by Liam Clay
“Shows what you know. A few words from me, and they’ll be up and prepping for takeoff.”
“I would very much like to see that.”
“No problem.” Cupping her hands to her mouth, Calendo shouts, “Let's go get you bastards paid!”
This single statement is enough to make Lucy look rather foolish. Within seconds, the airfield is alive with drunken activity. Dozens of mercs stagger into the command center, emerging moments later with drums of fuel, which they proceed to roll toward their planes. Amy looks impressed.
“How long?”
“We can be airborne in an hour. So I suggest that you say your goodbyes and get your stuff.”
“Slaves don't have stuff.” Amy points out.
“Whatever. Just be back here in an hour or we're leaving without you.”
.
While the others go to collect Delez, I head back to the docks outside the Sun. The stage is empty now, and the crowd has dispersed. Nem is nowhere to be seen. But his deputies are standing beside the canal, tossing discarded armor and broken blades into the water. I walk over to join them.
“How did the rest of Nem’s speech go?”
“That depends on your point of view.” Belinda replies.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Well, after you left, he latched onto the idea of attacking the Outpost.”
“He said that all trace of the slave trade needed to be wiped out.” Bruin adds. “Or it might come creeping back in.”
Now Peppin picks things up. “My friends are saying that our leader is going to war, leaving us to manage things here while he's gone. How do you feel about that?”
I look from one face to the next.
“Don't tell anyone this, but I couldn't be happier.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I put Nem in charge because these people need a larger-than-life character to rally behind. But that doesn't mean he would have been any good at ruling. You guys will do a much better job. So as long as you're cool with letting that blind mute albino hog all the glory, I say let him have at it. Plus, he's not wrong about the Outpost. Slavery is like a virus, and that place is a host. Oh, and you will need control of the Stormline to get food and supplies out here too.”
Belinda sighs. “We were afraid you were going to say that. But fine. We will support him in this campaign. But if he makes a habit of violence, I will not stand for it.”
“Perfect. If Nem ever turns into a warmonger - out of boredom, most likely - someone needs to reel him in.”
“Maybe we could just get him one of those virtual shunts.” Bruin says. “That way he can kick some fake ass whenever he gets the itch.”
“Sure. Or you could set up a real martial arts league, and let him compete in that. I think I know an announcer who is looking for some commentating work.”
Belinda raises her hand hesitantly. “I know this is going to sound strange, but could we build another battle circus too? I actually really liked the fights. It was the not getting paid part that I took issue with.”
“If that's what you want. Just make sure you put an ex-acrobat in charge. Someone who will make sure the performers are treated fairly, and can retire whenever they want.”
Belinda nods. “I will.”
“Good, that's settled then. Which brings me to why I came here in the first place. We're, ah, leaving.”
Bruin rolls his eyes. “Yes, we know. What do you want, tears?”
“Well... no, I suppose not. What I mean is that we’re leaving right now.”
“Oh. Why so soon?”
“Our friend is sick. We need to take him somewhere he can get help. Speaking of which, you’ll probably want to train some doctors of your own.”
“Will you quit micro-managing us?” Belinda says crossly. “We're going to be fine.”
“Sorry. Anyway, I guess this is it. Time to go our separate ways.”
Bruin surprises everyone (including himself, I suspect) by initiating a group hug. And then I'm waving goodbye.
CHAPTER 25
I return to Calendo's airfield well within the allotted time. But her mercs are already moving their aircraft into position. My friends arrive carrying Delez a few minutes later. His condition has worsened since I last saw him. Sweat glistens on his brow, and he is taught as a bowstring.
Calendo swaggers up to us from out of the crowd; but when she sees Delez, her body language changes. Maybe the woman is less of a sociopath than she would have us believe. Recovering, she says, “Your boy ain't looking so good. I was going to take a bubble bath in the canal before we left, but I guess I can cancel it.” She points to a spitfire parked behind the command center (which is currently being packed up).
“That's my 2IC’s ride over there. His gunner died in the fighting, so you can put your friend in the empty seat.”
Calendo is about to turn away, but Peace grips her hand before she can.
“Anex hates your guts, and it sounds like you've got a lot to answer for. But if you can help save my husband, I will have your back forever.”
The merc looks almost flattered. “If literally anyone else had said that to me, I would have laughed in their faces. But I've been a Peace fan since way before the Live Soldier started broadcasting his little show. So I will do what I can for your hubby. Which right now means getting the hell out of here.”
And with that, she starts to assign us to spitfires. Amy, Francis, Lucy and Peace all get gunner's seats behind merc pilots. But Tikal gets a spitfire of her very own.
“What do you think?” Calendo asks, pointing to a freshly painted plane with crimson wings. And Tikal's reaction makes me dislike the mercenary even more. I doubt I’ve ever made my girlfriend half as happy. Laughing like a schoolgirl (a term I never expected would apply to her) she climbs up to the forward cockpit.
“It looks brand new!” She exclaims. “Where did you find it?”
“Inside a barn outside a shithole town even you will never have heard of. After Korezon disbanded the RDC, I kind of developed an obsession with tracking them down. My men think it's a nostalgia thing, but I just love flying them, you know? And so did you, once.”
I'm feeling more forlorn by the second, until Tikal looks at me with shining eyes.
“Want a ride, hotstuff?”
I give her a grin. “Thought you'd never ask.”
As I climb up after her, Calendo says, “I still can't believe it. The infamous ballcrusher herself, all loved up. I hope monogamous bliss hasn't dulled your reflexes.”
Tikal laughs. “Are you kidding me? Battles follow Anex around like lost puppies. I'm sharper than ever. And by the way, I refuse to endure a best friend / boyfriend rivalry for my attention. So if you two could nip this developing tension in the bud, that'd be swell.”
“Hey! If me and the wannabee cyborg want to engage in some childish one-upmanship, there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. Isn't that right, Anex?”
“Up yours, lady.”
“That's the spirit! Now get in the fucking plane. Although you might want to empty your bladder first.”
“How come?”
“Actually, there's no time. Alright people, get your hands off your dicks and onto your joysticks. We leave in five!”
Tikal pulls a lever, and both carapaces slide back. The seats are a terracotta shade of pristine leather. I'd expected them to be surrounded by jungles of instrumentation, but the controls are incredibly simple. The pilot's cockpit consists of the aforementioned joystick, an altimeter, and very little else. Mine is even more austere. In fact, it is completely empty except for a bead of black glass hovering in space at eye level. Reading my face, Tikal says, “They may look like antiques, but these planes are as advanced as anything in the skies today. Although that isn't saying much.”
“What about those Null dragonflies? They seemed pretty futuristic.”
But Tikal is already climbing into her seat. I do the same, hampered only slightly by my dead prosthetic. T
he leather molds itself to my frame. Then the black bead turns an angry shade of red. A laser shoots from it, stabbing straight into my remaining eye.
“Uh, Tikal...”
“That's the plane's targeting system, calibrating to your eye. Just sit back and let it happen.”
The laser finishes its scan and winks out again. Tikal fires the engines a few seconds later. The spitfire sounds exactly like it did in countless films about the Regional Defense Corps. I often forget that Tikal was part of that legendary outfit. But this brings the fact crashing home.
“Hey, honey?”
“Yes?” She replies over the comm.
“You are bad to the goddamn bone.”
“Listen to this one, always with the sweet talk. Now hold onto your bladder.”
“How would I go about doing that?”
She punches both turbines. The plane surges forward, and my back slams into the seat. The g-force is like nothing I've ever felt. The crater is ripped away, and now we're airborne. Tikal is shouting with pure joy. My own reaction lies somewhere between exultation and terror. Then she pulls up into a vertical loop. My heart is driven into my stomach, eyeballs flattening, arms pinned to the leather. And now we're barrel rolling into a dive toward the sea.
“I hate you so much right now!” I shout over the roaring engines.
“Nah, you love me like crazy!”
“I think I'm going to be sick.”
“Well, if you insist... I suppose we can stop.”
Through the carapace, I see her slam the joystick forward. The turbines swing around, and we come to a halt in mid-air about ten meters above the waves.
“How's your bladder?” Tikal asks with poorly concealed glee.
“Much emptier now, thanks for asking.”
“You're welcome. God, I missed this. These machines are the best thing to come out of the entire Korezon dynasty, if you ask me.”
“I might agree with you if my pants weren't liberally soaked in urine.”
“Don't worry, pissing yourself the first time up was a hallowed Regional Defense Corps tradition. Hey look, here comes Arella.”
Turning, I see a grime-streaked spitfire shoot over the pyramid's outer wall.
“How do you know it's her?”
“Because she washes her plane even less than her helmet. When she was my gunner, we were always the dirtiest thing in the skies.”
Banking hard to the left, Calendo sketches a loop around the Stormline just for the hell of it. Then her voice comes on over the comm.
“Did the cyborg do a tinkle?”
But my attention has been pulled away by a truly awesome sight. Sixty spitfires have just cleared the pyramid, flying in a triple V formation that looks like stacked chevrons on a military uniform. The sun shines off the aircraft, turning their carapaces a brilliant white, and suddenly I can understand what it must have felt like to be part of the RDC.
“We call that formation a wing.” Tikal explains. “And each individual V is a squadron of twenty. Those will be the more junior pilots. The vets get to fly solo and have some fun.”
“That's right.” Calendo chimes in. “Technically, I should have made your girlfriend form up with the other recruits. But my good nature got the better of me. Race you to the Kogi space station, Teeks?”
“You're on.”
And now we're burning through the skies, weaving in and around Calendo. To our right, the wing casts a great shadow across the sea. After so long trapped within the confines of Ninetown, this feels like proper freedom.
Five minutes into our journey, my prosthetic comes back online.
“Hey, I've got two arms again.”
“That's a relief.” Tikal replies. “We must have passed outside the Hawks' dampening field.”
“You're right, it is a relief. But losing it was a good reminder that it isn't really part of me. And that in reality, only my mind truly is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm not sure I can articulate it.”
“Have a go. Calendo just shared a flight path with the group, and it says we've got a few hours.”
“Alright, I'll try. The old Designer created my body. It wasn’t natural to begin with, and every time I lose an appendage or gain a robotic one, I diverge even further from baseline. But none of that has altered the core of who I am. And so I would argue that my entire body is just a tool. I'm emotionally attached to it, sure - but at the end of the day, I could survive its loss. And that is what the Designer was really chasing. Humanity isn't going to evolve by embracing new, tech-enhanced bodies. We will do it by acknowledging that our bodies are just means to an end. It's only our minds that really matter.”
“So you're saying that if I get super fat, you will still love me for who I am?”
“Yes. And if your body gets sick and needs replacing, I will love the new version of you just as much. Although that being said, your current body is totally banging - so feel free to keep it for a good long while.”
“I'll see what I can do. But what do you mean, replacing?”
“The Designer figured out how to upload a version of his mind into a new body. That's how we got Amy. So there must be a way for other people to do it too.”
“But Amy thinks of herself as a different person.”
“That doesn't mean she is, though.”
“Whoa, hold on. Are you saying that Amy is the same Designer who forced you to commit genocide in the American Hex? And the same one who sent you on a suicide mission to kill Korezon?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why does she think of herself as a distinct individual?”
“Maybe because she wants to be one. Tikal, have you ever wished you could change how the world sees you? I know I have. And that's exactly what I did, when the opportunity presented itself. My personality hasn't changed since the day we met, when I was still pushing drugs to garbage celebrities. I've just decided to act upon my lighter impulses instead of the darker ones, and that has changed how people react to me.”
“And you think Amy was looking for that same opportunity?”
“Who knows - I'm making all of this up on the spot. But it makes sense. Amy's body has nothing to do with who she is, but it represented a chance to become the person she wanted to be. And I think she might have taken it.”
We both fall silent after that, mulling over our conversation. It's strange, how half-formed ideas can sit latent inside your head, and then emerge fully realized when you least expect it. If only someone would invent a machine that lets you converse with your subconscious mind. I'm sure mine would have shitloads to say.
CHAPTER 26
We continue on at Mach 95 or something like that. But maintained speed is similar to none at all, and it doesn't take long for the waves to start looking the same. To occupy myself, I try to blink on the targeting bead floating in front of me. A simple two fast, one slow cadence activates it, and a 3D hologram of our vicinity appears in the cockpit around me. The targeting bead represents us, and the other spitfires are depicted in green. Tikal must be able to see what I'm doing, because she starts to give me instructions.
“The targeting bead uses eye tracking to aim, but the fire commands are verbal. Just say 'guns' for bullets, and 'stop' when you're done. 'Bomb' is for missiles. But the real skill is defense. Bullets move too fast for the eye to track, but missiles are doable if you're quick. Say 'flack' to release screening measures in the direction you're looking.”
“Got it. And I have to say, it sounds pretty fun.”
“I would wait until you've been through a dogfight before you pass judgment. But it's the best firing system I've ever come across, that’s for sure. Spitfires have an insanely high kill to death ratio.”
As the minutes tick by, my thoughts turn back to Amy. How will she handle meeting Balthazar in person for the first time? And then, selfishly, I clock onto a fact that I hadn't fully absorbed until now. In a few short hours, I am going to see the wreck of the Kogi space s
tation with my own one eye. And the interstellar craft the Null have been working so hard to replicate. Forgetting all else, I turn my gaze to the horizon ahead.
The hours pass, and the ocean grows shallower. The water is calmer as well, and of a sapphire color reminiscent of the virtual archipelago I still visit in dreams. Through the rippling waves, I glimpse a bone-white graveyard of bleached coral reef. This is it: the place Balthazar described to us the night before the Burnflow battle. I feel like a pirate with a treasure map, following the dotted line as it spirals in toward the X.
And now, the station comes into view. It is a great broken wheel over a kilometer across, resting in pieces on the sea floor. And inside it is a glittering white teardrop of a craft. It looks exactly as I’d imagined an interstellar ship would: sleek and minimal, mysterious and coldly beautiful. Aside from the circular hole that cleaves its core, the thing looks ready to take off.
The only surprise is its size. Once assembled, the Null ship we helped produce will be orders of magnitude larger than the vessel below us. Tikal is obviously thinking the same thing, because she says, “The Architect must be planning to build a larger engine based on the blueprints of that one.”
“Probably. Where are we supposed to land, though?”
“Anywhere we like.” Tikal replies. Guiding the spitfire into a slow descent, she brings us down toward the water. Our nose plows through a wave, sending up a curling wall of spray. The fuselage hits next, and then we're settling into the sea. Calendo drops in beside us. The sixty plane wing lands further out. Tikal pops our carapaces, and I suck in a lungful of salty air.
“What now?” Tikal asks Calendo over the comm.
“Now, we wait. The Kogis will be along soon enough. This is a well-run operation; they'll have had us on radar the whole way in.”
I'm looking around, trying to guess where the Kogis will come from, when a strange sea creature catches my eye. It is tubular in shape, about three meters long, and transparent in its entirety. Pointed feelers sprout from its nose, and jets surge from the rear, propelling it forward at alarming speed. A purplish glow plays over its length, partially obscuring the form cocooned within. The creature floats up under our left wing, and stops. Now that it's stationary, I see that the shape inside is actually a person. The feelers are weapons of some kind, and the jets are a propulsion system. I’m looking at a one man submarine.