Cold Snap

by Macky Santiago

  Everything it takes to achieve full interface with my crew happens in a flash. But time stretches when I’m submerged this deep into the neuroweave, and especially if I am interfaced with this many synthetic minds.

  As our connection locks our minds in place, I don’t even need to give commands as the remaining crew aboard the Diamond bursts into action.

  I feel Iñigo and Leon launch out from the ship as Mick interfaces with the Diamond’s cannons. Leon will be Iñigo’s shield as he takes out the sentries, while Jean Philippe works with Bellona and scrambles the sentries’ communications protocols. We need them to keep transmitting an all clear signal, and we need that signal to transmit on loop or this op is over.

  In graceful half-times, I watch as Jean Philippe overclocks his processors with Bellona’s help. He hacks both the ship and the sentries. His processors kick into overdrive as he duplicates the communication signal the sentry bots use, while finishing up the code that will “disguise” us before all Conglomerate tech on the station.

  Iñigo’s lumenblades slice through the first sentry, triggering a counterattack from the other two.

  Bellona masks the weapons being discharged by weaving an “all clear” declaration into the false signal Jean Philippe beams back on behalf of the sentries. Nearby, Leon’s deflector fields keep enemy fire from touching Iñigo.

  At the eight second mark, Mila fires the shield scrambler. In a split second, she deploys Jean Philippe’s new device.

  Bellona’s countdown reaches zero on the screen just as Iñigo slices the last sentry in half. For a few more seconds, nothing happens. Everything is bright, and I am in eight places at once, perceiving the universe in eight different ways.

  Doctor Capaldi breaks my reverie and gathers my consciousness back to one singular point. It feels like having him help me up to my feet after laying still for a very long time or letting him guide me to a comfortable chair after hours of standing.

  The universe dims, and I am once again looking at the control screen of the Diamond. I’m no longer in space surrounded by wrecked sentry bots. I am not docked on the space station or hooked up to its circuitry. I am not on the Diamond’s hull taking aim at a target three thousand yards away.

  I am Yuki again. And the Doctor, if he had lips, would have been smiling at me.

  “Ye’ve done well, child. I’ll patch Iñigo up and see what I can do about our new sentry bot friends. Should be able use them somehow when we infiltrate this new mess ye’ve gotten us into.” He says, hovering beside me.

  Gingerly, I place my hand on his head and smile. “Thank you, Doctor. Just try not to jinx us again. Bellona, sit rep?”

  The doctor leaves, grumbling about statistics and superstition as Bellona reports. “Minor injuries to Iñigo and Leon, Doctor Capaldi en route for patch up and retrieval. Mila opted to stand watch with Jean Philippe as he begins the revised hack. He only needs one minute out of the three he has bought us. Mick has disengaged and is heading to the bridge.”

  “Thank you, Bellona. Jean Philippe, time to infiltration?” I ask.

  “Twenty seconds and counting.” He says gleefully.

  True enough, in exactly the promised amount of time, the exhaust port opens, and I guide my ship in.

  The Winter Diamond docks inside the abandoned refinery and powers down. I stand and stretch, limbering up for the rescue mission to come. At full strength, I can manage a full interface with the whole crew about three times.

  But with all the prep and finagling that had gone into this op, I’ve basically been running on no sleep for a week or two. And that means I most likely have only one full interface with all seven of them left for the day.

  Really wish I had gone for that full body treatment now.

  ◆◆◆

  Encrypted Transmission

  Origin: Alliance Capital Ship Haven Five, Vector 559283

  Yuki, I more than anyone, am loathe to send you on this mission. For years, I have endured questions about my bias towards you, and so, my sanctioning this retrieval op has been a surprise to the Alliance (myself included).

  Let us hope our enemies will be equally surprised that we sent our most valuable asset directly behind their lines.

  Our last encounter was not our best, so I just wanted to say that you have proven your point many times over.

  Yes, you are no longer a child. Yes, you are easily one of the best, if not the best operative in the field.

  Of course, I have not forgotten that “the blade unsheathed at the opportune time can fell both men and empires”. I taught you this when we first found you, as you may recall.

  I do confess that those days feel like lifetimes ago.

  Our enemies deemed you and your crew defective. But I believe in the higher powers. Whatever hands of destiny wove you and your crew together (quite literally at that!) are weaving now still.

  They thought you would be as harmless and inconsequential as snowfall. Instead, they will see you for the blade that you truly are.

  Faldan will revolt if they know the princesses are safe. Whomever commands Faldan determines the course of this war. The highest probability of success is with you and your crew, whether I like it or not.

  And I certainly do not.

  The implications of what is to become of the girls after the Conglomerate takes them away is distressing. That Agent Zero has promised no help — nor can he be of help - is even more so.

  Your narrow window of success shrinks exponentially should the Conglomerate delegation arrive before you extract the targets. These odds are personally distressing to me.

  It pains me to say we cannot risk any of our fleet to aid you, thanks to that blasted mirror! They’ll know we’re in the solar system the moment we exit warp space.

  You won’t be completely out of help though. If we can scrounge up enough funds, you just might get ‘the best help money can buy’.

  Don’t pout. He’s the best that we have on retainer and he’s even given you a run for your money. Just be thankful he’s on our side and that (I hope) our scandalously expensive tab he keeps harping on is more for bluster than it is for real.

  Bring the girls home, Yuki. Bring every one of your crew home personally. That’s an order.

  - Mother

  ◆◆◆

  Encrypted Transmission

  Origin: Vector 72930

  Getting sentimental in your old age, Mother Ryn.

  Just so you know, I’m pouting right now. In fact, I plan to pout for the entire mission. The princesses will see me, and they will call me Captain Pouty Face, and it will be all your fault.

  I never asked for help. I have enough of a bone to pick with the Conglomerate to fuel this mission solely on a personal grudge.

  Driven by justice. Fueled by spite.

  Huh.

  Remind me to engrave that on the Diamond.

  And copy, Mother. I’ll bring them home. All of them. And if Mr. Fancypants gets in my way, I’ll feed him to Octavia myself.

  Chapter Two

  It took Jean Philippe an hour to fully integrate himself into the Faldan Space Station systems. Not his finest moment, but it did give Doctor Capaldi and Bellona time to hijack the sentry bots and broadcast a counterfeit signal from their internal transponders.

  The Doctor also reprogrammed them with a virus Jean Philippe developed, which would essentially spread to other bots that use the same core code system. Pretty soon, we’d have a small army of sentries we could connect to Bellona or Jean Philippe in case the need arises.

  I'm willing to bet that body rejuve that we’ll need it.

  After sending the refurbished sentries back out into the wild (hopefully to infect their sentry bot friends and family), we regrouped on the Diamond's bridge to study whatever intel Jean Philippe could find.

  The clock is ticking. And if the intel from both Agent Zero and Mother Ryn were to be trusted, security’s going to shoot through the roof within the next 48 hours. It’s going to be ugly the moment that s
uper-secret Conglomerate delegation arrives. In which case, we’d be cooked. Extra crispy, too.

  But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’d rather have a clear extraction plan with several exit routes.And if there’s any team in the galaxy that can find those needles in the proverbial haystack of likely probabilities, it would be my crew.

  That did not make the next three and a half hours any less nerve wracking or tedious, at least for those of us who have actual neurons. Even though all of my neurons are also embedded with nanoprocessors.

  “So, we’ve narrowed it down to living quarters, daily routines and armed guard detail,” the Doctor says.

  “Exit routes remain problematic because we have no idea when this delegation is to make its grande apparence. The intel is either so good that we have effectively acquired top secret info or…” Jean Philippe says, but I interrupt before he can finish speaking.

  “It’s a trap. Of course, it’s a trap. When is it ever NOT a trap?” I say, taking another swig of coffee. “Safest bet is for us to proceed like it is, then find more unconventional ways of exiting the station with the princesses. Nice, quiet and easy. We can’t afford to put an extra target on ourselves, not while we’re still being hunted.”

  “We’re still at a thirty-two percent survival rate unless we factor in new variables. Is it absolutely necessary to not… well… blast our way out like we always do?” Bellona asks.

  Everyone chuckles. I’m so fried that I actually join in.

  We always try to sneak in and do any job without blowing things up. Key word “try”. Mostly, we fail.

  I look at all of them. My little army. They are the most advanced pseudo-organic synthoid hybrid intelligences in the known galaxies. They're also the only real family I’ve ever had. And that count includes any humans I’ve met so far.

  As I look at their lovely familiar ‘faces’, a surge of protectiveness grips me. I would do anything to keep them out of harm’s way. And yet, here we are in danger again. And for what?

  “I like it when we blow things up.” Mick says, drawing more laughter. Of course the heavy artillery siege bot likes blowing things up.

  “We’ve talked through this before, Yuki. Those girls are prisoners as implied, but not in practice. They’re safe as Conglomerate pawns. And you don’t owe the Alliance anything. We settled that score on the day they set us free.” Leon says.

  My Leonidas. My shield. Always my protector. Always the strong and silent force who holds the crew together. He's also the first of the seven I discovered while bouncing about in that Conglomerate black site.

  Speaking of black sites, I might as well drop this bomb now.

  “This is personal, Leon. I have unconfirmed, but trustworthy intel that the delegation is coming to take the girls to the Leghrelnis station.”

  Silence grips the room.

  “How…” Bellona starts to ask, and I answer quickly to settle any doubts.

  “Mother Ryn’s files. She kept it from me. From us. Why, you ask?” I pause for effect. “Because the good Admiral didn’t want us on this mission in the first place.”

  I can feel their collective trepidation in the neuroweave. I wasn’t the only one who had terrible memories of that place.

  “Ryn was playing it cool with me. She didn’t know what the Conglomerate would do to the girls after they were taken. Our only job was rescue them before that happens. To be fair, her reports couldn’t confirm that their final destination was Leghrelnis anyway. Still, the Leghrelnis system does happen to be a major jump point from Faldan to the central systems.”

  I let that simmer for a bit with the crew. I’m especially sympathetic for Leon and the Doctorm who have always been the most protective of me. Leon is the more protective of the two, so I lock my gaze on him when I finally break the silence.

  “And you’re right.” I say. “I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. But these girls… They’re like me. Everything taken from them. Made to live under whatever conditions the conglomerate dictates. They have no freedom. They have no future. That’s a certainty if they actually end up in Leghrelnis, where Octavia buries all her secrets and weapons. No little girl deserves that.”

  “Aye, but I’m willing to wager nobody’s going to be cutting into their wee pretty heads and modifying their brains on a weekly basis. Pawn or no, they’ll be safer than most if Faldan is to stay compliant.” Doctor Capaldi says.

  Anyone who didn’t know him would have dismissed his words as a reprimand clad in sarcasm. But he was programmed with considerable empathy as a medical bot. Only he knew the price my mind and body paid when Octavia experimented on me.

  A year or maybe two after we’d escaped, he’d had the courage to ask for adjustments to his settings. He didn’t want to feel too much of what he processed during my time as the Queen’s favorite lab rat. He also made it clear that the only things he would ever care about were me and this crew.

  I hate to use that against him now, but this mission strikes too close to home. So close, that even as I speak of my past, I am assaulted by it.

  I try to block the memories, but they come in waves.

  The splitting migraines. The haze of sedation. The cold floors and processed air. The way the restraints chafed across my limbs and body as I lay shivering on the Leghrelnis worktables.

  I power through the memory and continue my explanation. “I found a file that Ryn tucked away. Nothing to do with the mission, but I snooped and found more on Leghrelnis. It says the main ‘workstations’ have been reopened.” I pause, before adding, “For the sake of these girls, I don’t want to take a chance that this ‘relocation plan’ happens to coincide with Octavia’s grand reopening of her little shop of horrors.”

  Pretty sure if my bots could turn pale, they all would have. Thanks to whatever tech they were built with, the same tech that’s in my brain, they don't perceive the universe as ordinary synthetic minds do. And my link to them intensified their uniqueness.

  They’re… alive. Real.

  And they’re the most alive they can be when they’re around me. Most themselves, the selves fully actualized, while connected to the neuroweave.

  They didn’t know how to process what they felt until meeting me. Until I named them. Until we achieved full interface and found a way out of Leghrelnis.

  The weight of all that baggage settles on them. As we continue planning, I sense their new resolve. They were going to see this op through, whether or not they wanted.

  “We’re getting them out, Doctor. Captain’s prerogative.” I say. “This one isn’t just for the Alliance. Clear?”

  All seven of them transmit their affirmations. They're not enthused in the slightest, but they're certainly determined.

  After we reach an accord, I looked to Jean Philippe. I could sense through the weave that he had something on his mind. I raise my eyebrows, a silent question I know he will answer.

  “La Reine Octavia could very well be part of the secret delegation. She has all but expressed the value of the princesses as political prisoners.” Jean Philippe says matter-of-factly. It’s lovely and annoying how well they all know me. JP especially. “Alor, ma fille, you and I, we love efficiency and mischief, no? Perhaps you wish to accomplish as many things as possible while we are here?”

  Busted. It doesn’t surprise any of them, but this is their polite way of asking me what the real plan is so that they can calculate better ways to go about it. The Doctor’s “face” is now so cross that I swear whatever passes for eyebrows on his visage are now on attack mode.