by M. D. Cooper
That was when a friend from his division had told him about the Marauders, and how the group was almost entirely filled with Genevian Armed Forces vets who were trying to find a place after the fall of Genevia.
David had enlisted as soon as he could travel to a recruitment center, and look where he was now: working in the CIC of the Old Man’s flagship.
A yawn escaped his lips, and David picked up his coffee pouch and took a long draw of the bitter drink. At least here in the Marauders when he found something wrong, he could do something about it. Most often, the wrongdoers were unsavory types that would see the business end of a Marauder rifle before long.
Until this operation—the goal of which was the overthrow of the Theban leadership, and facilitate the forcible annexation of Thebes by Septhia.
As far as David could tell, both the Septhians and Thebans were good people. Sure, they had their issues; but on the whole, their governments represented the people, elections were as fair as any, and the populace was content and prosperous.
He understood that the Septhians were worried about Nietzschean expansion—everyone spinward of the Pleiades was. It seemed like nowhere was safe from the specter of war anymore. All of the major empires and federations in the Orion Arm were gobbling up their smaller neighbors at an alarming rate.
Though the Praesepe Cluster was small—less than one hundred light years in diameter—it contained well over a thousand stars; the nations within its bounds were tightly-knit, possessing great strength in numbers.
That is what made David wonder about the Septhian desire to attack Thebes. Septhia was a much larger alliance, with over fifty member systems compared to the Thebans’ five; but there was no reason he could see why the alliances couldn’t work out mutually beneficial treaties.
Over the years, the Septhians had made frequent overtures to the Thebans, offering them a place in the alliance—but the Thebans had declined each time. David could see why. Thebes was on the edge of the cluster, facilitating trade with systems deeper within Praesepe.
They also controlled one of the few areas in the cluster with less dark matter, making Thebes a gateway into the star cluster.
David pulled up a map of the cluster on his console, overlaying the stars with the latest dark matter dispersion maps. Dark matter was the Praesepe Cluster’s greatest strength, and its most vexing problem.
Outside of star clusters and stellar nurseries, dark matter was only found tightly packed around stars. But in clusters like Praesepe, it was everywhere—making FTL all but impossible.
Without entering the cluster through a region of space like the one Thebes controlled, it could take decades, even up to a century, to travel to the cluster’s inner reaches.
While there were two other alliances in the cluster that controlled regions of space with sparse dark matter, they were on the far side. Thebes controlled the clearest dark matter region near the Nietzschean border—a border that was only thirty light years away after the Niets’ conquest of Genevia.
David ran a hand across his head, tracing the grooves between the cooling fins—a pensive habit he had picked up after getting the mods, and constantly worrying that his brain was somehow going to hemorrhage from all the alterations.
He was not the first person to see this obvious connection. If the Nietzscheans were planning to annex the Praesepe Cluster—an act that would expand their empire tremendously—then Thebes was the obvious place to start.
But rather than attack, a far better plan for the Septhians would be to convince the Thebans of this possibility, and aid in bolstering their defenses.
Scuttlebutt amongst the Marauders maintained that the Thebans must have received such an overture, and viewed it as the first step in a slow takeover after all the other diplomatic attempts had been rebuffed.
David could see that possibility, but all his intel on the Theban President, a woman named Ariana who was just now entering her seventh term, showed her to be a competent and reasonable person.
Would the Septhians really resort to toppling the Theban government just to secure the rimward edge of the Praesepe Cluster against the Nietzscheans? They must have made a very convincing argument to the Old Man for him to engage in this sort of subversive action—an action that had Marauder teams operating as assassins within Thebes.
One thing was for certain: if the Nietzscheans got wind of this before the Septhians had secured Thebes, the Niets would undoubtedly strike, and strike hard.
Which was one of the many things David was keeping a keen eye out for. There could be no leaks from the Marauders that the operation was underway.
Thus far, there had been no leaks that he could see. Not that David was surprised; if there was one thing the Marauders had in common, it was a deep hatred of the Nietzscheans.
But something was tickling in the back of David’s mind. There was a thread that he couldn’t quite see, waiting to be found and pulled. Something didn’t feel right about the arrangement with the Septhians, with the whole plan in general.
There was a piece missing, or out of place, or both.
David brought up a new set of logs. The details and content of the Old Man’s arrangement with the Septhians was not accessible to him, but the logs of the communications themselves were.
He spread out a holographic matrix and began filtering the logs into the framework, looking for patterns that only a P-Cog would spot, searching for that clue that would explain to him what was really going on.
KRUEGER’S
STELLAR DATE: 07.02.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Rika’s Quarters, Dekar Station
REGION: Outer Rim of Parsons System, Nietzschean Empire
Rika lay on her hard bed, trying not to think about the last few weeks. She had seen a lot of death over the years—a lot of it caused by her. She had watched teammates die in her arms, and witnessed the enemy cradle their dead comrades.
Somehow Jessie’s death was worse.
Jessie was just a woman trying to make the best of a shitty situation in a shitty world.
She had died because of Rika. Because Rika had let Denny—one of the most pathetic examples of humanity ever to breathe air—get the better of her.
Rika felt as though darkness was pressing at the edges of her vision, and she knew she was slipping into a deep depression.
While the Nietzscheans had pulled her compliance chip, they had left the other mental augmentations the GAF had inserted into her head.
Those augmentations had dosed her with drugs, and given all of the counseling that a non-sentient AI could provide; but it still wasn’t enough. Rika knew that she needed human companionship to help pull her out—but that was just the sort of thing that got her in this mess.
She remembered what Silva—scout team Hammerfall’s leader, and her dear friend—had told her when the war had ended: “Rika, things are going to be hard for us, maybe harder than the war. There’s no place for us out there, back with…people. But we have to try. If we shun humans…that’s when we stop being human.”
Rika and Silva had been separated by the Nietzscheans when the Genevian military had surrendered. Rika had searched long for her former team leader, but it was as though the woman had disappeared.
Rika feared that the Nietzscheans had found Silva unfit for a return to normal society, and had killed her.
She sincerely hoped that had not occurred. Silva had always struck Rika as the most well adjusted member of Hammerfall. If the Nietzscheans had found Silva unfit for reintegration, Rika couldn’t imagine how they’d given her a pass.
“Enough!” Rika said aloud, and sat up, grabbing a cloth to rub her eyes. The action sent a new wave of sadness through her.
It was the little things she missed the most. No one ever thought about how a mech, with cold steel hands—which Rika’s angular steel appendages barely counted as—couldn’t even rub their own fucking eyes!
Not unless they wanted to accidentally gouge them out.
Maybe
getting my face back was a mistake, Rika thought; not for the first time, either. The debt she was under was crushing, and the repairs from the fight with Denny and his thugs a few weeks back had pushed her under even further.
Rika had been forced to reach out to Pierce, a loan shark—no, a loan megalodon—to get the money to repair herself so that she could get to work at the docks, and slowly wear herself out for the next pending repair.
Pierce had demanded a consolidation, saying that there was no point in her being last in line to pick Rika’s sorry ass clean when she reneged on her obligations.
She had paid off all Rika’s other debtors, which had an upside: none of the small fish were going to ask for a little something extra when Pierce came around to settle up.
Of course, the downside was that Pierce pretty much owned Rika now. For all intents and purposes, Rika worked for her.
As if her existence couldn’t be any shittier.
“No!” Rika shouted. She wasn’t going to fall into this trap and cry herself to sleep again. A walk around the station—the parts of the station worth walking around—was just what she needed.
She looked at her jacket, torn from where her arm had caught on it earlier that day, and decided not to bother donning it. It had been her last piece of clothing; the loss of which contributed to her current spate of melancholy self-loathing.
Rika rose and walked the two meters from her bed to the san unit, and picked up her brush, running it through her hair, and then wiping her face clean. She reset her makeup—another expenditure she had wasted money on after getting her face back—to be a touch darker than she wore at the docks.
Satisfied with her appearance from the neck up, she examined her body, ensuring that no bits of mattress or dirt were stuck in it.
Rika allowed a small smile to grace her lips. It wasn’t all bad, if one ignored the fact that her arms and legs were hard steel, and glossed over the armor mount points on her hips, shoulders, and elsewhere; the organic portions of her body were rather attractive, the matte grey ‘skin’ the military had given her was smooth and perfect, bulging slightly where her augmented muscles rippled beneath.
“OK, Rika. Let’s go have a nice walk, look at the stars, and take our mind off what a shitbucket our life is.”
She barked a laugh. Talking aloud in the third person is probably not a good sign.
Rika left her small room and walked through the narrow passageways toward one of the larger thoroughfares with walkways along the side, and room for groundcars in the center.
When she reached the broad corridor, the station was alive with light and life as people went about their business. It had reached the end of the second shift, and everyone was enjoying as much revelry as possible before the next day’s drudgery was upon them.
Rika passed a couple wrapped in a passionate embrace. Their lips were locked together, bodies ignoring the world around them, and Rika’s thoughts flashed to Chase; he was probably still at Krueger’s, where he had invited her once again.
A maglev train screamed by, hanging from the overhead, far above the street traffic flowing around Rika, and she decided it was time. She had enough credit for one drink, and having that in the company of friends was just what she needed.
She strode down the walkway, threading her way between the other pedestrians. Most made way for her—bumping into a mech was not usually an enjoyable experience—but she had to skirt around some groups who gave her steely looks and refused to move.
Before long, Rika reached a maglev station and boarded the train that would take her to the outer docking ring where Krueger’s was located. It was close to Hal’s Hell, but not too close—which suited her just fine.
She doubted sleep would come to her tonight. Maybe after having a drink with Chase, she could start her shift early and put in some extra hours to catch up on her already-late payments to Pierce.
The maglev station where she disembarked was only one hundred meters from Krueger’s, and as she stepped out onto the docking ring, Rika could hear the boisterous revelry spilling out of the establishment.
Krueger’s was frequented by an equal number of merchant crews and locals, and it was always full of happy, and some not-so-happy, drunks. Tables surrounded the bar’s main entrance, with umbrellas over each—a silly affectation within the station, but it did serve to add a more welcoming feel.
Rika looked for Chase around the tables outside, her augmented vision scanning the patrons, and highlighting those who gave off excess heat or heavy EM fields as heavily-modded. Most had a yellow glow surrounding them, but a few were outlined in red, and Rika subconsciously cataloged their threat levels and potential responses.
Chase wasn’t outside, so Rika strode past the tables toward the entrance, catching a few catcalls.
It was nothing new. Though her nethers were still sealed under the more durable skin the military had given her—and unseen by even her in years—it didn’t change the fact that, without the jacket she’d left back in her quarters, she was essentially naked.
“Look at that!” a man called out from a nearby table. “Now that’s what I call a cargo loader!”
Rika winced, but kept walking.
Her enhanced hearing picked out the man’s voice as he turned to his friends. “Saw her working in Hal’s Hell earlier today. Imagine having her on board? Work all day, and still have enough charge for play!”
The taste of blood entered her mouth, and Rika realized she was biting her cheek. Maybe her torn jacket would have been a good idea—it didn’t typically affect the number of comments she heard, but it did cleanse the content a little.
They’d say stuff like that to anyone. It’s not because you’re a mech, she thought to herself. Don’t let it get to you, Rika.
Once inside the bar, the crush of bodies shielded her from most eyes, and she relaxed in the anonymity. She scanned the crowd and saw Chase down at the end of the bar with two of his friends—a man named Terry, and Terry’s sometimes-girlfriend, Trina.
As Rika approached, Chase caught sight of her and his face lit up with a brilliant smile—the sight of which washed away the filth she felt from the man’s comments outside the bar.
Chase rose from his stool and held out a hand to welcome her. “Rika! I was starting to think that you were allergic to something in here! Really glad you could make it.”
Terry gave her a kind smile, but Trina’s eyes narrowed and her lips formed something closer to a smirk than a smile.
“Great to see you again,” Terry said. “Chase is always talking about you, you know—all good things, of course.”
Rika saw Chase flush, and noted that his pulse had quickened.
“Well, she is amazing,” Chase said with a genuine smile, apparently going for broke. “I wouldn’t be able to survive Hal’s Hell without her around. Rika’s like my guardian angel.”
It was Rika’s turn to flush. Chase’s acceptance of her was one thing, but she didn’t think anyone had ever called her an angel.
“Thanks, Chase. I wouldn’t have made it through my first day in there without you,” she said with a small smile.
“What do you drink?” Chase asked.
“Or do you drink at all?” Trina asked with a smirk. “Other than oil, of course.”
Terry elbowed Trina, and Rika ignored the woman, determined not to lose the little high that Chase’s statements had given her.
“I’ve got enough credit for an amber ale, if they have any,” she replied.
“Rika, seriously, your money is no good here,” Chase said as he leaned over the bar and shouted for something called a Rikers Amber. “You’ll like it,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks, Chase. I really appreciate that.”
“Nonsense, Rika. I’ve been saving some credit to buy you a drink for months. These chits have been so sad, trapped in the depths of my accounts, I have to set them free.”
Rika laughed, the sound almost foreign to her ears.
“You don’t
do that enough,” Chase echoed her thoughts. “Maybe if you start coming out with me, I’ll get to hear it more. It’s certainly worth the price of a few beers.”
Rika felt her flush deepen, and a strange feeling crept into her heart. Just a sliver, but she knew what it was: happiness.
Chase bought her more drinks that night, and though her enhanced metabolism kept her from becoming drunk, she enjoyed the buzz. Terry was pleasant company as well, and even Trina kept her snarky comments to a minimum.
As the time slipped well into the third shift, Terry and Trina left, and Chase began to look tired.
“I can’t tell you how great it’s been having you here tonight, Rika,” Chase said, his words slightly slurred. “Being with you is like a dream come true.”
“Chase,” Rika said with a smile. Though her heart soared to hear his words, she demurred, “I’m nobody’s dream.”
“Are you kidding?” Chase asked, as his eyes slid down her body and up again—something that they had done a few times during the evening. It wasn’t leering; it was appreciation—something she was all too eager for him to feel.
“Rika, you’re a goddess. You’re the epitome of perfection. And I’m not just talking about your smoking hot bod…” he flushed at that, and Rika was glad that the alcohol had elicited that unfiltered comment from him.
Rika smiled. “Do go on.”
“Uh, yeah, what I mean is that there’s so much strength in you. You got dealt one of the shittiest hands ever—and I don’t even know the half of it—but you’re so strong in there.” As he spoke, Chase touched a finger to her head. Then he lowered his hand to rest above her breasts.
“And here.”
Rika leaned forward and closed her eyes, silently begging whatever stars may still care about her to show Chase what to do.
Either they were listening, or Chase didn’t need any prodding; his lips met hers, and he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. She slowly embraced him, taking care to keep any pointy or sharp edges facing outward.
They moved into a back corner of the bar, Chase pushing Rika against the wall as they continued to press against one another. Chase explored her body, commenting with a laugh that her armor mount points made for useful handles.