by M. D. Cooper
One of the guards flipped open a crate, and Rika saw a small cryopod within. He keyed in a code, and the pod’s lid split open and slid aside. Then the guards lifted her off the rack and carefully carried her to the pod.
“Shit, Rika, you’re heavy. What did you eat last night?” one of the guards asked.
“Don’t be such a pussy,” the other said as they lowered her into the pod.
“Speaking of pussy…I sure wish she had one,” the first guard said as they stood back. “Look at her. Without limbs, she looks like a little grey puppy. Stars, I’d fuck her sideways all day.”
“Shut up and—” the first guard’s words were cut short by a scuffle in the hall, and Rika peered up to see Chase burst into the room.
“Rika!” he cried out. “No, Rika—when you weren’t at the docks today…shit, Rika, they sold you!”
“Chase, please,” Rika whimpered, humiliated that Chase had seen her like this—just the shell of what was once a person.
“Hey, dickhead, get out of here,” the second guard yelled, turning to Chase and shoving him backward. “Deal’s done. She ain’t your girlfriend no more.
“Get off me!” Chase yelled and shoved back, only to get a fist in his mouth, followed by another in his solar plexus. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, his eyes locked on Rika’s.
“Go,” she mouthed the words, not trusting her voice. “Please go.”
Chase’s eyes were filled with pain, and tears formed in their corners.
“I’ll find you, Rika. I don’t care where they take you; I’ll find you and I’ll set you free. I promise!”
“Yeah, right, loverboy,” one of the guards said as he kicked Chase in the stomach. The other guard reached down and grabbed Chase by the hair, dragging him bodily into the hall.
The first guard turned back to Rika and pushed a button on the cryopod. As the lid closed, she caught one last glimpse of Chase—he had been thrown against a wall and was getting punched in the stomach.
Then Rika’s view of the first man who had ever treated her like a person was cut off, and everything went black.
THEBES
STELLAR DATE: 12.15.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Warehouse on the northeast edge of Berlin
REGION: Pyra, Albany System, Theban Alliance
Rika felt the slow return of consciousness that followed cryostasis. She had been through it before, and it was just as unpleasant as she recalled. The process was akin to becoming un-drunk over the course of thirty seconds.
As her brain began to accept stimuli from her eyes, she saw that she was in a room with a wooden ceiling. Wood. Dust. She was planetside somewhere.
Sounds reached her ears: scuffling, something being dragged around, low voices.
“This isn’t right. Does she get paid, at least? How can she be on the team if she doesn’t get paid?” one voice said. Female. Soft, but with a rasp.
“She’s not really a person, she just needs parts and power. She belongs to us now.”
The second voice was male. It was low, and even though the words were spoken softly, they still carried a deep resonance.
“Shut up, you two, she’s waking up,” said a third voice. Also male, but a touch nasal—like the owner had a sinus issue of some sort.
Rika closed her eyes and rotated her neck around, getting a feel for moving again, before opening her eyes again to see yellow eyes peering down at her from a dark-skinned face, framed by long black hair and a warm smile.
“Good morning, Rika. I’m glad you made the trip without any trouble. Sorry about the mode of transport; it gets a bit tricky to bring military hardware like you into the Theban Alliance.”
“Thebes?” Rika asked, trying to remember the Alliance’s systems and worlds.
“Yeah. We’re on Pyra, their capital world. In the Albany System.”
Rika closed her eyes and nodded, finally recalling the interstellar cartography of the Theban Alliance.
“Jerry, give me a hand here,” the woman said before looking down at Rika. “Oh, by the way, I’m Leslie. We’re glad to have you on the team.”
“Stop talking to her like she’s a person,” the deep voice said. “She’s ‘on the team’ like my rifle is ‘on the team’.”
Leslie grimaced. “You’re going to have to ignore Barne. He’s not really good at anything but shooting.”
Another face appeared over Rika, and she saw a mess of blond hair atop a grizzled face.
“Lieutenant Jerry,” he said with a nod.
“Lift your…arms, and we’ll pull you out, and get you on the rack,” Leslie added.
Rika nodded and allowed herself to be lifted out of the cryopod; though it was not as if she had much say in the matter. Not unless scurrying around on the floor and biting ankles could be considered a viable escape plan.
As they carried her to the rack, Rika confirmed that her location was indeed a warehouse; one filled with old wooden crates, amidst which appeared to be a small staging area filled with surveillance equipment and no small number of weapons.
Leslie and Jerry grunted as they lifted her high and set the rack’s hooks into her hardpoints.
Leslie gave a long exhale and leaned against the rack. “Stars, you’re heavy.”
“I’ve heard that,” Rika said. “Who are you, if you don’t mind my asking? You don’t look like the guy that bought me.”
She saw Leslie wince and give a meaningful glance at Jerry, who looked away.
From behind her, Barne, who she still hadn’t seen, gave a throaty laugh. “That was probably Gregor, our outfit’s quartermaster. He always gets us the best toys.”
She could tell that Leslie and Jerry weren’t fully comfortable with the idea of having a slave on their team—though Barne was coping with the idea easily enough by treating her as an object to be bought and used.
Rika found it ironic that of the three, his reaction was the easiest to deal with. The way Jerry and Leslie were behaving made her feel ashamed. Barne just made her angry. Anger was something she could use.
Her anger at Barne and the situation she was now in could mask the sorrow she still felt from her final moments on Dekar Station; final moments that were, for her, just minutes past. She could still hear Chase’s grunts as Pierce’s guards beat him, and the painful lump was still in her throat, threatening to unleash the type of emotional outburst that would not serve her well in her current situation.
Rika knew that she was in the midst of a professional crew. If they had any reason to believe that she would be a hindrance to their mission, they would put her right back in the cryopod. Rika would do just about anything to keep that from happening.
Strength and surety were her best allies now.
With a conscious effort, Rika pushed down her emotions and drew upon the pre-battle calm she had worked so hard to develop during the war.
She took a deep breath. “You’re a mercenary crew,” she said, peering around at the crates of weapons, munitions, and intelligence gathering equipment.
“Yes,” Leslie replied. “We’re with the Marauders. This is Team Basilisk—we’re a spec-ops group.”
Rika had learned of the Marauders not long ago. One of their recruiters had passed through Dekar looking for Genevian veterans to join the mercenary outfit. He had called Rika more than once over the Link, but she had ignored him.
For whatever good that had done.
“So, Rika,” Leslie said. “Let’s put you back together.”
“You sure that’s wise?” Barne asked. “Mechs are psychos, every one of them. We put her together, what’s to stop her from killing us?”
“Relax, Sergeant. I have the tokens for her compliance chip,” Jerry said, stepping around Rika to look her in the eyes. “But I won’t need to use them, will I, Corporal Rika?”
Rika took a deep breath, the words flowing from her mouth by rote. “No, sir. You won’t need to.”
“See?” Jerry said with a smile. “Been out awhile, but you
still remember your place.”
“If only our space force had the guts you mechs had,” Leslie said, more sympathy than admiration in her voice.
Rika snorted. “Mechs get in the fight while the spacers take flight.”
Barne barked a laugh, finally walking around to eye her from the front. “Is that what you little mechs all told yourselves?”
Rika noted that Barne looked like he sounded: a large man, dark-skinned and barrel-chested. His right arm was robotic, but skinned with a smooth metal that flowed and rippled in the light.
“Like it?” he asked, holding it up. “Lost this to a K1R that the Nietzscheans captured and turned. Fucking mechs; no real soldier would turn on his own.”
Rika wanted to tell the man that a slave has no loyalty to its owner, but knew that making such an utterance here and now would not bode well for her future.
“Seriously, Sergeant,” Leslie said, casting a caustic scowl in Barne’s direction. “Stop waving around that bullet magnet you call an arm. Give me a hand with the crates.”
“Fuck no. I still say that we do this without her. You put the tin soldier together if you think she’s so special,” Barne said as he skulked out of sight.
“Orders say we use her, so we use her,” Jerry said. “The Old Man didn’t dump millions of credits on all her hardware just to leave it—and her—in crates.”
Barne only grunted, and Jerry shook his head. Leslie opened a case, and Rika saw her legs. Leslie and Jerry carefully lifted her right leg out of the case and aligned it with the socket on the end of her thigh.
“Turn it right,” Rika said. “Yeah, like that; then push and twist.”
The pair followed her directions, and before long, both her legs were in place.
“OK,” Leslie said as she kicked open another case. “Now for your gun-arm…or, I guess it’s called a ‘multi-function weapons mount’.”
Rika chuckled. “I rather like ‘gun-arm’. But is there any chance you can give me both my regular arms right now? I can swap over to my gun arm when we need it.”
Leslie looked up at Rika. “You don’t want it?”
“I’m left-handed,” Rika replied. “That gun-arm is a left-side one…makes life miserable for me. Back in the war, I had a right-mount GNR.”
Leslie glanced at Jerry, who shrugged. “Makes sense to give her regular arms—especially if we need to go out on any more recon. A meter-long rifle barrel kinda gives you away.”
“OK,” Leslie replied. “Two regular arms coming right up.”
After a few false starts, they got both her arms on, and Leslie lowered the rack, allowing Rika to settle on her own feet.
“Thanks,” Rika said. “Feels good not to be hooked up on that thing.
“I’ll bet,” Leslie said. “We have something else for you.”
Jerry walked over to where Barne was preparing a meal, while Leslie led Rika over to another case, and flipped it open. There, with its various components set in shipping foam, was a set of SMI-2A9 armor in what appeared to be pristine condition.
The emotions that Rika felt flow within her were far different than she expected. Rather than revulsion, she suddenly wanted to be wrapped in the armor—to feel its protective shell around her, keeping her safe, making her invincible.
“You look pleased,” Leslie said quietly, her yellow eyes serious. “I wasn’t sure you would be. I—I knew a few mechs back in the war. They weren’t really happy people.”
“Not a lot of happy people in the war, if I recall,” Rika said. “Still…I know this is crazy, but I’m looking forward to putting it on.”
Leslie reached up and touched Rika’s shoulder. “We understand how…how it is to miss the war. Things were simpler then. We had our orders, we had our missions; we did what we had to. Afterward…the rules didn’t make sense anymore. It’s why we signed up for the Marauders.”
Rika nodded. She knew that all too well. As she stared down at the armor, she wondered if perhaps finding herself with this mercenary team was a good thing. Even so, a few questions burned in her mind.
“Do the Marauders often employ slaves?” she asked without equivocation.
Leslie shook her head. “No. You’re the only one…in your situation that I know of—but you’re not the only mech. There are a few others.”
Rika’s head snapped up. “Silva?”
Leslie frowned. “No. No one by that name. The ones I know the names of are Herman, Grace, Liv, and Freddie. Herman is a K1R, and the others are AM-2s and 3s. Know them?”
Rika shook her head. “No, the names don’t ring any bells.”
Leslie shrugged. “Didn’t think so. Want any help with the armor?”
“No, I got it.”
“Alright, then. We’re going to go over the mission brief with you after we eat. Based on the speed at which Jerry is burning the food, that’ll be in about fifteen minutes.
“Hey!” Jerry called out from the hot plate he was standing over.
Leslie met Rika’s eyes and smiled. “It’s going to be OK. The Old Man is a good guy. I bet that if you do a few missions, he’ll sort you out properly.”
Rika wasn’t so sure. The sort of person that bought other people wasn’t usually the type to ‘sort things out properly’.”
Leslie walked away, and Rika looked down at the armor. It was a newer model than what she had been equipped with back in the war; though the helmet was an older model.
First, she set the two pieces of armor that wrapped around her waist in place—what the women of Team Hammerfall had always referred to as the ‘corset’—and sucked in.
She had gained a bit of weight since the war, and the armor was made for someone a size or two smaller than her—but once the two sides met, they hooked onto her mount points and ratcheted into place.
Rika pulled out the chest plate and set it into place, carefully ensuring that each of her breasts was seated properly before pushing the armor down into the mounts set in her sternum and shoulders.
That was one advantage of being an SMI-2 mech; every meat the GAF had put into her model was a thin, lithe woman. It was the whole point: small women with lots of hardware, who could still function as highly mobile scouts.
The rest of the armor only took five minutes to put in place, and Rika smiled as she examined her arms—no longer seeing the raw understructure, but something that looked a bit more like a real arm, with layered plating giving it form.
She stretched up, and then side to side, lifting one knee to her chest, then the other, ensuring the fit was good. She reached down and touched her toes, and then pivoted, pushing one leg straight up into the air while grasping both her calves.
“Nice view,” Barne said, and Rika glanced over at the mercenaries, realizing that they were all staring at her.
“Fuck you,” Rika replied as she lowered her leg and stood up straight.
Just as she was now cocooned in physical armor, Rika wrapped herself in the mental armor of quick comebacks and coarse language. She was in a pack of wolves, and there was no way she was going to reveal weakness and be torn apart.
“Food’s ready,” Leslie said, gesturing to a plate of reheated MRE’s sided with a few slices of buttered bread that sat on a crate.
“You eat food?” Barne asked, as he pulled himself onto another crate and rested his plate on his lap. “I thought you mechs all took that nutricrap.”
“Yeah, I eat food,” Rika replied. “NutriPaste tastes a lot like I imagine your balls do, except it actually has substance. But I spent a decent amount of credit to get a face again, and I didn’t go through that so I can pump crap into my stomach—not like the hookers that suck you off.”
“Whatever,” Barne grunted, flushing as Jerry and Leslie laughed.
“Oh, you’re in for it,” Leslie said. “She seemed meek at first, but it looks like our Rika’s got some teeth after all.”
“We’ll see about that when we hit the shit,” Barne said. “Anyone can talk a good game. How many ki
lls you have, Rika?”
“Beats me,” Rika said. “I never counted.”
“You may not have, but the GAF did,” Jerry said around a mouthful of the meat-substance from the MRE. “What was your confirmed count?”
“Just over seventy thousand,” Rika shrugged. “But there were a lot more unconfirmed. Like I said, I never really kept track.”
Leslie made a choking sound, and Rika glanced at her to see a look of awe on the woman’s face.
“How…how did you…”
“Kill so many people?” Rika asked. “Simple. We never got days off, never got any leave. I was in for four and a half years; most days, I killed thirty Nietzscheans. You do the math.”
“Thirty a day…” Even Barne sounded impressed.
“Doesn’t work out to seventy thousand,” Jerry said. “You’re still short twenty thousand.”
Rika nodded as she took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly, savoring the fresh taste. She swallowed and said, “There were a few above average days in there. I nuked a regiment, once. That upped the count a lot.”
“Shit,” Barne whispered.
“Think she can do the job, now?” Jerry asked.
“Now I think she’s too much for the job,” Barne laughed, his deep bass voice resonating in the crates around them.
“So, what is the job?” Rika asked Jerry. “And does it get me my freedom at some point?”
“The orders didn’t say anything about your freedom, but there was a note about some sort of packet with your enlistment details. The packet wasn’t in the crates, though—could have something about working off your debt. After this job, we’ll hook back up with the regiment where you’ll get to meet the Old Man, and we’ll see.”
Rika nodded slowly. That would have to do for now. So long as Jerry had the codes to her compliance chip, it was in her best interests to take him at his word and be agreeable.
“The mission,” Jerry said, “is simple. We’re here to kill the Theban President, and as many Theban top brass and politicians as we can.