said into his radio mic, "I hate the absence of gravity. It makes my stomach queasy."
"I’m sorry to hear that," Jaycee spat, indicating that he’d run out of rat’s asses to give, "Hey, here’s an idea."
"What?"
"Why don’t you shut the hell up and do your job?"
Baldron pressed his boots against a column and pushed himself toward a gargantuan wall of lit-up rectangles. Thousands of them shone against both men’s visors on their approach.
"See those white columns over there?" Baldron pointed to the right of the wall.
"Yeah?"
"The hyper-thrusters," Baldron continued. "Each one of them with enough nuclear energy to wipe out Florida."
"Much like climate change then?"
"Yeah, you could say that. You Americans use nukes to get ahead in the second space race. It’s no wonder your country is eroding around the edges."
"Hey, Russkie," Jaycee kicked forward from another column and reached Baldron, "Shall we see if your organs can survive a nuclear blast?"
"What?"
"Keep that xenophobic talk going and I’ll shove your head in this canister.”
"We’re here. Kick down to section Zee. We’re looking for port loader number four, zero, niner."
The numbers on each of the rectangles ran into the thousands. Jaycee used the locking bolt on a loader to push himself down and read out the numbers on each one.
"Four fifty-two… four twenty-eight…" Jaycee found the one they were looking for, "Here, it’s here. Four, zero, niner."
"Good. I’m coming down," Baldron hugged his nuke as he waded down past the loaders, "I gotta say, these things are much easier to carry in here."
"Yeah, I can see that," Jaycee looked up. The butt of Baldron’s canister enveloped his visor quicker than anticipated.
"Hey, be careful!" Jaycee kicked back in defiance, "You nearly hit my visor."
"Sorry."
Baldron reached the lock on the panel and balanced the canister upright in the palm of his left hand, "Tor, this is Baldron. Do you read me?"
"Yes, Baldron. I read you,’ Tor’s static-laden voice bled into Baldron’s helmet, “Confirm Port Zee. Four, zero, niner."
"Port Zee. Four, zero, niner. Confirmed."
"Understood, standby.”
Jaycee scowled at Baldron and showed him his glove.
Tor spoke before the torment could continue, “On my command you will make contact with the lock. A countdown of three. Do you understand?”
"I understand."
"Reconciling nuclear engagement. Establish contact, please."
The bolt on the lock shunted out, offering itself to Baldron. He grasped it in his hand and cleared his throat. "Contact established."
"From three," Tor’s advised. "Three, two, one… and engage."
SHUNT-SWISH.
Baldron’s hand turned with the bolt, sliding the port door down.
Jaycee tilted his head to the side and took a look at the interior, "Ugh. That canister thing has seen better days, hasn’t it?"
"Yup," Baldron grabbed the port edges and pulled himself inside. "Oh, damn. Can you grab my canister, please?"
Jaycee looked at the cylinder revolving gently in mid-air, "Idiot."
"Sorry, it slipped," Baldron stomped his feet to the ground within the port. The current canister had subsided in its housing. The blackened underside indicated something had gone wrong, "Okay, this is pretty straight forward."
"Baldron," Tor’s voice came through the mic, "Sit-rep on Zee four, zero, niner, please?"
"Defective canister. Manuel was right, this one is down. I will confirm on Yankee one, one, eight next."
"Yeah, Yankee is about right," Tor chuckled. "Speaking of which, how’s our ugly turd holding up?"
Jaycee threw Baldron a look of evil.
"Uh, he can hear you, Tor.”
"Damn," Tor’s voice fizzled away into silence for a moment. "Uh, Jaycee?"
"Yes, Tor?"
"Sorry about that."
"Don’t worry. I’m going to kill you the moment we get back. Nothing serious."
"Yes," Tor tried to make amends, "Joking aside, it might help if—"
"—Oh, I’m not joking," Jaycee said, looking at the Yankee section of the loader ports. "I am going to kill you."
"Jaycee, please. Listen to me."
"I’m listening."
Jaycee watched Baldron hold the pinkie on his glove to the defective canister housing. The end whizzed around as he inserted it into the first of two bolts at the side of the damaged canister.
"What do you want?"
"We can expedite this event if you start on Yankee one, one, eight. The little finger on your glove will unscrew the housing. You simply remove the dud and clamp the fresh canister into place. Bring the used one back with you for recycle—"
"—You want me to do Baldron’s job for him?"
“Actually, yes. It would be helpful. Seeing as we’re low on oxygen.”
"Ugh, fine."
Baldron peered out from the his loader port and held up his thumb, "Thanks, man."
"It’s not a favor, you cretin. I’m doing it to save time."
"Suits me," Baldron winked back at Jaycee as he pushed off toward the Yankee section on the hunt for port 118.
Baldron felt much happier now that his captor had gone away and helped him with the task at hand. HE clamped the fresh canister into place and screwed it into the brackets.
"Baldron?" Tor’s voice came through the mic, "Do you read me?"
"Yes, I read you," he said, screwing the new canister shut with his pinkie.
"Jaycee, do you read me?" Tor asked.
No response.
"I repeat, Jaycee. Do you read me?"
Baldron gripped the edge of the loader and watched Jaycee arrive at port Yankee 118, whistling to himself, "I don’t think he hears us."
"Good, I changed the frequency. It’s just you and me, now," Tor explained. "He’s going start talkin
g at me. He’ll want the lock opened."
"Yes, I expect so," Baldron hushed into his helmet mic, "What’s this got to do with me?"
"Are you looking at him?"
"Yes, he’s nearly at the loader."
"For heaven’s sake, get back in, stupid. You don’t want him looking at you."
"Okay, okay," Baldron slipped his head into the port and turned to the canister, "What’s going on?"
"Now is our chance, comrade."
"What?"
"Manuel was right about the ports needing mended," Tor explained. "But only about why-oh-oh-eight. Zee four zero niner, your loader, is perfectly operational. Never needed attention."
"But, it’s been hit by subsidence. The bottom has been hit by—"
"—They’re all like that. Standard wear and tear, they’re designed to last for decades, if not centuries. You’re an engineer, remember? You should know that.”
“You and I both know that’s lessense.”
Jaycee announced his arrival to his port with a vicious thump on its hatch. The sound echoed through the chamber, "Tor, this is Jaycee. Ready at Yankee-one-one-eight."
"Damn, he’s there," Tor lightened his tone and addressed Jaycee, leaving his comrade wondering what was going on, "Understood, Jaycee. One moment, please."
"Hurry up."
"Baldron?" Tor asked.
"Yes?"
"No time to explain. Get the hell out of there, now. And make sure Jaycee doesn’t see you."
"What?"
"No questions! Head to the lift and get back to the control deck. Now," Tor changed his tone when addressing Jaycee, "Okay. You heard my instructions to Baldron a few minutes ago, right?"
"Yeah, I get the idea," Jaycee grabbed the bolt on the loader port, "Ready to rock and roll."
Baldron didn’t know which way to look, or what to do. "Comrade? What are—"
"—Jaycee, please confirm Port Zee, four, zero, niner." Tor said, no longer available for a clandestine chat with his Russian conspirator.
"Port zed, four, zero, niner. Confirmed."
"Understood, standby," Tor’s voice sped up and flooded Baldron’s headset, "Get out of there, good buddy."
“Why?”
“Trust me, there is literally no time to explain. We’re wasting time talking about not talking about it. Go, go—”
Star Cat: Pink Symphony Page 17
