by M. D. Cooper
The doors of one of the lift cars opened, and Rika stepped in. The rage on her face, combined with the blood and filth, kept any other passengers from joining her.
She slammed a fist into the wall after the doors closed and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Niki was right. I can’t stop what they are going to do to Leslie. Not yet, anyway…
Rika bit back a response. She knew Niki was trying to help—and she was right—but it didn’t make her feel better right now.
In the end, Rika stopped at a restroom on the same floor as the mech bay and washed her face. Once the dead dancer’s remains and her own blood were scrubbed away, she returned to the mech bay—which was currently empty—and gave the autodoc a long look.
Stavros would expect to see her lacerated face repaired by morning, but the autodoc’s standard procedure would be to pull off her limbs while it ran a full diagnostic.
Niki scolded.
“So autodoc’s out. Options, options…” Rika muttered aloud.
The bay contained everything a platoon of mechs would ever need: mech-racks, weapons, supplies, nutripaste, field kits…
Field kits!
Rika strode over to the racks where the field kits lay and searched through them. Most were for armor and structural repair.
There have to be some subdermal repair kits for musculature… Rika remembered a medic back in the war saying that the kits were the same ones used for skin repair, just more powerful.
After rifling through all the kits, Rika finally found one with subdermal meshes. She grabbed a package, carefully peeled off the backing, and took a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing,” she braced herself and slapped it on her cheek.
Searing pain tore through her face, and she realized why these kits weren’t normally used on parts of the body with so many nerve endings.
The pain abated, and Rika was wondering if the kit had already done its job when Niki spoke up.
Rika blushed. She hadn’t even thought to ask for Niki’s help with the pain.
She did her best to ignore the unpleasant—though now painless— sensation of the patch stitching her cheek back together.
She busied herself with cleaning up the mess she’d made rifling through all the field kits. Then she poured herself a glass of water from the bottles she had secured the night before and rinsed out her mouth a few times before resigning herself to the fact that there was nothing to be done for her swollen tongue for the time being.
Just like the bay didn’t stock water, it also didn’t have any real food—Rika was the only one operating out of the bay who had a mouth. She couldn’t go down to the level’s galley with the patch on her face, so she sat at the table with the feeder tubes, and hooked one up to the port on her stomach.
It had been some time since Rika had taken in sustenance through the port, and her stomach grumbled as the feeding system filled it past full.
“Dumb thing needs an off switch,” Rika griped and clenched her stomach muscles. The feeder detected max pressure and stopped, detaching from the port on her stomach.
“Surprised you still kept the port,” Aaron commented upon entering the mech bay and seeing Rika replacing the access plate on her armor.
“Back when I was on Dekar, all I could afford some days was paste. Better to put it in that way than down the throat; you have no idea how bad it tastes.”
Aaron chuckled. “The one reason to be glad to not have a mouth.”
“Hey, so I learned that Stavros found a lot of his mechs in some repair facility that the GAF abandoned. Is that true?” Rika asked.
Aaron nodded as he walked to one of the mech-racks and backed toward it. “Yeah. I wasn’t one of those, though. I got picked up by a recruiter that was a bit misleading about what I was getting into.”
“I had a number of offers like that,” Rika empathized. Hell, that’s nearly how I got into this whole lifestyle.
“Scuttlebutt says you were with the Marauders,” Aaron shared as the rack’s automated systems detached his legs.
“Yeah, I got picked up at auction.”
“Auction? That’s rough.”
“Why are you racking?” Rika asked as she watched the armatures pull off Aaron’s arms and set them aside.
He gave a resigned sigh. “One of the lieutenants at the Residence got pissed at me and told me to go rack myself. It’s sort of his go-to insult for us. Added benefit for him is how we actually have to go do it.”
It broke Rika’s heart to see Aaron so accepting of his fate. He was completely broken; so used to following orders without question that he never even tried to fight them anymore. He was just a shell. He really had become nothing more than the meat in the machine.
“Aaron,” Rika sighed. “Get off the rack.”
The system had removed his helmet, and Rika could make out a crease on his forehead as he frowned. “What are you talking about, Rika? I have orders. I have to follow them.”
Rika felt something break inside herself—or maybe it was something snapping into place. Either way, she realized there was more for her to do here than to just rescue a few people and kill a dictator.
She rose from her seat and walked across the bay to where Aaron hung from the hard points on his back. Rika stared into his eyes; the sad eyes of a defeated man.
“What are you, Aaron?” she asked, her tone soft.
Without the speaker on his armor, Aaron had no way to give an audible reply.
“Are you a machine?” Rika pressed. “Or do you have a soul?”
Rika didn’t find out what Aaron was going to ask, because she took a step back and punched him in the face. It wasn’t hard enough to break anything or split apart his pseudo skin, but she knew it hurt.
She drew close to him, her nose touching the small lump on his face that was all that remained of his. “How does that make you feel? Do you feel? What are you, Aaron?”
Rika jammed her finger into his chest. “Is there a heart in here? Does it still beat, or did they take that out too, along with your spirit?”
“Being a mech isn’t shame,” Rika reminded him, her voice filled with both rage and pride. “It’s not weakness. It is strength and power! We are what they cannot be. We are the best of the best—but only if we choose it. Right now, you’re nothing but what they tell you. Your worth is no more than a tool in a fool’s hand. Is that what you want to be forever? Are you happy being someone’s wrench?”
Rika’s arm shot out, and she grabbed Aaron’s shoulder. “Then don’t be! You’re a man; a strong, powerful man. You have the will to fight, now use it! Get. Off. The. Rack!”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Rika thought she saw a bit of fire behind them. Not enough.
“I know you’re a cunning warrior, because you’ve survived this long,” Rika reasoned. “But you’ve forgotten how to use your mind. You’ve allowed yourself to relax into being a slave. Did the lieutenant order you to spend the rest of your life on the rack?”
“Is it tim
e for your designated charge cycle? Do you need repairs?”
Rika leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Aaron’s, letting her long blonde hair fall around them. In the shrouded light, all she could see were his eyes.
Her voice was low and hoarse. “You’re a free man if you want to be. Now get off the rack.”
Rika stepped back and stared at Aaron, her jaw set, and her eyes narrowed. Aaron had to get off the rack. She needed to see it as much as he needed to do it. Somehow, she felt responsible for the mechs under Stavros’s control. There was no other option. She had to free them all.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed in return, and he slammed his head back against the support bar. The automated system began to put his limbs back on—first his legs, and then his arms. A minute later, Aaron stepped off the rack.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Rika prompted quietly. “You’re nobody’s slave.”
“What does it matter?” Aaron demanded, now that he had his voice back. “This doesn’t change anything. It’s a loophole.”
Rika took a step forward and placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “They’ve grown lax in how they use Discipline; they don’t understand it like the GAF did. They use it to punish, but they are not specific in their commands. Discipline uses your belief of whether or not you’re following orders as much as anything else.”
“Still, they can punish us if they want,” Aaron argued.
“Well, tomorrow it ends,” Rika stated firmly, then switched to the direct Link that Niki had facilitated through their touch.
THE STORM BEFORE
STELLAR DATE: 04.04.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Basileus Residence, The Isthmus, Sparta
REGION: Peloponnese System, The Politica, Praesepe Cluster
When Rika walked into the Residence’s private lounge, Leslie was already there. Rika bit her cheek to keep from saying anything as she took in the vision of her teammate and friend.
It was now clearly Leslie standing at the far end of the room; the prosthetics on her face had been removed, though the ears and tail remained. Around her neck was a gleaming silver collar, with a chain stretching between it and a ring that was set into the floor. Matching cuffs were around her wrists and ankles, and she still wore the black dress from the night before.
Despite her circumstances, Leslie stood ramrod straight. Her eyes were bright and hard. A pair of Stavros’s goons stood on either side of her, and an AM-3 mech beside each of them—Aaron and John, Rika realized as she approached her friend.
“Don’t look so sad, Rika,” Leslie said with a sly smile. “I’ve been through worse than whatever Stavros can throw at us.”
Rika glanced down at the chain running from Leslie’s neck to the floor. “Really? Worse than this, with a compliance chip in your head?”
Leslie shrugged. “I’ve been around a long time, Rika. If you take the chip out of the equation, this is the third time I’ve been in this exact same situation.”
Rika smiled, emboldened by Leslie’s calm. “You really were quite amazing last night. I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
“I wasn’t always a soldier,” Leslie informed her. “I’m closing in on three hundred; I’ve done a lot of things with my years.”
“Stop talking to the prisoner,” one of the goons grunted.
“Are you talking to me or her?” Leslie asked. “Last I checked, we’re both prisoners. From what I hear, you’re chipped, too. Doesn’t that make you a prisoner? Sounds to me like that order could have been for yourself.”
The man raised his hand to hit Leslie, but Rika caught his wrist before he could begin his downswing. “Stavros’s orders. She’s not to be hurt before she performs tonight. Or do you want to explain why her jaw is broken and she can’t delight his daughter?”
The man pulled his hand back, and Rika gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “There’s a good slave. Always doing what you’re told. I bet you miss having balls.”
“Leslie?” a small voice edged in from behind them, and Rika turned to see Amy entering the room. The girl stood stock-still, a look of shock on her face. “Why…? What are you…? You’re chained to the floor.”
“Come here,” Leslie said and knelt with her arms spread wide.”
To her credit, Amy didn’t hesitate. She rushed across the room and fell into Leslie’s arms.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Amy said, her voice muffled as she burrowed into Leslie’s neck. “But you shouldn’t be here…father.”
“ ‘Father’ what?” Stavros’s voice boomed from the room’s entrance. “Father has done what he must to protect this family and The Politica.”
Amy turned to look at Stavros with more fire in her eyes than Rika had ever seen there before. “What have you done?” she demanded. “Why have you chained her?”
“Mostly for show. I’m not certain she’s housebroken, yet,” Stavros dismissed with a laugh. “Do you like her, Amy? You always said you wanted a cat.”
Amy’s face reddened. “Father! She’s a person, not a pet!”
Stavros shook his head. “Amy, you’ve lived with me for some time now. Surely you understand that I decide who is really a person. Other than you and me, everyone here has a chip in their head, and they’ll do whatever I say.”
“I’m surprised that C319 isn’t here,” Rika observed. “I would’ve thought you’d want her to watch this.”
Stavros locked his steely gaze on her. “You really do have a sharp mind, Rika. Yes, I do want her here. She’ll be along presently, she just had to fetch something.”
“Does it get boring?” Rika wondered aloud. “Having everyone at your beck and call all the time?”
Stavros touched a finger to his chin and looked at the ceiling contemplatively. “Hmmm…no. No, I don’t think it does. I mean…I have you, Rika. You’re always arguing and questioning; I’ll admit it’s refreshing, but I know you’ll still do as you’re told in the end. That’s the part I like the most.”
Rika looked down at Leslie, who still held Amy in her arms, and heaved a sigh. Barne hadn’t reached out with the codes yet, and time was running short. If she couldn’t get them, she’d just have to kill Stavros and hope for the best. She could at least get these two out and come back for Silva afterward—so long as no one gave Leslie any orders she couldn’t deny.
Leslie gave Amy a kiss and rose. “Am I to perform for you, or do we just have to listen to you posture forever? It’s really tiring, you know.”
“Why not,” Stavros shrugged, and fell back onto a sofa, spreading his arms along its back. “Amy, sit with me. Rika, why don’t you pour me a glass of wine?”
Amy slouched to the sofa and sat beside her father while Rika walked to the sideboard and pulled a bottle from the chiller beneath. As she selected a glass, Leslie began to sing.
It was a haunting ballad; a song about a woman who was lost in the woods at night, being pursued by a nameless fear. It chased her across hill and vale, and the woman ran until her feet were ragged.
She came to a cliff and could run no further. At that point, the woman finally mustered the courage to look back and see what chased her, only to find that it was herself; a vision of what she believed she should be, but could never attain. Her belief in a perfection that she could never reach had nearly become her undoing.
The woman found a sword in her hands, and struck down the false vision that her fear of failure told her she should be. Then the dark forest and the terrifying night fell away.
She found herself standing in a peaceful glade in full daylight, and the woman realized she already was what she needed to be, but she had to believe in herself.
As Leslie sang, Rika watched Amy’s face—rapt with wonder as the words of the song sank in, moved to tea
rs when the woman in the song faced her fears.
When Leslie finished, Stavros rose and clapped slowly. “You are truly a treasure, Leslie. I wonder why you’ve chosen to be a soldier; surely, you could travel the stars and entertain billions. Maybe that’s what I’ll do with you. I imagine you could bring in a healthy revenue stream for The Politica.”
“No, father,” Amy pleaded, rising and clasping Stavros’s hand. “I want her to stay with us.”
The dictator looked down at his daughter, no sign of love present in his eyes. “We’ll see how this evening turns out, Amy. There are some lessons I’m going to teach you. Today begins your journey of becoming my proper scion. One that will serve the goals of The Politica.”
As he rested a hand on Amy’s head, a sound at the door caught Rika’s attention. She saw Silva enter, dragging something behind her. It took a moment for Rika to understand what she was seeing.
“Chase!” Rika cried, and dropped the glass of wine she still held before she leapt over the sofa and dashed to his side.
He was conscious; that much she could tell, as his one eye swiveled and locked onto her. The other was swollen shut, and his lips were also swollen. He groaned, and Rika saw that his right arm was broken and dangling awkwardly behind his back.
Rika didn’t respond. She didn’t want to hear another word from her former CO.
She reached out to touch Chase and made a direct Link with him.
Chase fed her a data stream over the direct link.
Niki reported.
“The rest of your crew won’t make it far,” Stavros assessed from behind Rika. “Maybe I’ll just chip them all; you make a good team. Better yet, I’ll turn them all into mechs. Chase here already needs a new arm; he’d make a good AM-3, or maybe a K1R.”