The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2)

by J. S. Harbour

  “Oorah!”

  MSgt Alfred Connor hated that battle cry but kept that opinion to himself. In fact, he kept most opinions to himself, since some would get him ejected from duty. He knew it, no question about it. He also knew that was pretty common among aged troopers, and that’s why new recruits were so essential to the operation of the outfit. Teenage boys, too young and dumb to recognize bullshit when they step in it.

  But young men loved the service, the glory, the glittery-eyed girls at port. Who the hell was he to get in their way? Hadn’t he been one of them at one time, long ago? Every young man should have the right and privilege to be a dumbass for a while, and enjoy the privileges that came with it.

  “Two minutes,” Hotrod announced from the cockpit.

  The troopers wore skintight battle suits with molded nanofiber armor plates that could stop a few bullets or low-power laser shots while still allowing good mobility. The suits were not pressurized but could still protect a trooper in hard vacuum.

  Beetle Two arrived at the derelict while Beetle One was still en route to the disabled ship farther away. The troopers engaged their augmentation helmets, which fed video and stats to the troop commander and to the Lexington. Stone brought Beetle Two in close to the derelict as it gently rolled in space. On the bridge of the Lexington, Cmdr. Plaas stood next to Captain Long in front of a screen showing the video feed from Beetle One. Plaas pointed to the ship and nodded as the computer displayed the class recognition data.

  “Promise class,” the captain said.

  “Yes, or, it used to be,” the XO said. “But look there, and there,” he said, pointing to odd parts of the ship. “Highly modified, hardly anything left of the original.”

  “Looks like a couple of ships hobbled together,” the captain said. “There,” he said, pointing to the rear engine nozzles. “High-temp nozzles, next to the originals.”

  Plaas nodded. “If she’s got high-end engine upgrades, it’s a sure bet—”

  “Weapons?” the captain suggested.

  “Right, I would be surprised if she didn’t. This is a high-end predator.”

  “Exactly why we’re out here,” Long said, as if finally finding the proof he needed to justify his career. Plaas smiled at him. They didn’t need to prove anything, but sending this data back to the UN Security Council was good for PR.

  “The commandant will love this stuff,” Plaas added, knowing that the captain knew what he was driving at. Anyone who spends decades in the service knows how important it is to impress the brass from time to time, especially during annual budget negotiations—which was coming up soon.

  Beetle Two rotated as they came around to the large cargo hatch. Stone blipped the maneuvering thrusters to bring them in as close as possible. “Alright, troopers,” Stone said from the now-sealed cockpit, “this is as close as we can get. The ship is rotating so you’ll have to do your stuff since we can’t move right up to the hatch. Commander Pierce, the hatch is at your command.”

  “Open hatch,” Buck replied.

  “Roger, opening hatch,” Stone said.

  MSgt Connor was still grasping the overhead handhold. As the hatch began to open, he rotated and kicked the hatch the rest of the way. “Alright, troopers, here we go! Biggs, Helsberg, you’re up, get the cargo hatch open.”

  Biggs elbowed his way to the opening beside Connor. Without a second thought, he knelt down at the edge of the floor and used it to spring away as he leaped toward the derelict ship. His timing was good. He crossed the open space between the two ships—about thirty yards—and grasped a handhold on the ship’s belly just beneath the cargo hatch. His combat suit had limited maneuvering capability but the jets borrowed his oxygen supply—something no trooper was eager to use. Skill was the name of the game. Hit your target the first time with little room for error.

  Helsberg leaped as soon as Biggs made contact and landed right on top of the cargo hatch.

  “Good work, you two. Glad I didn’t have to send Willard into open space after you,” MSgt Connor said in an authoritarian voice.

  Willard stood, looking petrified. “Open space, sir? But . . . but . . .”

  Connor snorted out a short laugh. “Greener than my tomato plants back home.”

  The troop commander had taken the seat nearest the cockpit where he could use a built-in screen on the wall. He would stay in his combat suit in the open transport hold of the Beetle until his people returned safely. He would respond instantly if the team needed another body, since his presence on the ship left MSgt. Connon down a man.

  “Beetle One, report. Master sergeant, what’s your status?” Cmdr. Pierce transmitted.

  “We’re on site, sir,” MSgt. Thatcher Smith replied over radio from the other ship. “The pilots are maneuvering us into position over the central docking port.”

  As the master sergeant said this, the ship gently touched the other and the docking clamps grabbed hold. From the cockpit, Hotrod said, “We’re in position, troopers. The hatches are in sync, but you’ll have to open the other hatch manually as we have a red light on power.”

  “That’s it, gents, get the hatch open,” MSgt. Smith said. “Hatch open, commander. We’re going in.”

  “Roger,” Buck said over the radio. “Keep me informed of your progress.”

  Chapter 17

  Twin Surprises

  Nekel began to stir.Despite the cliché, there really was a light at the end of a tunnel and she was crawling toward it.

  Jones dragged the robot body—the so-called artifact—to the cargo hold, passing Mitch on the way. “Hey, Mitch, cap’n wants you to take a look at this thing.”

  Mitchell glanced up from moving a huge ore crate out of the way. “Can’t you see I’m busy here? This is two tons of ores, jackass.”

  “Okay, don’t be so testy, just passing on the info, dickhead,” Jones replied, and dropped the robot on top of a crate of miscellaneous junk they had picked up. He turned and jogged back toward the hall.

  Mitchell finished lowering the cargo, pulled off his gloves, and went back to his previous task, ignoring the robot.

  Awakening from a long sleep was always disturbing. Nekel checked her status, bringing up the continuous log of her mental activity. First, she was surprised to find that she had been asleep for much longer than expected. Whole years, wasted in this shell, hibernating!

  She verified her continuity of mind. The power source was dwindling after so many years but she was continuous. That was good! She could continue her mission. If she still had a mission?

  Where am I? Nekel wondered. Still in simulation? Where’s my body?

  As if in reply, she became aware of a full sensory input node nearby. She glided toward it, mentally, using the wireless link between her processing node and the body, and felt it surround her senses, fully immersed. The simulation environment was suddenly replaced with real vision, but it still felt like she was looking down a long pipe. Such a long time. . . .

  How did I get separated from the shell?

  When Nekel adjusted to the robot’s senses again, she was staring at the sky and the sky was dark gray. The adjustment was a painfully slow process after so many years in hibernation.

  The sky is gray?

  She heard a loud noise, the sound of something falling, breaking.

  “Dammit, Jones! Don’t just pile this shit in here, put it on a shelf!”

  “Stop being such a damned prick, Mitch. I’m carrying all this shit down here myself. Everyone else is shot the hell up. Just be happy you aren’t bleeding out next to the cap’n.”

  “Doesn’t matter! You can stow all this shit in the bins! We’re going to dump the cargo over there and bring it in over here. Get it? I can’t have your crates scattered around and still bring the heavy ores inside.”

  “Yeah, whatever, man,” Jones said and walked away.

  “Goddammit,” Mitchell whined.

  Nekel froze at the sound. She looked down at her body. She was lying on her back on a pile of
metal scraps and other junk in a big metal container.

  The sphere was there next to her. The sphere!

  Next to this body, that is, she reminded herself. I am the sphere. Important to maintain identity at this confusing stage of awakening.

  Nekel picked up the sphere with her left hand. An opening appeared in the body’s abdomen, and she inserted the sphere into it. She read the diagnostics panel that came up in her vision, showing the processing node and body merging their power sources. The body was a drain on power even when not in use. She would have to charge it soon.

  What has happened? Why am I here? she thought. There was no log of events during the past . . . unknown . . . number of years.

  No timekeeping? How could that just stop? Unless . . . She froze, mentally, symbolically, a holdover from having been born a biological being; this technological frame was incapable of translating those thoughts into facial expressions.

  She raised her head, and there was a glare from a bright light overhead.

  A Solar! Not ten feet away!

  The mission objectives came flooding back suddenly. She was suddenly on her feet, facing the human.

  Mitchell dropped the bin, mouth gaping wide, dumbstruck. “What. The. Fuck?”

  Nekel killed him. 135 millisecond reaction time. She couldn’t afford to burn energy to move any faster. She lowered the man gently to the floor, saying, “Nelo-honam dee-mano nan-mad.” Killing with one’s own hands was a tragedy that demanded an apology, regardless of the circumstances. It translates roughly to brother, forgive me.

  At the present rate of consumption, she had only four hours of reserve. Must find a power source. Shouldn’t be hard. This looks like a station or a ship.

  Walking was a strange experience again. The deck felt cold under her feet. The body mimicked the nervous system if she chose to allow it—she could reduce the input levels if the body’s sensors became a distraction.

  Nekel tapped into the facility’s wireless. Yes, it is a ship. Excellent.

  The ship had no techsystem but did have a management network. She searched for a hypercomm signature and found none. That was unfortunate. First priority was a power source. Second priority would be to locate a hypercomm and make contact with her people, to find out if the mission had changed while she was offline. Barring that, she would continue with her mission based on the last known objectives.

  The network showed her the location of the reactor. Right . . . over . . . there, she thought, visualizing a path to the power source in her augmented vision. The reactor was adjacent to this cargo room. She looked to her right and noted the cargo bay door. She turned left and headed toward the reactor room.

  * * * *

  “There, see? Only took a few minutes of your time, darling,” Drake said while buckling his pants. “I always pay well. It’s good for business. Builds trust. But in your case,” he said, looking up at her, “that was payback, and that’s how it works out here, little girl.”

  Jazdie was slowly pulling her jumpsuit back up and getting her arms into the sleeves. She started to zip it up but stopped at an apparent snag. She turned toward Drake who was still standing there, pleased with himself—though his version of sarcasm was anything but subtle. She feigned to struggle with the zipper. Her brassiere was blue like the jumpsuit—blue silk—and her firm, perky breasts stuck out through the open jumpsuit.

  Drake’s mouth fell open as he stared, his mind suddenly racing. He suddenly became overwhelmed with desire again. He looked into her eyes, and she looked down. Beaten. Humbled. As she should be! he thought. Maybe I’ll keep her. Take her with me.

  “Here, allow me—” he said, reaching for the zipper.

  Jazdie’s fist lashed out like a striking cobra, hitting him hard in the throat. There had been no drawback for the punch, just a sudden, blinding-fast motion. The force of the impact was so powerful it knocked the man three feet back against the bulkhead. It happened so quickly he was choking before it even registered in his mind that she had hit him.

  Jazdie reeled back, shocked by what she had just done. She held her hand up in front of her as if examining a new prosthetic, feeling horrified. She looked at the man who had raped her. His eyes were wide with shock, and he tried to speak but he was holding his throat, choking, his legs squirming. Finally, as the struggles slowed, Drake clutched at his wrecked throat with both hands, eyes wide with shock.

  Jazdie held both hands in front of her eyes, squeezed them into fists. “Mom … Dad …,” she said aloud, “what the hell did you do to me?”

  Drake reached out to her as his body slid to the floor. He was gasping, mouth open wide but unable to breathe or speak. A raspy gagging sound came out, then he was dead.

  As Jazdie headed to the door, she said, “The pleasure was all yours, motherfucker.”

  Just then, two shots rang out down the hall. She stopped at the hatch and peered into the hall toward the bridge. One man seemed to be dead, his body lying on the floor in the way of the bridge hatch. Jazdie stepped back and flattened her back against the wall, heart pounding.

  What if that was one of the invaders, and Reilly was doing the shooting? she thought. But, it’s dimly lit, can’t be sure who was shot. Could be Locke or Cyril on the ground, she reasoned.

  “Dammit!” she whispered.

  I’ll wait. If it’s Reilly, she’ll come for me, Jazdie thought, then went back to hiding in the shadows, stepping clear of Drake’s body.

  * * * *

  Nekel found the reactor room adjacent to the cargo hold. It was a simple, small reactor, crude in design but functionally similar to the reactor technology her people used. The same reactor every civilization used after reaching a certain stage of development. It was the same story everywhere her people had explored: civilizations that failed to make the leap went extinct after wrecking their planet’s life-sustaining ecosystem, trying to produce enough power. But, once reached—if reached—a species would quickly spread through their planetary system, consuming the leftover junk—asteroids, comets, other planetesimals.

  The reactor was the key, and the Solars had it.

  Of course. They also have hypercomm. One was necessary for the other. But, there was that one race that had built massive solar power converters, Nekel remembered. They stayed on their world, developed a beautiful culture, and were later wiped out by an extinction-level impact. It was the same story over and over. Those who did not leave the nest often died in it.

  Nekel smiled inwardly. These thoughts were good, a sign of being fully awake and alert. She found a low-power port on the wall near the reactor. A label indicated it was a 20-amp, 240-volt circuit—comparable to standard device requirements on her world.

  The words might be different, but their meaning is the same in every culture.

  That was a high-output power node, but she could adjust the rate. She pulled a tiny wired plug from the back of her neck, stripped the end into three separate wires, and inserted them into the power port. She felt the incoming amps and told the body’s power converter to draw only five amps into her batteries. She had to remove the hot wire occasionally to prevent build-up in the converter’s capacitors.

  The body’s power system had an overload relay that tripped at once. After she had adjusted it to handle the incoming power, she engaged the tripped relay. Her sphere drew power from the body, and the body from the plug and they were both fully charged twenty minutes later.

  This body is crude. I miss Bodekan. I miss my own environment. Her people had thousands of different designs for devices they could control with millions of ships and labor robots throughout the system, inhabited by real people. My people. They did not use AI or automatons. The thought of it again made her shudder inwardly. Then she remembered that this body was designed and used by an AI. She was living within an emulation field in an AI body she had stolen on Mars. Pretended to be one of them until she was able to steal a supply ship. The thought of sharing intimate space with an AI caused her to withdraw in revulsi
on for a moment, but she quickly recovered.

  Nekel tapped into the sensor net and saw the second ship docked to this one from the bridge. She deftly trotted out of the reactor room back to the cargo hold, and up the short flight of stairs leading to the main hall. There, at the junction, she looked left and right, and walked quietly down the dimly-lit hall, peering into doors as she went along. When she finally reached the bridge, she walked right in, the sensor net telling her that it was empty. The Solars were all on the second ship. And there was evidence on the floor of a violent struggle.

  Typical. Well, I’ll be responsible for more of that before this day is over.

  Nekel picked up a sidearm that was sitting on a nearby console, checked the clip, and armed it. Her reflexes were fast, but the gun was more practical and she preferred not to kill with her hands. She heard voices coming from the open airlock hatch on the left side of the bridge and walked over to it. She looked through the opening and saw four humans on the other side of that ship’s bridge, bound on the floor. Voices coming from somewhere off to the left. She stepped through the airlock passage and entered the second ship’s bridge.

  Locke elbowed Reilly, and she looked up to see the robot step onto the bridge. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at it. “That’s the robot we found?”

  “I think so,” Cyril whispered.

  “How did it wake up?” Locke asked.

  Phix, who had been dragged onto the bridge, bound like his crewmates, was now sitting with them, and in an even worse mood than usual. “It couldn’t have on its own. Something happened to that body. It was a blank slate!”

  Nekel walked over to the group on the floor, holding the pistol to her side, and said, “Prisoners on your own ship, I presume? You Solars steal from each other and kill each other frequently. You are not civilized. You are socially incompetent and dangerous.”