The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2)

by J. S. Harbour

  She held a hand up to wave him away. “Yeah . . . fine . . . just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  “Ready to shut down all power if you still want to, captain,” Phix said from the engineering console he had brought up at his rear station.

  “No . . . I think we’re okay now, no need to go silent.”

  She paused for a moment, leaning back in her chair with eyes closed. Everyone sat quietly for long seconds. She said with a calm voice, “Okay, that’s it, I’m sick of that bastard. We’re going to take his ship.”

  “Wow,” Cyril gasped.

  “I like the sound of that!” Locke said.

  “How?” Phix said from the rear of the bridge.

  “We’re going to surrender and bait him to dock with us. Phix, what do you make of that robot thing? Is it damaged or just unpowered or . . . what?”

  “No idea. I’ll have to take a look at it,” Phix said.

  “Get to it. Let me know as soon as possible. If that thing is salvageable, it will make a more compelling prize.”

  “Okay.” Phix headed through the rear hatch and down the stairwell to the cargo hold, which also doubled as the engine room, rec room, and mess hall.

  The comm system beeped. Reilly steeled herself for another confrontation with her old captain. Although, with a corporation involved, he had been more like a manager. When he went rogue, they had all become corporate fugitives in a stolen ship. She tapped the button.

  “Nice maneuver, Reilly. Very nice, indeed! I’ll have to remember that one. Of course, you realize, this isn’t a one-shot popgun. Next time, you won’t have the range . . . you’ll be dust raining down on Luna City. So, how about you play nice and kill your goddamn engines before I blow you out of the fucking sky!”

  Reilly shivered. “God dammit, I hate that bastard!”

  “You’re right.”

  “Huh? What was that?” Reilly asked.

  “I said, you’re right, captain,” Locke growled. “Take his ship, then throw him out the airlock! I’ll do it myself. It would be a pleasure.”

  Reilly hit a button, and the console beeped. “Okay, okay, dammit! Don’t fire! We surrender!”

  They heard ambient bridge sounds from the other ship. Finally, Drake answered. “That’s more like it. Prepare to be boarded. And Reilly . . . don’t fuck with me. I want that artifact,” and he broke the channel.

  Reilly stood and rubbed her hands together. “Alright, people, let’s get prepared. The airlock has a double lock so we can’t just wait for them to enter it and blow them into space. We need to take Drake first. I don’t give a shit about his crew, but good money says they’re loyal. So here’s what we’re gonna do. Jazdie . . . have you ever done an EVA?”

  Minutes later, Reilly jogged back to the cargo hold, followed by the other three.

  “Over here, Jazdie,” Locke said, walking toward the opposite bulkhead.

  The cargo hold on the Black Dahlia was the largest open space on the ship. Crates of various sizes lined the walls and ceiling, held firmly with grav plates.

  “Phix, what’ve we got?” Reilly said.

  “Huh?” Phix said, glancing toward her and Cyril standing nearby. He had the biped-looking thing strapped to the table, and it was open at the abdomen and skull. Phix was wearing a white lab coat and augmented reality glasses, giving him the look of a modern Dr. Frankenstein.

  “We’ve got what I suspected: an early-model AI mobile suit.”

  “What’s . . . uh . . .” Cyril stammered.

  “AI mobile suit?” Phix finished.

  “Yeah, that.”

  Phix wiped his hands on his chest. “They started turning up in major cities about ten years ago, attracting a lot of attention around the time when all the government secrets were being massively leaked to the public. Surely you saw them on the news?”

  “They thought it was a hacker group,” Reilly said, “ONI, that is. That was their best theory at the time. We know now, of course, that it was a Seerva AI. I had a friend at ONI who trusted me with some classified cases, due to my relationship with a . . . um, never mind the details.”

  “ONI?” Locke inquired.

  “Office of Naval Intelligence,” Cyril said.

  “So this guy here, Phix? What’s the story?” Reilly asked.

  “It’s fully functional. I mean, that’s why it’s strapped down,” Phix said.

  “Whoa! Why didn’t you say so?” Reilly said, stepping back from the table.

  “Keep your panties on,” Phix said, which drew a violent stare from Reilly. “There’s no operating system. It’s in a low-power RFC state. And, there’s no point fiddling around in here,” he said, slapping the skull and abdominal panels closed, “because I don’t have any idea what makes this thing tick.”

  Reilly mentally counted to ten, eyes on the ceiling. She was considering whether to keep Phix on the crew at their next port. They didn’t have another engineer, but he was too socially inept to be on a small ship with a small crew. She finally said, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, staring at her chest—which caused Reilly to roll her eyes and fold her arms—“that the electronics and motors are a complete mystery. Nothing inside this thing makes sense. It might as well be animated by evil spirits for all I know. And, before you say anything, I have an engineering degree from Cal-Tech and worked on the software for the SF-100, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  And now you’re on this crappy little freighter with us, Cyril thought, so what does that say about your fancy degree?

  “So, can it be powered up?” Reilly said, running out of patience already.

  “Didn’t I just explain that? Jesus Christ on a skateboard—”

  Reilly looked at Cyril with a dumbfounded expression. “You really are an unbelievable prick, Phix. You know you have to live with other people here, right? This isn’t your personal fucking ship, is it?”

  Cyril laughed. “Maybe I should call Jazdie over—”

  “That’s quite alright!” Phix said, and he looked across the hold toward the suit locker. “Dammit, I should have stayed at Kepler! What was I thinking, coming out here on this piece of junk . . . with you back alley dumpster diving—”

  “Jazdie, can you—”

  “Okay! God dammit!” Phix squealed, “fucking—”

  Reilly leaned her head back and laughed loudly. When she was done, Jazdie and Locke had returned and everyone was staring at her. Reilly said, “You just won’t shut-the-fuck-up, will you, Phix? You just can’t help yourself, can you? How did you ever work on a government contract? No, never mind, I don’t care.”

  Jazdie was suited up with full EVA gear, with the faceplate raised. “Did I miss something?”

  Reilly was fuming. She poked Phix in the chest. “Listen to me, you prickly son-of-a-bitch. You’re going to monitor the engines, and the reactor, and our control systems. And if anything goes wrong when we encounter that bastard out there,” and she pointed toward the bulkhead, “I will personally put you out the airlock with the rest of the trash. It won’t be murder because you can’t kill a little piece of shit, can you?”

  Reilly looked around. “I won’t lose any sleep, either. I have no qualms about it. You’re becoming a threat to this crew, endangering out lives. If you don’t step up and get with the program, you might not survive long enough to make it back to port.”

  Phix skulked away in the general direction of the engine room, swearing under his breath.

  Locke shook his head and smiled as Phix left. “Unbelievable. Now you have me worried, captain. And I’m not sure that was such a great idea right at this moment.”

  Reilly rolled her eyes. “So, you ready to go, Jazdie?”

  “Captain, let me go instead,” Locke said. “I have the training. I can—”

  “I know, Locke. You should be going. But I need you on the bridge!”

  “I’ll be fine!” Jazdie chimed, “I’ve logged dozens of hours in zero gee, helping my dad repair the old d
ome.”

  Reilly’s watch beeped. “That’s it, people, they’re approaching. Get into position.”

  Chapter 4

  Concerning Fallout

  I’m still in shock. Whatever just happened, my friend, Brad was there. I could tell from his voice that he was seeing something live, not just watching a screen.

  I raced home from downtown to find no one home. Cell towers jammed, couldn’t reach anyone—not Mom, Dad, Lena, Brad, or anyone at all. I’m not sure where Brad is now but he seemed to be near ground zero, based on his reaction over the phone. It didn’t sound like he was in Kansas City.

  Oh, right . . . tech conference. Said he was in San Jose. We haven’t hung out in a few weeks. That’s the first I’d heard from him since last month.

  I went by Lena’s place on the way—no one there, either.

  If I wasn’t worried before, I am worried now after that strange interview with the recruiter—Ortega. I stopped by my apartment but none of the usual gang—mutual friends on campus—were there. That surprised me. We usually had at least one bum crashed on the couch in our small but friendly apartment.

  I headed to the family home. When I arrived, there was a note on the fridge from Dad, saying he was going to the church for a vigil. Of course. But I can’t fault him for it, lots of people need him right now. At least I know where he is. As for Howie and Leslie, they could be anywhere, and I’m sure they weren’t in California since neither had any reason to be there. It would still be nice to know they’re okay, though.

  The cable news channels were more reliable than the wireless. Looked like the net was taking a hit.

  I dropped onto the couch and turned on the TV. Most of the news shows had talking heads going on about the nuke and about US military preparedness and probably retaliation. I guess I should take an interest in that now, even though I’m not supposed to ship out for a few weeks. If Ortega had his way, I’d be getting busy right now. But, that’s all changed . . . hasn’t it?

  I don’t know how I feel about being ordered to. . . .

  Oh man, will I ever be able to get Ortega out of my head? I mean next time. . . .

  I felt numb from the shock. Nothing had happened here in Kansas City, but I just couldn’t believe it. They kept showing the mushroom cloud over the bay area. Hundreds of people shot video of it from nearby cities, from highways, from ships. Ground zero seemed to be Palo Alto.

  I don’t get it—what’s there? Shouldn’t they hit—I mean, I’m playing the devil’s advocate here, of course—but if you’re going to get in a first strike, wouldn’t you try to cripple a nation with a strategic hit? Like a reactor or the capitol or a significant military base?

  It’s like the Ohio meteor all over again. Oh, I remember it alright. I was only three, but it’s all anyone talked about for years. The meteor that leveled a city. It might as well have been a nuke for all the damage it caused—and here we had seen just that today.

  This was unbelievable!

  San Francisco and San Jose will be hit with fallout. All those tech—

  Tech companies!

  “Oh, my god, that’s Silicon Valley!” I yelled out loud.

  I tried Lena’s number again, no answer—left another voicemail, tried not to sound too anxious. I needed her! It sucks being alone right now. I just might have to go to church to see Dad if I can’t reach anyone tonight. Does that sound terrible? Sorry, Dad, but I’m not in the mood for preaching. That’s a last resort.

  The phone rang.

  “Lena!”

  “No, it’s Mom. How are you, dear?”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed but glad at the same time. “Mom! It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, dear. Just fine. I wanted to make sure you all were okay.”

  “Yeah, well Dad is at the church, and I just got here. I heard from Brad, and it sounded like he was in trouble. I’m sure Lena is okay since that was hundreds of—”

  “Oh, no, honey. I hope Brad is okay. Look, tell your dad I got hold of Leslie. She’s staying in Paris and she’s fine. Howie is in Anchorage and he’s fine too. And, now you’re good, so. . . .”

  “Mom, this is unbelievable. And I just signed up today.”

  “What? Oh, Dal, I wish you hadn’t done that. Well, I’m proud of you, son, but afraid. Doesn’t matter what I do or where I go, I’ll always be your mom. What branch?”

  “UNSC.”

  “Oh . . . oh!”

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Oh, honey, uh, nothing, that’s fine, dear. Just surprised. I was expecting you to say army, navy, etcetera.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t at Alameda this time, Mom.”

  “Me too. Look, I have to go now. I’m at Luna City, and you wouldn’t believe how we’re talking right now—it’s not radio! But I’m being recalled. Give my love to your dad.”

  “Okay! Will do, Mom! Love you.”

  “Love you too, swee—”

  The line was cut short.

  “That was real time? From the Moon? Whoa,” I said aloud, shaking my head.

  The news channel on the TV suddenly went blank. I stared at it, blinking.

  Two seconds later, colored bars filled the screen accompanied by a loud buzzing sound that repeated three times, followed by a constant tone.

  “Now what?”

  A message appeared on the screen: “NATIONAL ALERT” and then “Emergency Action Notification.”

  This brought tears to my eyes, kind of hitting me in the face that millions of people in California were dead or dying. It was hard to feel that level of loss, though. Hard to get your head around the numbers.

  But, why would there be an alert here in Missouri—this far inland? Were there more nukes?

  The message was still on the screen when a voice said, “Please hold for the President of the United States.”

  I sat up straight. A knock at the front door diverted my attention. I ran to it.

  “Min älskling!”

  “Lena! My god, what are you—”

  “I just . . . ran here. Didn’t have a car, got tired of being alone, waiting.”

  “That was three miles! I must have driven right past you.”

  “I know— jag är trött.”

  “Oh, come inside, quick!” I yanked her in and practically dragged her down the hall.

  She felt so unbelievably good. A huge smile spread across my face.

  I momentarily forgot that the world was going to shit and kissed her and embraced her and ran my hands through her hair and over her shoulders and arms. Taking her all in, making sure she was real. I wasn’t groping her, lusting for her. It was all emotional, taking in the reality of her being there. As if I couldn’t trust my sense of reality.

  She kissed me back, hard, wrapped a leg around my waist, and shoved me up against the wall. This made me laugh, despite myself.

  “Oh, god, Lena, I missed you. So relieved you’re here!”

  “The president?” she said, eyes wide, suddenly changing the mood. She dragged me into the living room, catching the president mid-sentence.

  “Vad i knulla? It’s the president, we don’t want to miss this!”

  I shook my head. Now, a transition had just taken place, from emotional to physical. I was so turned on by her using that word, I couldn’t think straight. Lena had taught me a little Swedish.

  “Knulla,” I said.

  I just wanted to take her right then and there on the living room floor. Two months and a religious girlfriend. Do I just enjoy torturing myself? I must be a masochist. Am I a sinner in need of punishment? Maybe I should get a flagellant and start whipping the sin out of myself.

  “Jäkla!”

  “. . . evacuating Boston and the surrounding suburbs and townships, especially near Cambridge and the M.I.T. campus. Everyone in those areas are urged to leave immediately! Do not pack, just leave! We have reason to believe that the university is being targeted by—”

  “Wait . . . what the hell are
they talking about?” Lena said. “The bay area was hit, not Boston.” I looked at her, momentarily snapping out of my hormone-induced madness. She saw it in my eyes and it caught her by surprise. She smiled slyly and gave me a sharp look but was still distracted by the news.

  An aid interrupted the President, whispering into his ear while covering the microphone. The President seemed to turn visibly pale. He turned toward the reporters, mouth gaping, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . please give me a moment,” then turned and walked from the podium.

  The crowded room of reporters burst into noisy abandon. One by one, they picked up their phones at roughly the same time and then ran from the building, camera crews rushing to keep up.

  “What the hell? This is unreal,” Lena said, leaning heavily on me where I sat on the floor. She sat up to take another sip from a water bottle and was sitting in front of me.

  I was so hot and bothered that I was almost going out of my mind. I know it’s insensitive and selfish in a crisis situation, but all this talk of death, images of the mushroom cloud—and Boston?—and that heavy kissing a minute ago and the hot Swedish swearing. I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all.

  Lena leaned back against me. I was wearing tight jeans and a heavy hoodie so she couldn’t feel my predicament.

  I had my arms around her waist while she watched the news alert. Her long black hair flowed down her back. I slid my hands down to her hips—my absolutely favorite part of a woman. To make matters worse, she chose that moment to take off her hoodie, tossing it aside on the floor. I was mesmerized by her dark silhouette in the light of the TV. Her breasts filled the simple white t-shirt, stretching it just so, which—from behind—caused me to gasp.

  Egged on by both testosterone and adrenalin, I leaned forward to take in the aroma of her hair. She leaned back and turned her head slightly, enjoying my closeness and attention. Then I slowly ran my hands up to her waist and under her shirt. She was wearing a soft lace bra.

  I fully expected an elbow to the ribs and was prepared to accept the consequences. No, redact that—I wasn’t thinking at all, that was pure instinct. Not an excuse, just what it is. We had been dating for two months, which was an uncertain stage in a relationship with a religious partner. Never mind that my dad was a minister, she was the religious one.