by Sara King
“Then we’re screwed,” Drogire said. “We’ve only got thirty-seven, including Joel.”
But Panner’s face stretched in a grin. “Which is exactly why we’re going to win.”
CHAPTER 23: Twins
21st of May, 3006
Uncharted Jungle
Fortune, Daytona 6 Cluster, Outer Bounds
Joel groaned and peeled his face out of a puddle of coagulated blue Yolk. “Good to see your shining sense of humor’s still intact,” he muttered, grasping his temple. “How long was I comatose?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” ship-Jeanne—Sheanne?—demanded.
“Uh,” Joel began, “because you’re a ship?”
“I’ll happily shock you again, Joel,” she growled. “It was fun watching you sizzle. Like a dead frog in science class.”
“That’s morbid,” Joel managed, shoving himself upright. He frowned when he realized the motion didn’t trigger the usual ache from Geo’s permanent leg wound. When he gave his thigh a curious squeeze, he felt no pain whatsoever.
“Hey. Asshole. You paying attention?”
Joel grunted and started pulling up his pant leg.
“While you were out, Patrick called. He was on a public line and he sounded desperate.”
Joel peeled back enough bandage to realize the toe-cheese smell was gone. Underneath, the wound was just an angry red line. “Huh,” he said, poking at it. “How long was I out?”
“Turns out,” Jeanne said, totally ignoring him, “after we left Silver City, there was an uprising led by none other than our Magali Landborn—who was here, by the way—and the whole planet’s going nuts. The Revolution started, Joel. For real this time. They’re freeing Yolk factories and everything.”
Joel forgot about his leg. “Kedora’s knockers,” he whispered. “Magali did that?” He hadn’t thought the mousy woman had it in her.
“Yeah,” Jeanne said, sounding tired. “I really screwed us over on this, didn’t I, Joel?”
He wasn’t gonna argue with that one. He really couldn’t think of a way that a successful seven-thousand-bag-heist could have gone any more wrong. About the only thing going right was that the Coalition hadn’t found them yet.
Jeanne sighed deeply from the speaker system. “Yeah. I did. Sorry.”
Joel felt for her. He patted her wall. “It’s okay, babe.”
Jeanne electrocuted him again.
“What was that for?!” Joel cried, once more shoving himself from the muck upon regaining consciousness.
“From this point onward, you will not call me ‘babe,’ ‘honey,’ ‘sweetcheeks,’ ‘sugar,’ or any other demeaning, overly casual moniker,” Jeanne commanded. “Further, your lack of argument was suspicious.”
“Oh, what, is this the Second Inquisition, now?” Joel cried, flinging a handful of Yolk at the wall. “I get electrocuted on the suspicion of—”
Jeanne made the floor sizzle again, this time only enough to make him scream.
“On this ship, your ass is mine, Joel. Remember that.”
Joel bit down the invectives that came to mind and muttered out, “Yes, ma’am.”
“And you need to hurry up and call somebody for a tow. Patrick’s in trouble, and the sooner we get fixed, the sooner we can go find him.”
Joel winced. “Hey, uh, sorry to tell you this, bab—Jeanne,” he quickly correct himself, “but you’ve got like, months before you’re gonna be skyworthy again.”
“And you’ve got lots and lots of money to expedite that sitting in the bowels of my hold,” Jeanne said. “I’m expecting two weeks, tops.”
It was then that Joel realized the deal she was offering him. “So…” he cocked his head. “I get you fixed, I got free rein to fly you?”
“Don’t see why not,” Jeanne said. “As long as you don’t make references to curves, arcs, high flying, climaxes, apexes, romancing of sticks, battering through hatches, blowing loads, or generally open your mouth at all.” She hesitated. “Oh. And you’re going to meet my daughter. I’m gonna let you introduce yourself, since you never got a chance to meet her twin brother.”
Twin brother…?
Joel froze, suddenly having a tiny glimpse of the massive, steaming pile of shit he was in, yet at the same time, realizing he couldn’t refuse. All he could manage—under pain of knowing he would roast otherwise, was, “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 24: Charismatic People
5th of June, 3006
Alien Defense Grid
Fortune, Daytona 6 Cluster, Outer Bounds
“No, moron, this is a communications sink.” Anna Landborn ripped the wrench out of Peter Green’s hand and shoved him away from the ugly conglomeration of Aashaanti and human technologies still attached to the hull of the crashed Aashaanti mothership. “We are stopping Coalition signals from getting to the Orbital, not amplifying them. Aanaho Ineriho!” She tossed the wrench aside and turned to Doberman. “Dobie, if he touches alien tech again before he’s fourteen, take off two fingers. And rip them off, don’t cut them. I want it to be messy.”
“Yes, Anna,” Doberman said, eying the boy. He accessed the boy’s file to determine he was currently ten and a half, then set a countdown timer. “Do you care which two?”
“Surprise me,” Anna said. Huddled against the wall, Peter Green peed himself, which made Anna chuckle. “Crying little baby. You might as well take them now, Dobie. He won’t be needing them in the crib.”…
Doberman stepped forward to obey. He had actually picked the screaming Peter Green up from the ground and was prying the child’s fists out from under his armpits when the barefoot Panner North stepped forward, looking decidedly unamused. “Let him go,” the blond Baby said.
Anna, who had been grinning and chuckling as she watched Peter scream, turned slowly, her smile sliding from her face. “Oh, come on. Did you see what he was about to do? That core’s got enough power in it to light up a planet, and he was setting it up backwards. It was gonna collect and broadcast their communications, not isolate and cut them off. Hell, they probably would’ve been able to pick it up back in the Core.”
“You can’t blame him,” Panner said. “As far as we can tell, that was what the technology was originally for—collecting and broadcasting. You’re taking it in a completely different direction than its originators intended.”
Anna snorted. “Can’t blame him? The coalers have all their air support out looking for Runaway Joel. All of it. Prime opportunity to knock out their communications and cause total havoc. We strike now, we could take Rath and hold it. And, with one colossally stupid maneuver, this dumbshit almost ruined our chance.”
“Not everyone is as gifted with tech as you,” Panner said.
“Correction,” Anna said, waving the wrench, “no one is as gifted with tech as me.”
Panner sighed, his blue eyes sliding towards Doberman, who still held the bawling Baby in one fist. “Put him down. He’s more use to Anna with both hands intact.”
Though Doberman agreed with BriarRabbit’s conclusion, he turned and waited for Anna’s approval.
“Oh fiiine,” Anna sighed. “Dobie, let him go. I can do this myself.” She turned to look at the alien apparatus that rebel forces had carved out of the dirt and walled in with cement on all sides to shield it from prying eyes in the sky—and a potential bombing run. She was frowning, her formidable mind obviously already back to the problem of synching human tech with Aashaanti tech, Peter Green and his fingers forgotten.
Doberman released the sobbing Peter, who immediately bolted for the exit and the sunshine above. Sighing, Pan said, “You know, you catch more flies with honey.”
“I’m not catching flies,” Anna said. “I’m fighting a war. Where’s my next assistant?”
Pan glanced at the otherwise empty bunker now that Peter had raced back up the ladder. “Peter was the last one willing to help you down here. You scared the rest off.”
“Dobie scared them off,” Anna corrected distracted
ly, not taking her attention from the equipment.
Doberman didn’t think that was quite fair, since he had been following her orders when he had dangled Luka Wolfgang and John Rajewski from the shuttle hatch on the way to the Tear. He was about to mention this when Panner said, “Your robot is acting on your orders. You scared them off.”
Anna waved him off distractedly, fully engaged in studying the contraption they were building, a frown on her face. Pan seemed content to let her examine it. Turning to Doberman, he said, “You understand what she’s doing here?”
Doberman had downloaded a hundred and seventeen thousand pages of manuals, theorems, and theses earlier that afternoon, and was fairly sure he understood the basics, but not even his understanding could comprehend why Anna was adding a Voletian destabilizer to a toric cycler interposed over an Aashaanti endrowave chamber. Theoretically, that would have already exploded.
Eventually, after a couple more moments of analyzing her project, Anna let out a deep sigh that blew her strawberry-blonde bangs up against her scalp. “Damn. The technologies are barely compatible, and we don’t have enough palladium on this damn rock to keep that reaction contained. Maybe we could use platinum as a substitute…”
“How about you take a walk with me?” Panner suggested.
Anna, who had devolved into muttering to herself about stress tolerances, hidden ultrawaves, and energy loads, spun on him with a frown. “Didn’t you just hear me, Pan? We’ve gotta get this thing working before they find Runaway Joel. It’s only gonna be a few hours—despite our best efforts to send them in the wrong direction, they’re already narrowing it down.”
“I heard you,” Pan said, “and I know better than anyone what we’re up against, but if you keep alienating all of our potential allies, we’re wasting a valuable resource.”
“‘Allies.’” Anna snorted and turned from the apparatus. “Peter’s an idiot. I should’ve left him on that shuttle to die.”
“Peter’s a ten-year-old boy who happens to be an expert at advanced interstellar communications,” Panner replied.
“So am I,” Anna said, frowning. “What’s your point?”
Panner sighed. “You have a few minutes to talk to me? In the sun, if you don’t mind. I hate being underground.
Anna sighed deeply, but wiped the grease from her hands and threw her rag aside. “Seriously, Pan, I hate exercise.”
“It’s just a walk,” Pan said, leading her up the makeshift ladder and back to the surface. “We need to discuss a few things.”
“Oh yeah?” Anna demanded, following him up into the light. Doberman followed at a respectful distance. “Like what?”
“Like your attitude,” Pan said. Crawling out of the hole first, he bent and offered her a hand. “I think it’s gonna piss a lot of people off.”
Anna threw her head back and laughed. “And I should care about that why?” She got to her feet without assistance.
“You should care,” Pan said, lowering his hand back to his side, “because if you ever plan to be a leader around here, people aren’t going to follow someone who chops off fingers for making an honest mistake.”
“First,” Anna said, “nobody’s gonna know I even exist. I’m gonna lead the leaders. Screw putting my face out in public. That’s dumb.” Doberman climbed from the bunker and followed the two of them towards the gravelly banks of the headwaters of the Snake. “Second,” Anna went on, “there are plenty of examples of people following out of fear of punishment or stern reprisals. Either way, I’m covered.”
“More to the point,” Pan said, “I don’t appreciate you terrifying the other Babies.”
Anna laughed. “What are you, their mother hen or something?”
“That’s about right.” Pan looked utterly serious. “Consider me their big brother, and I don’t take kindly to bullies.”
“Bully?” Anna narrowed her eyes. “That whole shuttle full of blubbering nitwits doesn’t hold a candle to me and you know it.”
“True,” Pan said, “but I’d like to keep some of the greatest minds on Fortune from dying or being unnecessarily maimed because you found it entertaining.”
“Fortune only needs me,” Anna replied. “The rest of them could team up against me and they’d still get pwned.”
Pan sighed. “Anna, we all want the Coalition to withdraw from Fortune.”
“Wrong,” Anna said. When Pan cocked his head at her, she said, “We want the Coalition to burn. Utterly and completely collapse, the bloated fabric of its so-called ‘society’ ripped apart until there’s nothing left but a smoking shit stain inside a pile of ashes. Isn’t that right, Dobie?”
Doberman, who had been content to follow and listen, dutifully replied, “You have told me on many occasions that you want the Coalition government to burn, Anna.”
“We all want the Coalition to leave,” Pan insisted. “But sometimes, I can’t tell if you’re actually helping our cause. Just what you did to Captain Eyre alone… Do you realize she can’t fly ships anymore? She spends half her time huddled on a deserted mountainside out of fear she’ll kill someone? She was our best pilot, and now she’s gotta remain perpetually doped to the gills in order to keep from killing Milar or frying perfectly good electronics?”
Anna chuckled as if that were the most satisfying thing she’d heard all day. “I can’t wait to see the little twit high. I heard she’s been hallucinating.” She snickered.
Pan stopped them suddenly. “Look. Anna. Change your tune, or someday, I’m gonna change it for you.”
Anna’s smile faded immediately and her gaze hardened on Pan. “What was that?”
“A threat,” Pan said. “But if you want me to spell it out for you, I will. Anna, if you don’t clean up your act, I’m going to make you disappear and lead Fortune without you.”
Doberman was perplexed that BriarRabbit felt secure enough in his position to threaten Anna. Surely he knew that his life dangled by the thread that was Anna’s goodwill. Doberman, after all, had no alliances to anyone but Anna, and he had refrained from associating with the other Yolk Babies, sensing that he might experience priority conflicts if he befriended any of the others.
And, from the hard expression on Anna’s face, she knew that fact, too.
“Wow,” Anna finally said. “That was ballsy.” Slowly, she broke out in a grin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“I may not have a robot,” Panner North said, “but I have charisma, and that is the more powerful weapon, in my experience.”
Anna was silent for several moments, looking trapped between anger and bemusement. Finally, she said, “Dobie, put the barrel of your internal explosive-rounds arm-cannon against his forehead. Arm it, and then on my count of three, fire it.” She smiled. “Oh, and if Panner opens his mouth again, fire it.”
Dobie complied, resting the weapon between the larger child’s two blond brows. Pan didn’t even look up at him. BriarRabbit continued looking placidly at Anna, appearing almost bored.
“One. Is he scared, Dobie?” Anna asked. “Two.”
Doberman evaluated the boy’s biorhythms, noting the elevated heartbeat and skin temperatures. Magnified analysis indicated that pore secretions were three hundred percent increased, and breath was constrained. “I would say he displays all the signs of anxiety, Anna,” Doberman said.
“So you see,” Anna said, taking a conversational tone, “it appears a robot is more powerful than charisma. Despite the fact you’re standing there, looking bored, in reality, you’re about to piss yourself. You can’t fake out a robot, Pan.”
Doberman knew that Anna was trying to lure Pan into trying to retort, which would then result in Doberman firing the explosive-rounds and killing him. It would be sad, because Doberman enjoyed Pan’s discussions on political theory, but it would not devastate him.
“But let’s put it to the test!” Anna cried, clapping. “Dobie, belay my last command. Let him talk. Pan, I’d like to see your charisma work you out of this situ
ation.” She was grinning again as she clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. “So what are you gonna do, Pan? Ask him to stop?”
“No,” Pan said. “I’m going to ask you to imagine what it will be like getting fifteen Yolk Babies working together to utterly humiliate the Coalition. I want you to see their horror when a tiny little planet called Fortune makes the towering colossus its bitch.”
Anna chuckled, obviously having no trouble seeing it in her mind.
“And now I’d like you to imagine that happening without me.”
Anna frowned.
“And then,” Pan said, “once you imagine all the effort it will take you to organize and lead people—something you detest because you consider it a waste of your time—I want you to imagine why the masses will hate you for it.”
Anna’s frown darkened into a scowl.
“In this case,” Pan went on, “it’s because, rather than making them love you, as you want them to do, they will despise your very existence, and you won’t know why. The yolk runners will lay awake at night plotting out your demise, and the craig-hunters in the Tear will turn their rifles on you at celebrations and parades. Children will mock you in their games, and mothers will never give another baby your namesake. They’ll hate you, and you won’t understand how to make them stop. Everything you do to gain their love will only make them run screaming.”
This time, it was Anna’s mouth that was forming into a tight, grim line.
“You won’t understand,” Pan went on, “because you have the same understanding of emotions as your pet robot.”
On this point, Doberman disagreed. He was pretty sure he understood emotions better than Anna.