by Isaac Hooke
The weapon jolted in her hands, passing the impact up into her arm and torso. Momentum carried her forward, and the base of the lodged blade broke away. She plowed into the Scorpion, and her body crumpled around his face and chest before bouncing away. She landed hard on the snowy roof before him.
She looked up, and through her tunnel vision, watched with satisfaction as the Scorpion staggered backward. From his eye, the blade protruded, bent, broken, and no longer glowing. He finally collapsed, and she felt the rooftop shake when he hit.
Her vision was fast fading. She let her own head drop and closed her eyes.
Rhea! came Will’s voice in her head.
She opened her eyelids a crack, and saw a dim form emerge from the rooftop stairwell shed.
In moments he was kneeling before her.
Rhea hang on! He lifted her into his arms and fumbled with something on his suit. A moment later he shoved an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. He pressed it hard, sealing the edges.
Breathe, Rhea, breathe, Will sent.
Rhea did so, taking a deep inhale. He shifted again. She felt something wet on her cold face. Fluttering her eyes open, she realized he was spraying expanding foam from the suit repair kit around the edges of the mask. The foam quickly expanded and dried, securing the mask to her face.
As vision and cognizance returned to her, she sat up. A tube from the mask ran down to his suit. He would have to carefully regulate the O2 release for her cyborg body, since the pressurized air was designed to be released into a suit, not directly into the delicate machinery composing her air extraction unit.
How are you feeling? Will asked mentally.
Good, she replied with a grateful smile. Thanks to you. Horatio?
She searched the rooftop for the robot. The mask and the solidified foam that held it blocked the lower half of her vision, so she had to tilt her head forward slightly to look over it.
He’s all right, Will sent. He landed on the street below. A bit beat up, but nothing I can’t fix.
Her eyes alighted on the Scorpion, and she stood. Will offered his shoulder as a crutch, but she waved him off. My legs aren’t damaged.
Guess I thought you’d be wobbly after what happened, he sent.
She nodded and bounded toward the Scorpion. She moved slowly, so that Will, tethered to her by the O2 line, could stay close. It would not be a good idea to snap that line.
When she reached the Scorpion, her enemy’s chin tilted upward slightly, and his left eye opened to gaze upon her. His right eye remained sealed shut, courtesy of the broken blade lodged underneath.
She received a comm signal.
It was from the Scorpion.
She accepted.
You’ve won, Dagger. I lay dying before you. My brain injured. Hemorrhaging. I have moments to live. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?
What I wanted? she returned. I only wanted to be left alone. It didn’t have to end this way. You forced my hand, Sebastian. When he didn’t answer, she asked: Why do you call me Dagger?
It doesn’t matter, he replied. It is from a time even I have forgotten. You want Veil, am I right?
She nodded slowly. You will betray your master to me?
It’s not a betrayal, he said. Veil left specific instructions. If I were to fall, my last words were to guide you to the Scourge of the North. You will find Veil on Earth. Here.
She received a share request, which she routed through to Will so that he could scan it for viruses.
Will sent her a mental message. I’ve got coordinates to a location thirty kilometers to the northeast of Aradne. The Emerald Highlands.
You will find Veil there, the Scorpion said. She will be waiting for you.
With that, the signal disconnected, and her arch enemy closed his eyes.
Will leaned on the broken sword with the heel of one boot and jiggled it around.
What are you doing? Rhea asked.
Remember what happened the last time we left him like this? Will explained. Lying there, presumed dead? He came back. Well, I’m just making sure he’s not going to do that.
Flashing lights drew her attention to the southern side of the city, where a swarm of police shuttles from Centaar flew through the damaged geodesic dome.
“As usual, the cavalry arrives when the fighting has already ended,” Will remarked. He gave the embedded blade one last kick, and then stepped away from the Scorpion.
Rhea turned toward the shuttles. She was relieved, because she had only just been wondering how she and her companions were going to return to the city.
Rhea raised a hand and waved.
11
Rhea resided in the back of a police shuttle with Will and Horatio. Because of the damage the robot had taken, Horatio was unable to sit, and Rhea and Will had to rest their friend’s twisted form on the cabin floor.
The craft was carrying them back to Centaar. It was pressurized, but Rhea kept the mask on her face as a safety precaution. Still, the atmosphere meant they could communicate over a vocal channel again, rather than mental. And Will did just that:
“You think the police shuttles will find Monkey Boy’s stealth craft?” he asked.
Rhea nodded. “Eventually.” The mask muffled her voice somewhat, so she transmitted her words at the same time.
“Too bad we can’t stake some claim on it,” Will said.
“A ship like that would be useful,” she agreed. “Though I have a feeling it would have room for only one passenger, who would have to remain seated for the duration of the voyage. We’re talking weeks at a time. Not something a human would take very well to.”
“No, I suppose not,” Will said.
She glanced at Horatio. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve disabled most of my eternal senses,” Horatio said. “Because let’s admit it, having your body twisted into a pretzel doesn’t feel very good.”
“No, I suppose not.” She instinctively glanced at her left arm, which hung lifelessly at her side. Horatio wasn’t the only one who needed repairs. But they would come soon enough.
She glanced at Will. “So, what do we know about these ‘Emerald Highlands?’”
“Can’t you forget about that for now?” he replied. “You just survived an assassination attempt that nearly killed you. Chill for a while, Dude.”
She turned her head toward her other companion. “Horatio, what do we know?”
Will sighed. He was the one who answered. “I’ve checked my offline map data. Apparently these Emerald Highlands are known for the vast cave system they house. It was once a precious gem mine, but apparently fell into disuse after the Great Calming. No one really goes there anymore, mostly because it’s a known bioweapon haunt.”
“Known?” She arched an eyebrow. “Known how? You mean from the crowdsourced sites that track bioweapon locations in the Outlands, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he admitted.
“The Black Hands, Veil’s minions, have been known to manipulate these crowdsourcing sites,” she said. “Opportunistically redirecting vulnerable air traffic their way, so that they can shoot down innocent travelers. There’s no reason why the Black Hands couldn’t similarly manipulate the crowdsourcing data to keep travelers away from certain locations as well. Like their den.”
“Very true,” Will agreed. “There might be no bioweapons lurking in the Emerald Highlands. Or there might be an entire army of them. Veil could have chosen the location precisely because of the bioweapons. Maybe she intends to kill you with them. Or use them as a distraction in some way.”
“We just won’t know until we arrive, will we?” Rhea said.
“You’re really intent on going, aren’t you?” Will said.
“If I don’t, I’ll be hunted my entire life,” Rhea said. “Veil sent an assassin halfway across the solar system to kill me. More will come, eventually. There’s no hiding. When we return to Earth, we’re not going to linger in Rust Town. We’re going to head directly to the viper’s
nest.” She sat back. “Until then, I can ‘chill,’ as you say.”
Will didn’t have the parts on hand to repair their damaged armor and servomotors, but the Centaar government was more than happy to contribute, and at no cost—they just wanted Rhea, this draw for assassins across the solar system, to leave.
With these parts, Will fixed her arm, and restored her armor to tiptop condition. He also hammered Horatio’s body back into shape and was able to restore the robot’s forearm rifles to working order. However, Will didn’t have the tools and materials necessary to repair her X2-59.
“It’s a damn shame,” he said when he revealed the news. “Considering all the work it took to pull that damn blade from Monkey Boy’s head.”
“It’s just as well,” Rhea told him. “I plan to use the Ban’Shar as my preferred weapon going forward. Don’t worry, you can still sell the blade as salvage.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I intend to, don’t you worry. What did you think I was talking about? Giving it back to you? Ha. I can charge a very profitable price on this moon, considering how rare the materials are here. I would have got an even better price if I could repair it, but alas it’s simply not to be.”
“Wait until you get to Earth?” she suggested.
“Yeah, but then I have to have it shipped back here, negating any profits from the sale,” he told her.
“Then sell it on Earth…” she said.
He crossed his arms. “Where it’s worth a pittance? Nope. Going to unload it here. My little reward for sticking with you through thick and thin.”
“You deserve a far bigger reward than that,” she said.
“And don’t you forget it,” Will agreed.
The next week passed without incident. It helped, she supposed, that she stayed mostly inside the short-term rental and rarely ventured out, especially not beyond the dome. She was trying to keep a low profile until Targon arrived.
Will had the usual parade of beautiful women bounding up to his room. Rhea complained that any one of those women could be an assassin, to which he scoffed: “Yeah, assassins are going to use a dating app and flirt with me, right? Sure. Trust me, I screen them extensively. If they’re putting on an act, or catfishing me, I can tell. Only a select few make it through to the in-person meet. Are you sure this little hissy fit of yours isn’t out of jealousy?”
“Please,” Rhea said. “And I’d hardly call questioning whether or not it was appropriate to allow random people into one’s apartment a hissy fit, especially considering our current circumstances.”
“They’re not random,” Will insisted. “Like I said, I screen them. They have to chat with me holographically, and then I send a remote drone to check them out, before I invite them up.”
Rhea didn’t bring it up again. She did keep an eye on every one of the women, but none turned out to be assassins. She had to wonder if jealousy indeed played a part. Somehow, she doubted it.
She rented a small drone and spent most of her days exploring the city remotely. She also chartered drones to remotely explore some of the lost Ganymede domes for her, and had the footage transmitted to her when the machines returned. None of these explorations triggered another flashback, however, which was too bad. She supposed that the ruins, and even Centaar, were too unlike the memories she had: the moon she had once known, and the civilization that had once populated it, were long dead.
I’m a relic of the past, too.
She sometimes wondered why she lived, and her people had died. She still wasn’t entirely convinced that she was the only one, as Will claimed, and hoped one day she would be able to find more like her.
Targon and the Molly Dook arrived, and she boarded for the long flight back to Earth.
“So how was your visit?” Targon asked over the com as he took the vessel into orbit.
“Fine,” Rhea answered anxiously. She was worried that more assassins would attack as they achieved escape velocity, but all remained quiet during the launch.
She was strapped into the cargo bay, secured to her sleeping bag. Will had taken his usual spot on the overhead, while Horatio had the right bulkhead. They were all wearing their spacesuit rentals to protect against the gas giant’s radiation. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was necessary.
She lay back, resigning herself to the voyage. She was going to have to get used to another two weeks of weightlessness.
An hour after takeoff Targon jetted inside, garbed in a bulky spacesuit like the others. He transmitted: “So, me hearties, we’ve departed Ganymede. We’re using Jupiter’s gravity to slingshot into an Earthbound trajectory, we are. It’ll take a couple days until the Molly Dook can slip beyond the influence of her gravity, and to clear the radiation belts, so I’m going to have to ask that ye keep your suits on.”
“Got a patch this time,” Will said, patting his bicep.
“Well that’s a good lad,” Targon said. “A man after me own heart.” He glanced at Rhea. “So, when are ye going to tell me about your visit, Warden? Don’t be keeping me in suspense like this.”
She sighed. “It was… uneventful.”
“Bull shark!” Targon said. “Wherever the Warden goes, something is bound to happen. She has a way of drawing attention, both good and bad. I checked the news reports after I returned. A police swarm was called to investigate a disturbance in the old Ganymedean domes. Apparently a tourist was attacked by some pirate or other. Something tells me that tourist was you.”
“You got me,” she said.
He narrowed his eye. “What are you hiding, Warden?”
“It’s really not something you need to worry about,” she told him.
“It is if it endangers me ship,” he said. “Was the attack related to the bombardment we received on the way to the moon?”
She glanced at Will. “I suppose he deserves to know.” She returned her attention to Targon. “It wasn’t a pirate.”
“Not a pirate?” Targon said. “Then who the bloody blazes was it?”
“An assassin,” she said. “Dispatched by someone who wants me very dead.”
“An assassin?” Targon said. “Ye could have told me this before, as in, before we left bloody Earth! I probably wouldn’t have picked ye up in the first place, if I knew an assassin would follow ye all the way from Earth to Ganymede!”
“I didn’t think my enemies would follow me into space either,” she told the merchant. “You have to trust me; I wouldn’t have willingly endangered your ship. I wasn’t aware of the resources my enemy had at his command.”
“Why didn’t ye tell me after the first attack?” Targon asked.
“I wasn’t really certain at that point,” she replied. “It could have been space pirates, and I didn’t want to alarm you. I only knew for sure after the attack came on Ganymede.”
Targon tried to touch his chin, but his gloved hand hit the glass faceplate in front of it. “This is bad. I’m going to have to keep a wary eye out for the rest of the journey, wasting precious fuel to constantly scan the immediate environment. Active scanning doesn’t come cheap, ye know.”
“Do we have enough fuel to make it back?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “But just barely. Bringing ye to Ganymede is proving to be a far costlier endeavor than I originally imagined.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said. “I’ll get the Wardenites to make a donation.”
“No,” he said. “The journey is still free, Warden. I’m not gonna go back on me word, unlike most people would. Just be… more forthcoming in the future, if ye can, please.”
“I will, and I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bring your ship into danger. I know how much it’s worth to you.”
He nodded. “My life savings are in this vessel.”
“Come on,” Will said. “This is the most adventure you’ve had since you streamed video games for a living. Admit it. And besides, you’re going to profit from having us aboard. You can’t tell me you’re not recording all of this, so you c
an broadcast it when you get back to Earth? You’re going to make money from this journey in more ways than one.”
Targon seemed taken aback at first, then outraged. “What? I wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh really?” Will said. “Horatio, tell him.”
“We found your hidden cameras a while ago,” Horatio said. “During the initial trip. The constant stream of data packets was a dead giveaway.”
“Okay, fine,” Targon stammered. “I might be doing some recording, yes. But it’s my ship. I’m allowed to do what I want aboard.”
Rhea smiled. “There are privacy laws—”
“Which don’t apply in interplanetary space!” Targon finished.
“Actually, it might not be a bad idea to let him broadcast our adventures,” Horatio said. “It will show another side of you to your fans. A more personable, human side. It will help them understand you. Plus, it can only help to grow your following. Once your fanbase becomes big enough, perhaps we’ll be able to get your accounts restored on the major streaming networks.”
“Yes, it will increase her legend!” Targon agreed. “The Warden, who was pursued by assassins to Ganymede, only to singlehandedly defeat them in close combat in the ruins of a lost dome.”
“Not singlehandedly,” Horatio said.
“Horatio is right,” Rhea agreed. “I couldn’t have done it without my friends. Nor you.”
Targon beamed at that. “So I have your permission to stream all of this when I get back? I’d like to add live commentary.”
“Of course,” Rhea said.
“Can I also get the footage you recorded of your fight on Ganymede?” Targon asked.
She hesitated, and glanced at Horatio, then Will.
“Don’t look at us,” Will said. “Has to be up to you.”
She considered a moment longer, then: “Considering all the trouble we’ve put you through, yes. You can have the footage.”