Do No Harm

by Chris Kennedy

  “Training accident. Trying to interface and drive a CASPer with just ’plants. Lieutenant Lorenzo was in the CASPer and Master Sergeant Valentine was jacked in at the simulator console. Feedback hit them both through their pins. Some of the CASPer ammo cooked off. That’s what happened to Larry and Curly, there.”

  “…and Moe?” Squiddy was back on much more familiar territory, now. Puns and jokes. Time to get down to business.

  “Moe?” said the officer, confused. Squiddy swiveled a camera…No, noncom. Staff sergeant. “Actually, I’m Moe. Moe Liberty, how did you know?”

  “Your parents didn’t like you much, did they?”

  “Um, they were libs. Libertarians, that is—from San Pietro. Didn’t fit in too well there or on Earth. I couldn’t stand the snickers, so I left and became a merc.” Staff Sergeant Liberty began to sway on his feet. The recruits were leaning heavily on the treatment benches.

  He extruded three more benches and waved his arms to indicate that the less injured men needed to occupy them. “Gentlemen, you all need treatment. Even you, Staff Sergeant. We still need to discuss payment, not to mention how you knew about my neural regeneration work.”

  “Old Thaddeus said he met a guy four years ago. Pharmacist or something like that. Was headed back to your colony.”

  “Ah. Roeder.” Still looking out for me, old friend.

  “Yeah, something like that. Anyway, the colonel said you have very special payment rules. We have credits.” He handed over his yack, the balance of which was considerable, and Squiddy had to resist the urge to overcharge. Anyone but a referral from Roeder, no matter how indirect, and he would have. He passed over a slate. “The complete Sword Art Online, one-hundred episodes of Bleach, and there’s a mint copy of Naruto: Volume One on the ship.”

  Oh. Oh my. There was certainly no need to pad the charges. He might even give them a discount…But no, that was foolishness. On the other hand, it would take at least two weeks before he could release Lorenzo and Valentine to travel, even though they did not appear to need the same level of reconstruction Roeder had. They might even be able to help him with the little matter of getting his offspring back to Azure.

  Horsemen. Imagine that.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Over the years, Squiddy would do the occasional job for the Horsemen, mainly the Cavaliers. He never saw anyone from Asbaran Solutions, but there were a couple of visits from Winged Hussars ships passing through en route to a contract, and there were rumors the Golden Horde had visited Don Torol, but he never met anyone from that company. Mostly, he provided pinplants to the other merc companies and patched up the Humans so they could get back to work.

  He did occasional jobs for the various Galactics, including the Tossers. The Don was getting on in years and wanted the nanotech to keep him young and alert. The To’Os syndicates were cutthroat, and if Torol showed any weakness, he would quickly be replaced. So Squiddy worked up a nanite treatment to clear the usual toxins of aging and restore his colorful eyebrow feathers. It wasn’t a true anti-aging treatment, but the psychological impact of restored vigor did wonders for the Boss.

  The Hussars ships usually brought him data packets from Nemo and Roeder. Even though he had left Azure under shady circumstances, no one seemed to be holding it against him anymore. The new nanite programming from Nemo was incredibly generous and contributed to Squiddy’s own research to stay on the leading edge of the field.

  Before Roeder had gone back to Azure, Squiddy had asked his Human friend why Nemo was so willing to share the designs for Human pinplants. “It’s simple survival, Old Squid. Humans need every advantage they can get. Galactics have pinplants, we don’t, and those same Galactics aren’t falling over themselves to provide the Humans with biotech, either. Nemo is devoted to the Hussars, and you’re the first of us to set up specifically to provide Human pinplants. Frankly, we want you to succeed.”

  And succeed he did…but after fourteen years on To’Os he was starting to hear rumors of problems for the Human merc units. They were suffering unbelievable casualties, and his own practice had shifted to even more reconstructive therapy and fewer pinplants. Even the Four Horsemen were having problems: Thaddeus Cartwright had died on a mission and Colonel Shirazi of Asbaran was missing. After nearly one hundred years of Human mercenary service to the Guild, the sheer tenacity and ingenuity of the Humans was failing.

  His progenitor, Todd, the first Wrogul to befriend and live with Humans, had always said he did not trust the Galactics. He had never regained the memories of his life before his incredibly battle-damaged ship appeared at Azure, so all he had was feelings and his own analysis of Galactic events. Still, Todd was an astute observer and scientist. It had made him the single richest being on Azure, and the wealth—and memories—had trickled down to all his many offspring.

  Every Wrogul was effectively a clone—budded from the body of an older Wrogul. They were born with the memories of the elder, though in Todd’s case, the lack of memory, but quickly diverged to become unique individuals. That uniqueness had manifested in Nemo’s interest in Human physiology and his own skills in surgery, but it had also resulted in some…unusual diversions, like the “cousin” who was enamored of engineering and all things mechanical, or the other who became a gourmet chef. It meant they had both the same and differing viewpoints, but as a whole, the Azure Wrogul colony accepted they were quite Human, and if there was some entity in the Union who had turned against Earth, it would come for the Wrogul as well as their Human neighbors.

  It all meant that, perhaps, Squiddy needed to evaluate whether he had managed to make his fortune and needed to move on from To’Os. Moving his assets was easy, he had converted much of his wealth to red diamonds and precious metals. It was logical and even fairly transparent to outside scrutiny; after all, certain metals, as well as ground red diamond, were critical components of the high-end medical nanites he used. It was simply that he hid the quantity he purchased by spreading the acquisitions over many brokers. He also placed emergency caches in his clinic, home quarters, escape routes, and his old modified dropship. As far as the latter was concerned, he’d kept it in working order, upgrading it as needed so he could operate it himself, and then he’d downloaded piloting skills to his pinplants.

  He also maintained a sufficient balance on his yack to handle local transactions, such as his contract with B’nb’n Security and his “insurance” payoffs to the Don. Jack had long since retired from running B’nb’n, but his niece, Jessica, had taken over and added information research and security to their portfolio. Squiddy maintained a cordial relationship with Jess and had even done some cosmetic work on her. She was very good at what she did, and Squiddy was a major customer. The information coming from Jess was just as disturbing as what was coming through his other contacts. However, Jess was also gleaning information from the local government. And someone had started looking into Squiddy’s business contracts.

  There was also at least one ping on the records supporting the alias he had registered with on arrival. If they were looking for Molina, it might mean the Merc Guild, or maybe someone from Earth or Azure. Every local account had him as Squiddy, but he supposed it was possible Lalande’s family was looking to drive a wedge between him and Don Torol.

  Still, someone was asking too many questions, leaving Squiddy with one important one. Was it time to leave To’Os?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dropship was provisioned and the caches updated. He had multiple escape routes from quarters and clinic, and he had converted as much of his account as possible to metals and gems. As the Zuparti would say, “Sure he was paranoid, but was he paranoid enough?” Squiddy could leave at a moment’s notice if he had to, but on the other tentacle, he was expecting a customer, a familiar one, no less; so he would see this last procedure through and then decide.

  “First Sergeant Ginzberg. Welcome!”

  “Easy, Squiddy, my hearing’s
not going bad…yet. Besides, it’s Hauptfeldwebel, now—sergeant major.”

  “Of course, of course. You mercs are always changing ranks.” Squiddy came out from behind several pieces of equipment in his usual four-foot-tall rolling chair with the cup-shaped seat half filled with water. “What? Alone? Why have you not brought me fresh victims? Do you not trust me with your privates? Sngh.” Ginzberg was one of the few Humans unfazed by Squiddy’s risqué sense of humor.

  “Nope, just me. The Kommandant says I need a second set of pins.”

  “This second set of pinplants will more extensively target the temporal lobe memory areas, parietal and frontal links to speech and language centers, and quadruple the co-processor capabilities.” Squiddy’s tentacles took on purposeful movement as he began to adjust the equipment behind the surgical couch. He laughed again. “If you’re sure that’s all you want. After all, I’m offering a two-for-one sale today for bilaterally symmetric sophonts! Two arms, two legs, nice tentacles like mine for the ladies? Sngh.” The Wrogul held up the specialized appendages he utilized for surgery.

  The Human just laughed. Yes, Ginzberg appreciated his humor. Most of the grunts did. The officers tended to be stuffier. He injected the merc with a somnolence agent and started the nanite programmer. Once the Human was asleep, he laid his specialized sensory tentacles on the sides of the skull and they began to vibrate until nearly invisible. No one had been able to precisely determine how Wrogul tentacles could penetrate skin, muscle, and bone without leaving a mark. Sure, the vibration was part of it, but there had to be something else—nothing physiological could account for it.

  Whatever the mechanism, Squiddy made short work of implanting the nanite matrix and starting the program to grow the neural mesh. It would take a couple of hours to develop to its full extent, then a couple more weeks to fully integrate its capabilities with the host. While the mesh matured, Squiddy began to implant the processing elements. The mesh made the connections, but the processors added the input-output controls, co-processing, and augmented memory. The final step was to connect the BCI with a new pair of pins placed behind the ears, about two centimeters behind the original pins Squiddy had placed in this particular patient more than ten years ago. Most Humans still required an external wireless interface with the pins, unlike Wrogul, who had completely internal pinplants with wireless connectivity to comms and electronic equipment.

  There. The mesh was matured and the processor connected. The nanites would remain functional for the next two weeks to complete the sensory-motor integration then become inert and flushed from the body. They did not exactly replicate but utilized their own structure to assemble the pinplant, along with a matrix of bioelectronics built from the organics of the host body. Ginzberg would be terribly hungry for the next few days to replenish the mass and energy consumed in the pinplant procedure. The only thing left to do was to start the boot-up procedure, wake him, and send him on his way.

  Squiddy was surprised by the explosion that opened a hole in the wall of the clinic. He had defenses against invasion from the alley, but this came from the wall shared with the neighboring building. He was supposed to be protected from this! He activated his “panic button”—although no physical buttons were involved—and the clinic furniture sank into the floor. The still-unconscious Ginzberg went with it. The emergency evacuation system was designed with this in mind and would convey him to a panic room below the clinic, inaccessible from either the clinic or the sub-floor spaces. One last download to the new implants would guide the Human to safety while Squiddy went for one of his other bolt-holes.

  He tried to access his security system and summon more Blevin guards from B’nb’n but found his signal blocked. Either someone had compromised B’nb’n, or they were using a portable jammer. Given the sophistication of Wrogul pinplants, it had to either be very powerful, or tuned specifically to his capabilities…or both. The idea that it could be both was not one worth contemplating at present.

  The Blevin guard was down, killed in the initial explosion. His emergency beacon should summon more help, but they’d likely be too late. The dust was still clearing, and the agents responsible hadn’t emerged from the hole. This was where the meter-and-a-half reach of his arms would come in handy.

  Like every Wrogul habitat, the clinic was equipped with overhead bars that allowed him to lift his body out of his transfer tank or work-chair and transfer to any other location by suspending his weight with one or more arms. He lifted himself to the bars closest to the ceiling, and his chromophores copied the colors of the mottled gray tiles—Wrogul camouflage to the rescue.

  This vantage point allowed Squiddy see his attackers while avoiding notice. He could also see over the dust through the hole in the wall. The neighboring building showed an irregular patch of red-orange sunlight, suggesting a second large hole in the alleyway.

  Ah, they blew a hole in the next building over, then through the shared wall. No wonder no one had come in yet. They likely retreated to the alley before setting off the charges. That still didn’t explain why they hadn’t entered yet, unless…

  Squiddy checked his internal chronometer. Barely ten seconds had elapsed since the explosion. I guess that’s why the surgical table seems to be retracting so slowly. Interesting phenomenon. Is it a product of my pinplants or a natural Wrogul trait?

  “Be alert, he will be moving very fast!” a synthesized voice came from the twin holes in the walls. Hmm, I guess we go with natural trait for now. The voice raised another concern: Someone out there knows Wrogul! Is this the mysterious entity searching my records? Such concerns were secondary to survival, though, because the first shadows were obscuring the sunlight illuminating the dust cloud.

  MinSha!

  The insectoids quickly entered and searched the clinic, just barely missing Ginzberg as the floor closed about him. One of the MinSha mercs signaled to another, and it brought out a powerful laser and started to cut into the floor. It would be close, but the evac system should be able to get him to the panic room before the mercs broke into the sub-floor.

  Speaking of escape, he needed to be making his own way out, but the praying mantis-like hired troops had not bothered to look up—at least not yet. That all changed when a water tank on treads came into view. The creature in the tank looked like a Wrogul, but extremely aged and with poorly-healed injuries. It had dim yellow eyes with irregular pupils—more of a W shape than rectangular, like Squiddy and all of his kin.

  The first thing the strange Wrogul did was to look up!

  “There!” came the synthesized voice, “On the ceiling.”

  The MinSha started to swing the cutting laser in his direction.

  “Alive I said!” the translator shouted at maximum volume.

  That gave Squiddy an opening, which was all he needed, like the air vent he had been covering with his body. Humans had long been surprised by the small spaces Earth cephalopods could squeeze through. As often as he had told a Human that he was not an octopus, in this one instance, the comparison was apt.

  The air vent was, in fact, no such thing, but rather another one of his emergency escape routes. It led to a small chamber between the clinic level below and his personal quarters above. There was a waterproof hatch to seal the vent behind him, while a valve in front led directly to the drain for his sleeping tank. He was still blocked from accessing the electronic controls, but there was a manual release. Beyond the valve was a connection to the To’Os sewer system. A quick tug on a lever and he was…flushed into his least favorite escape route.

  At least it had the advantage of being the least favorite place for his unnamed pursuer, as well.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  The dropship was registered to yet another alias. Roeder had originally left it in his own name to provide a few advantages when transiting Earth and Human-controlled systems, but a year ago, Squiddy had bought several new identities from Don Torol. It was provisioned and ready to fly, and the Wrogul was
capable of flying it, but there was still the problem of whether the other Wrogul had compromised those records as well.

  There was also the matter of how—and why—Squiddy had not seen them coming. Sure, he had evidence that someone was looking, but bringing a squad of MinSha into the To’Os was not something one did without the Don’s permission.

  Once outside his building, the effects of the jamming faded, and he was able to access one of the relay nodes stationed along his escape route. Squiddy looked at the feed from the monitors throughout his clinic, private rooms, and the alleyway outside. There were over a dozen MinSha in the clinic spaces, plus the strange Wrogul. Outside was a squad of Oogar representing the police force. That meant one or more government officials were in on it.

  There!

  He zoomed the feed from the camera on his building that watched the building across the alley. Directly opposite his door stood two half-meter-tall figures, all shades of black-and-white except for a flash of yellow eyebrows.

  Tossers. But which ones? Had the Don turned on him after all this time? Did he feel betrayed by the exit strategy Squiddy had been building the past several months?

  He switched to a drone that was normally parked on the rooftop of his building. It would betray his surveillance to the beings watching his clinic, but that was not important anymore. He sent the drone down to get a close-up of the two locals.

  There were those who said it was impossible to tell the Tossers apart, but that was just prejudice speaking. It was possible to study beak shape, shade and length of the colorful eyebrows, set of the eyes, and habitual movements. Not to mention, Wrogul vision was particularly well adapted to “see” into multiple spectra due to their irregular pupils.