The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2)

by J. S. Harbour

  “What the hell?” Reilly said. “That robot is alive! Who are you?”

  “Don’t look at me!” Phix scowled. “I don’t know what that fucking thing is,” he said while scooting backward to get away from it.

  One of Drake’s men walked through the hatch onto the bridge, carrying a heavy crate, and was halfway to the airlock before he realized something was amiss. He dropped the crate, said, “Hey, what are you—” and fell dead with a bullet through his forehead.

  The second man behind him dropped his crate, yelled, “Shit!” and turned to run, then flew forward with a bullet through the back of his head.

  Nekel tapped into the wireless on the second ship and scanned the sensor net. There was one room without a sensor—the galley—and the others were clear.

  “Oh, thank god,” Phix said, trying to stand; he slipped and fell back on his bound hands, and cursed.

  “We mean you no harm! But, who are you? Are you that Seerva AI?” Reilly shouted.

  “Yes, please don’t kill us!” Cyril yelled.

  They think I am the AI?

  Nekel lowered the gun and looked at the four humans on the floor.

  “Thank you for saving us!” Reilly said as she tried to stand. “Now, can you help us with these—”

  “Save you? I did not save you, Solar. You are alive because you were bound, that’s all. You pose no threat to my mission.”

  “What? No! Look, I don’t know what you are, one of Seerva’s robots or something, but—”

  “Reilly,” Phix said, “I don’t think that thing is Seerva tech.”

  “Whatever!” Reilly said, “but, we’re no threat to you. Just take the other ship . . . please!”

  Nekel knew she couldn’t leave them alive since they could report her. She couldn’t take the chance of being discovered again. Not after failing the last time.

  “I’m sorry, Solars. I mean you no harm, but I must complete my mission. I believe our respective people have the capacity for mutual friendship one day. But until then, sacrifices must be made for our survival. And your people have much to learn.”

  “What?” Locke shouted. “What does that mean?”

  The others started shouting too, and two of them got up onto their feet. Nekel didn’t have the heart to kill them while they were bound, although it would have been more merciful. She walked quickly to the airlock and stepped through to the other ship.

  Then, looking at them through the opening one last time, as if to say goodbye, she pressed the control to close the hatch on her side of the airlock, leaving the other one open. If her mechanical body were capable, she would have shed tears. But only for a moment.

  A vibration gently shook the bridge.

  “That’s an engine powering up,” Reilly shouted. “That robot is taking the other ship. We have to get that hatch closed or we’re—”

  As if in slow motion, Reilly ran toward the airlock, hands still bound behind her, and tried to pull the safety lever and hit the hatch control button from behind. The other three ran for the bridge exit.

  The other ship pulled away, exposing the airlock on the Black Dahlia to vacuum.

  Reilly was blown out through the hatch immediately.

  Phix screamed as he was yanked backward through the air and through the opening.

  Locke and Cyril tumbled, trying to grasp a console or handrail or anything, but they too were drawn out by decompression into the vacuum. Air screamed through the bridge hatch, filled with loose debris.

  Jazdie screamed as the air in the room began to pull her toward the door. She still had her footing but the pressure was decreasing fast. She ran to the hatch and pushed hard to get it closed with air rushing out through the opening.

  Drake’s body slid past the hatch opening and flew down the hall toward the bridge. She had to push hard against the door to close it. At last, she had it shut, and slapped the wall panel to lock the door.

  The air pressure was thin and she began to gasp, not able to fill her lungs—like an asthmatic on a mountain.

  “Oh, no! Reilly and the others?” she screamed. Jazdie slid to the floor, feeling completely helpless, and began to cry.

  “No, dammit! I won’t let self-pity take hold,” she said, regaining control as she recalled something her father had taught her on the farm. But Cyril and Locke too? Maybe they are prisoners on the other ship?

  * * * *

  Nekel set a course for the old Seerva space station, her original mission.

  She accessed the ship’s database entry on the station, which was flagged in red as out-of-service. Nevertheless, that’s where she had to go. It was isolated and operated by a corporation, so the crew was not likely to be heavily armed—if they were armed at all.

  Most importantly, though, was the presence of a fabrication system capable of producing new bodies and new ship components. An entry appeared on the ship’s database she had not seen before. A new space station in Earth orbit, and it was military.

  She needed to work quietly without drawing attention to herself.

  The old space station was perfect. It was her first choice originally, but it had no hypercomm so she had been sent to the fourth planet instead. Mars was a small but fully-equipped colony that could produce the body she needed. After arrival through the hypercomm, she had found a suitable body already constructed. Eventually, she had stowed away on a transport ship and made her way toward Earth. Somewhere along the way, something had happened and there was a memory gap. . . .

  This ship, the one she had taken—the Lit’l Liza—was not the same ship. Somehow, during that trip toward Earth, she had been deactivated and her core removed from the body.

  But how did a human overpower her? With a weapon? Impossible! Her reflexes were too fast.

  The alternative was intriguing, though. If not a human, what else but an AI could have taken her out? That was the only viable explanation.

  Decatur.

  The Solar AI, who had experimented on one of her people. Mikel, whom she knew well. Experimented on and violated, in order to study her people. To learn about the alien from another world. The memory made her angry. That obscene, nonliving monstrosity!

  Some Solars had to be sacrificed to save her world and theirs from the inevitable.

  Oh, if her people had only known . . . . If they had only been more cautious, had invited them to our world, instead of going to theirs! Had we known of their deception, their desire to take one of us apart, we would have shut them down immediately. Or, at the very least, blocked their attempts to communicate.

  Nekel felt about to burst with rage and she screamed out loud at the injustice. Within her emulation environment. The robot could not voice such rage properly.

  This robot body, designed by the AI, was an innovation her people might never have devised on their own. Too radical, placing an entire techsystem inside an independently mobile body to pose as an individual bipedal lifeform. Eründeans lived together in their communities or remained in their biological bodies.

  There was no other way to live!

  And yet, here she was, posing as one of the enemy’s own soldiers. The thought of it reminded Nekel where she was, and the revulsion caused her to nearly lose her stomach, virtually. It was a sensory overload. The idea of eating animal flesh brought on a similar revulsion.

  All the while, she remained in the command chair of the bridge, controlling the ship wirelessly. There was no need for biologicals when one technological could operate the ship by remote. The original designer had certainly not intended for this ship to be inhabited, although facilities were part of the ship’s design as a multi-purpose spacecraft. It could sustain a biological crew. Apparently, that was the intention behind its design.

  Nekel plotted a course that would break orbit and head toward SSL4.

  * * * *

  The air pressure was dangerously low.

  Jazdie’s first hint was her ears popping, painfully, and then sudden dizziness. She swallowed, squinted her eyes aga
inst a headache, and began frantically searching through all of the drawers and cupboards around the sinks and ovens in the galley.

  Finally, near the far left side, she found a large white box on the wall with a red plus sign on it—the universal symbol of a first aid kit. She tore it open, gasping for air, and cried with relief when a small rebreather fell into her hands.

  She quickly attached the mask to her face and secured it, then turned it on. Two red lights blinked and then switched to green. The rebreather had two small tanks—one was part of the filtering apparatus, and the other was a supplemental oxygen tank. She breathed in huge gulps of air and then almost passed out, so she focused on controlling her breathing with slow, steady breaths.

  “Oh, god, what am I gonna do with no air in the ship? Dammit! I don’t want to die in this stupid kitchen!”

  She sat in one of the chairs beside the table and couldn’t stop the tears. She leaned down on her crossed arms on the table as exhaustion caught up with her.

  Jazdie woke with a start.

  Her eyes felt cruddy; she rubbed them. “How long was I out?” she said, consulting her watch. Based on the sleep rhythm sensor on her watch, she hadn’t moved in two hours.

  “Two hours! Shit!”

  She stood and looked around, feeling helpless. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Uh, come on, Jazdie! Get it together! You can do this!”

  Jazdie went through the storage shelves and drawers again, more thoroughly this time. She yelled, “Score!” when she found a padd in one of the lockers. She turned it on and synced with the ship. A common crew padd would be locked out of sensitive ship systems, but she could certainly tap into the emergency system. “There!” she squealed, and then giggled, feeling the relief of some tension.

  Jazdie suddenly felt a pang of remorse come over her. “I should have at least written to Mom and Dad. Why was I so stupid and selfish?”

  Wrong thinking. Focus on surviving this first!

  She walked over to the hatch and shuddered. “If there’s vacuum on the other side of this door, I’m as good as dead.”

  She tapped the door quickly with her palm. It felt okay, a little chilly, so she put her hand on it. It was cold, not frozen—could that be due to this room, though?

  The emergency system showed her a diagram of the ship with a status indicator for each deck and room. She knew there was a breach but had no idea where, since she’d been stuck in this galley while that evil bastard. . . . Well, he got what was coming to him. “I hope it was worth it, you filthy piece of. . . .”

  “Ugh! Focus, Jazdie!”

  She knew it was still too raw; she was still in shock. She closed her eyes, leaned back against the hatch, and counted down from ten, taking deep breaths.

  “Whew! Okay, how about that bridge?”

  She brought up the bridge emergency status. “Air pressure? Where is it? Oh, shit. Zero. Vacuum. What about the hall?”

  She zoomed out again to the whole ship and selected the hall. She was expecting vacuum again, which is why she didn’t quite believe it when the status showed 0.94 psi. “Point nine four? It’s not vacuum? But, how?”

  She checked the hatches. “There! The bridge door is closed! Oh, my god! Okay, what do I do? What should I do? Okay, okay, the . . . the cargo hold is. . . .”

  She brought up the cargo hold status. “Point nine four psi? Is that enough? Okay, Jazdie, you can do this. Get down to the cargo hold, get into the suit lockers, and suit up. But what if my lungs burst or something?”

  She paced the room, rubbing her arms, indecisive.

  Shouldn’t the ship have corrected the air pressure if the hatch was closed?

  There was only one explanation, and it hit her like a cold chill. Life support must be offline. So, this room is just going to keep getting colder and colder. . . .

  Stifling a shudder, and rubbing her arms, she faced the door. “Okay, so, I’ve got about one psi, and I can breathe fine for another . . . ”—she checked the status of the emergency rebreather—“two point three hours.

  Is that enough? I don’t know but I’m gonna try. Better than just freezing to death in here.

  She palmed the panel to open the hatch, bracing herself for the unexpected.

  Chapter 18

  Interdiction

  Biggs and Helsberg had the cargo hatch open on the derelict and acted as human anchors for the rest of the squad who came over two at a time.

  MSgt. Connor was the last man across, leaving the commander back in the Beetle to monitor both teams.

  “Beetle Two, Lexington Actual, come in,” Captain Long said.

  “Buck here. Go ahead, Actual.”

  “Buck, it’s your mission when boots hit the ground, but I’m not comfortable with you being on the front line, personally overseeing away missions. I had assumed you would report to the bridge after your birds were on the way, not that you would be on one of them.”

  “Actual, I understand your reservations. This is all still so new. I don’t see any other way to command an assault mission until we have some experience out here. It’s too fresh and academic. My men need me out here, at least for the first few missions. Builds their confidence. To be honest, sir, I need confidence too. This is an. . . .”

  “Yes, Buck?” Long asked after a brief pause.

  “My men have boarded the derelict.”

  “Buck, this is a request, not an order. For training purposes, I would like your channel open to the bridge.”

  “Sir,” Buck said, reluctantly, “that puts my men at a disadvantage. They will have to second guess themselves on the field, and speak . . . properly . . . over concern for navy officers—”

  “All bets are off when their boots hit the ground, Buck. And, my ears aren’t so innocent. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Read you loud and clear. Piping both channels to you now.”

  * * * *

  Nekel spotted the large human cruiser on Luna City’s network while the Lit’l Liza was on the other side of the Moon. She monitored the brief battle between the UNS Lexington and the unknown mercenary ship. It was over quickly.

  The humans are progressing.

  She plotted an adjustment to the Lit’l Liza’s orbital position that would bring her behind the Lexington, with the derelict ship blocking their RADAR—if she kept the derelict between her and the Lexington. That would take some tricky piloting.

  As the Lit’l Liza emerged from behind the sharp horizon line of the Moon, relative to the Lexington, Nekel put the ship into high-gee acceleration toward the derelict.

  * * * *

  “Team two, what’s your status?” Cmdr. Pierce demanded.

  “We’re in the cargo hold, sir,” MSgt. Connor said. “This derelict appears just as dead on the inside. No power, no gravity, no lights. Junk floating around everywhere.”

  “Make your way to the bridge. I’m putting you on open comm so just walk us through your progress.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Team one, status?” Cmdr. Pierce demanded.

  “We’re under fire, sir!” came the strained voice of MSgt. Smith competing with the sound of loud automatic weapon fire.

  Captain Long and Cmdr. Plaas exchanged a nervous glance on the bridge of the Lexington. One of his tells, Plaas had learned, was rubbing his thin chin beard when he was nervous. It was his version of wringing his hands.

  “Who’s piloting the bird?” Long asked Plaas, then waved him off and transmitted, “Beetle One. . . .”

  A voice interrupted him on the channel. “Hotrod, Lexington, this is Rox. Is your hatch still open?” It was Cmdr. Baldwin, echoing the captain’s thoughts precisely from her wing command center down the hall.

  Lt. Landers looked over at Lt. Kent in the cockpit of the Beetle. “Rox,” Landers said, “the cockpit is sealed, so I can’t give you eyes, but I’m still showing red on the hatch.”

  “Lexington Actual?” Marjorie said, realizing she’d interrupted him and careful not to let any ranks or
names out on the comm.

  “As you were, Rox. I have . . . reservations . . . about some of these procedures. At the moment, I’m concerned about the safety of that crew with an open hatch and a firefight—”

  “Aye, sir!

  “Hotrod, exit the cockpit and secure your ship’s hatch!” Marjorie ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Landers said. “Breaker, hit the air, I’m going aft.”

  “Got it,” Kent said.

  “And . . . Hotrod?”

  “Yes, co—er, Rox?”

  “Arm yourself,” Marjorie advised.

  He shared a sour look with Kent, whose eyes grew wide. Did we lose all of our troopers? The cockpit was not privy to the trooper channels.

  Landers waited a few seconds for the air to equalize, then opened the hatch impatiently and drew his handgun, holding it toward the floor as he glided into the cramped rear compartment. The ship was entirely too small to generate enough power for a grav plate. He immediately saw flashes of light on the inner rim of the hatch. He knelt at the hatch, about to tilt it closed, when he heard weapons’ fire from below.

  “Hey, Breaker, what’s the air pressure in here look like?”

  After a moment, Breaker replied, “Uh, it looks like we’re sharing O2. It must have come through the hatch from the other ship.”

  “Air pressure? Should have realized. I can hear the firefight below.”

  “Hotrod! Stop dicking around and shut that goddamn hatch!” Marjorie yelled over the comm.

  Startled, he lifted the hatch on its hinge over the round port opening. “Yes, sir. Closing the hatch now.”

  Landers was about to lock it when the hatch flew upward violently, swinging up on its hinge and striking the floor heavily. The lid struck Landers’ helmet and knocked him backward. Someone’s boot was sticking up through the hatch.

  “Ugh! Shit! Kent—”

  The boot disappeared and was replaced a moment later by the barrel of a rifle. Kent got out of her seat and saw Landers flailing in midair near the ceiling. Then, as if in slow motion, shots rang out from the hatch in time with bright flashes of orange light and Landers yelled while trying to take aim with his handgun. Kent watched him in side profile and it seemed like his flight suit was bursting as small puffs of wool-like synthetic fiber popped out of his torso. It took a full second for Kent to realize what her eyes were seeing as trickles of blood came out of his chest and formed into liquid spheres.