by J. N. Chaney
Warren answered by darting into the trees. His cybernetic legs pumped as hard as he could move them. The map in his mind indicated he was running in the right direction, but he had to keep dodging around trees, which was slowing his progress. There was no telling how long-ago Kaplan had sent his soldiers to kill everyone. They could’ve even come from the nearby town, which would give them all the time they needed to execute his orders and the people they found.
“Brinn,” Warren transmitted on a private channel.
“Sorry,” the cyborg replied. “He’s kept us alive this whole time.”
“Where are you?”
“Still fighting the rocket tanks.”
“Is the general planning on attacking First Corps?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. He sounded sincere. Against his better judgment, Warren found himself convinced the cyborg was telling the truth.
“I won’t ask you to disobey your commanding officer,” Warren told him as he crashed through a smaller tree. It hurt, but only dodging the ones too big to smash through might save time.
“I know,” replied Brinn. “I don’t. Never have. But, I’m one of those sergeants who likes to bend the rules a bit. What do you need?”
“Talk to your people heading out to slaughter innocent civilians and my crew. See if you can talk them into disobeying, or at least delaying the action until I get there.”
“You gonna kill them?” asked Brinn.
It was time to answer honesty with honesty, Warren decided. “Not if I can help it.”
Brin was quiet for several seconds. “You got it, General Prescott. We’ll work this shit out later, right?”
“You’re right,” said Warren. Something was wrong with his left leg. He smashed through another tree, felt the pain shoot through his cybernetic body like someone just poured glass through his soul. A quick diagnostic revealed several broken components. He’d need repairs as soon as they found a place to get them.
“Boss!” transmitted Baker.
“Keep going!” ordered Warren. “I’ll catch up!”
Warren felt dizzy. His vision went staticky like an old flat-screen TV searching for the correct input. He stood, stumbled again, and checked his HUD. His cybernetic systems were searching for a way to route around the damage to get him back in the fight. Warren ordered his systems to just lock the damn thing straight so he could get moving again.
It worked. Warren glared at the tree he’d run into, then began hobbling as fast as he could. “Keep going,” he ordered. “I’m damaged, but my HUD is searching for a way to get my leg working right again. It’s up to you. I’ve got Sergeant Brinn, one of Kaplan’s cyborgs, talking to the others sent to take out the village. I don’t know if he’ll be able to convince them not to attack, but we only need them slowed. If he can get them to change their minds about following their bullshit order, everything’s good. If not, you may have to take them out, no matter how many there are.”
Baker laughed across the channel, but it sounded forced. “If you think I’m going to let someone pop my favorite tech and his buddies, you don’t know me very well. One way or another, I’ll keep him safe. I promise you that.”
“If I don’t make it, but you do, make sure nothing happens to Brinn. I don’t give a damn what you do with Kaplan.”
35
SYSTEM BYPASS COMPLETE
Warren leaned forward and poured on the speed. His leg wasn’t a hundred percent, but it was good enough. He realized he probably looked funny—the way he was running. But anyone close enough to notice was also close enough to get shot.
While he ran, he thought. Two completely capable governments. Neither one willing to speak to the other to settle their differences and work for the betterment of all humanity. They would rather see each other completely wiped out than work together. Warren still had no idea why the Commonwealth had branched off and finally left, but it had been a while, according to what he could remember.
“Halt!” someone transmitted. Warren’s brain was percolating with hate—so much that he didn’t care who was transmitting or who they were speaking to until someone fired a rifle. The tiny fountain of dirt rising in front of his feet brought him to a complete stop. “Drop your weapon.”
It wasn’t one of his cyborgs. He knew all their voices better than he knew himself. This one he knew too, though. “Kaplan, nice of you to join me.”
“Shut up, Prescott. I gave you a chance and you fucked it up. Now you have two choices. I can place you under arrest and bring you back. You will order your cyborgs to obey my orders, you will relinquish command, and then you will stand trial. It’s either that or I kill you right here. Now drop the rifle.”
Warren did as he said without a word. He’d given his sidearm to Hendrose, but he still had a couple of options. One was the grenade sitting comfortably in his pocket. The second was his bare hands. He thought of a third option and decided to give it a shot.
“You like being in control, don’t you?” asked Warren.
“I said shut up,” the General barked. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Maybe another angle would work. “You’re speaking to a general, too, in case you forgot,” Warren said, turning and giving the other cyborg a hard look. It was a little spooky how easy he felt the expression settle onto his face. Rage had never been a thing he’d had a serious problem controlling. Although it didn’t seem like a problem now, he understood how it could become one with some people. It was addicting. It made him feel powerful and in command, even though he was facing an armed cyborg with an itchy trigger finger.
Kaplan’s mouth curled into a subtle smirk. “Don’t try that bullshit with me. Let’s move.” He gestured back to the place he’d just left. The forest was still on fire, though it didn’t look like it had spread far. There wasn’t a breeze at the moment, so the black, sooty smoke hugged the ground.
“Almost to the village,” transmitted Baker. “There’s smoke. Not a lot of it, but definitely smoke. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Warren didn’t dare hope for the best. Nothing had gone for the best since his virtual chains had been broken. The mutiny the cyborgs had executed to secure the Ruthless for themselves had gone well enough, but some of the crew loyal to the Republic had died. If he got out of this and found a way to contact his former government, he’d have to answer for that. Then there was the defense of Reotis from the Fourth Cyborg Corps. That had been a complete clusterfuck. They had delivered the final shots that had destroyed an entire Corps of cyborgs, their ship, and its crew. Then there was the betrayal of one of their own soon afterward. Glen Hoffman had been one of the founders, but sometime later he had been turned by the Commonwealth. He’d gained Warren’s trust, which, in turn, had made him second only to Lukov.
“Hurry up!” the General ordered. “We’ve got things to do. Delaying it will only annoy me.”
“How are things looking?” Warren asked the cyborg he’d assigned to take out the rocket tank. His eyes scanned the area in front of him as he listened, searching for anything that would help him deal with his current situation.
“Just fine here,” Baker replied. “I made it to some friendlies. We’re covering a team that’s taking out the last rocket tank.”
“It won’t be good soon. Be ready to defend yourselves from Second Corps. Avoid harming Brinn if you can.”
“Okay, we’ll be ready. What should I expect?”
“Anything,” said Warren as he spotted what he was hoping to find up ahead. “By the looks of it, you should expect whatever’s going to happen to occur in the next sixty seconds.”
“Made it to the village, boss,” transmitted Baker. “Some shit went down here recently.”
“Is Hendrose alive?” Warren asked as he prepared to climb over a fallen tree in his path. The trunk was more than a meter wide—the perfect size.
“Yeah,” replied Baker. “He’s hurt. Some of the cyborgs are fighting amongst themselves. Nobody seems interested in me
. There are six of them. There were seven, but Hendrose took one out himself. Can you believe it?”
“I believe it,” replied Warren, then he used the cover of the log he’d just climbed over to reach into his pocket. He retrieved the grenade and armed it, then he tossed it gently onto the top of the log before flattening himself on the ground. He rolled as far under the log as he could get and felt his cover flex when it detonated.
Warren rolled out from under the log and searched for a target. The grenade had stripped the bark from the trunk for about two meters down each side. Much more hung off in long ribbons, and a meter-wide crater on the top filled the air around him with even more smoke. Warren waited, trying to look and listen to everything at once. Trees popped, branches fell, and occasionally a cool breeze worked its way through the trees. Smoke and heat shoved the cool breeze away a second later.
“Stupid move,” the cyborg on the other side of the log growled.
“Yeah, maybe,” said Warren. “I’m not known for making the best decisions—just the necessary ones. How’s about you drop your gun and run off somewhere to think about what you did, then you come back when you’ve come to your senses?”
“Tank’s gone,” reported Rigby.
Warren cut the connection so he could focus on staying alive, but he was glad beyond words that she’d survived. If he could do the same, the day might turn out to be something other than terrible.
His opponent leaped over the log, holding his rifle like a club.
When Warren stepped to the side, the General swung it around and caught him hard under the jaw. He staggered, righted his head, and brought his arm up in time to block another swing. The rifle came apart, but Kaplan was quick to recover. He thrust the barrel forward. Warren caught it and attempted to reverse, but his opponent grabbed it with a second hand and twisted it back. Warren latched onto it with his other hand, and the two struggled for a brief moment.
It ended when Warren smashed his forehead into his opponent’s face. It was a dirty trick from his youth—one he’d deployed more than once. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on cyborgs, though. Rather than recoiling from a shattered nose, the cyborg laughed.
“Can’t let go of your humanity, can you?” Kaplan hissed before using the barrel they were holding to whip Warren around and slam him into the tree.
The impact made Warren’s feet slip from under him, and when he tried to regain his footing, he slipped again in a thick pile of leaves. When his opponent tried to do the same thing again, Warren managed to stop him and caught a kick to his damaged knee for his trouble. Damage warnings filled Warren’s HUD. He dismissed them as he tried to regain his footing again. Something was wrong, though. He couldn’t seem to stand. His leg. Whatever bypass his systems had done was no longer working. He couldn’t feel it or move it.
It was like Iran all over again. When the bomb went off, his mind had gone numb. He hurt all over, but none of the pain worried him as much as what was happening inside his head. It was like being punched by Mike Tyson. He remembered worrying he might die and wishing he would at the same time. The disorientation had only lasted a short time and was immediately replaced by pain. He’d grabbed at his ruined leg, instantly regretting touching it.
He’d been pulled from the burning wreck of his vehicle by fellow soldiers. Somehow, sunlight seemed to make it worse still. It burned like he was on fire. He’d given up, just wanting it all to end. The war didn’t matter. Making the pain stop was all that had mattered.
Warren remembered waking up in a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of both arms and other places. What was left of his leg had been bandaged, and it hurt. It was insult upon injury. He felt stupid and groggy. All he’d wanted was for the pain to stop, even if it meant death. It would be a welcome release. It was all he’d thought about for several days afterward.
What had pulled him through—given him the will to survive and carry on—was the memory of those who hadn’t made it. He’d been one of four in his vehicle. He was the only one who made it out. He and his brothers had all taken the same risks. They knew what was in store, yet they still told each other dirty jokes like death would only be a vacation, not a permanent state of being.
They hadn’t died for him. They’d died instead of him, and he knew any of those guys would’ve counted themselves lucky to still be alive. The fond memories of their lives, and what they could’ve been, is what kept him going. It’s what would keep him going, he decided. Hendrose didn’t want to die and didn’t want him to die. Rigby would be crushed. They hadn’t found the Camel. Nobody knew if it had made it to the surface safely, but all signs pointed to no. Lukov would be sad, but he wouldn’t show it. No, he had to live, if not for himself, for them.
Yet this motherfucker wanted to take everything from him? Why? Because he was a high-and-mighty general? Nope, not going to happen.
Warren planted his one good leg under him and pulled Kaplan to the ground, then he shoved, launching them both into the air and fell to the ground again in a tangle of limbs. It wasn’t an attack—it was a distraction. While his opponent moved to put him in a headlock, Warren snatched the cyborg’s fighting knife out of its sheath and, in a quick, fluid motion, stabbed him in the knee.
The asshole must’ve had his pain sensors turned up to full, or nearly so. The way he shrieked told Warren that much. He twisted the knife, then levered it, taking satisfaction when he felt the cybernetic joint separate and noticed a few small pieces of something bounce across the blade from the hole.
The cyborg recovered quickly and got the headlock hooked in tightly, then he began to squeeze. Warning alarms told Warren he didn’t have much time left. His metal vertebrae were starting to come apart. He heard tiny connectors and cushioning material start to rip as he stabbed his attacker in the armpit. The man only grunted this time. He’d turned his pain sensors down, but that didn’t matter. Warren wrenched the blade again and felt his opponent’s shoulder come apart. He was still fighting, so Warren drove the knife in deeper until he felt electricity run up his arm, and the cyborg spasmed.
“Okay, okay!” his opponent cried as he lost his grip and fell on his back. “Okay, let’s talk this out. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that works for both of us.”
Warren planted his other hand on his opponent’s chest and pushed away to consider him. The General looked genuinely frightened, and he should be.
“How can I ever trust you again?” asked Warren.
The cyborg frowned.
Warren noticed him trying to make a subtle motion with his uninjured arm to a pocket in his pants. “You can trust me, Prescott. I’m just trying to do what’s right by my men.”
The man thought he was slick. Warren knew exactly what he was up to but decided to allow him to redeem himself instead of acting on what he knew just yet.
“That’s it?” asked Warren. “You think I believe you act like a prick for your men? No, Kaplan, I know better. You’re addicted to being in charge.”
“I’m a patriot,” he replied with a frown. “You’re just a guy who did something.”
Warren moved at the same time he did, knocking the grenade from his opponent’s grasp the moment it cleared his pocket, while at the same time driving the knife into the side of his head.
The knife had only gone in a few centimeters. Warren thought about pulling it out, but images of Hendrose’s face, Rigby’s smile, and Lukov’s frown flashed through his mind. “This I do for my people,” replied Warren as he forced the knife deeper into his opponent’s head. The cyborg thrashed as Warren twisted and levered his opponent’s skull apart to make room for the sharp steel. Suddenly the resistance stopped, and Kaplan went still.
Warren waited for the light in his eyes to die before he let go of the blade and rolled off him. “Someone come get me,” he transmitted.
36
Warren watched the workers gather around the remains of a tank with interest. Repairs were coming along, but he didn’t think they’d be able to g
et more than two or three of the war machines back in service. Still, the weapons platforms had proven how tough they were, and with the modification some of his crew had come up with, they could mitigate their one vulnerability.
The techs and locals Baker had rescued were working together without issue. They were still being excessively polite as if everyone was worried about offending the other side. Soon, he hoped, they’d stop seeing each other like that. They were on the same side now. Just like others had freed Warren, he’d helped free these people as well.
It might be weeks to finish the tanks, but as soon as they were ready, the machines would be pressed into service to enhance the defenses already in place. Two walkers were a powerful force, but there still wasn’t much they could do against a sizable army.
With the hole in the fence repaired and cyborg guards stationed all the way around, Warren felt reasonably secure. Ghosts were still a concern, but the citizens seemed to be tolerating the stop-and-scan activities the cyborgs performed on them almost continuously. There were complaints, but not many. Everyone understood why it was happening, but Warren hoped they could soon find another way to detect Ghosts that wasn’t so intrusive.
Warren turned away from the teams working to rebuild the rocket tanks and headed toward the power plant. Hendrose was still trying to separate the war computer from the AI attached to it and had made good progress. He could take as much time as he needed—he knew that. But still, the tech had spent the last couple of nights sleeping on the floor in the room.
Warren’s leg still wasn’t at one hundred percent, but at least he could walk. The cyborg chassis that General Kaplan had turned into an effigy still contained enough spare parts to get him working again. He didn’t know the name of the cyborg, but Warren thanked him every sunrise for being able to walk.
A walker caught Warren’s attention as it stomped past one of the outer buildings to the south. They had two of the machines running and fully loaded at all times. Each was piloted by two full humans, with one always being a Reotian. Although none of the inhabitants on Turano had given Warren any reason to be directly concerned about them, they were still Commonwealth citizens, so trust-but-verify was the rule to live by.