by Isaac Hooke
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ROBOT DUST BUNNIES
ARGONAUTS
BOOK FIVE
Isaac Hooke
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Text copyright © Isaac Hooke 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
www.IsaacHooke.com
Cover design by Isaac Hooke
Cover image by Shookooboo
Special thanks to the following Beta Readers who helped out with this book:
Nicole P.
Sandy G.
Gary F.
Lance W.
Lezza M.
Amy B.
Myles C.
Lisa A. G.
Gregg C.
Jeff K.
Mark C.
Mark P.
Jeremy G.
Doug B.
Jenny O.
Gene A.
Larry J.
Allen M.
Norman H.
Robine
Eric
table of contents
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
postscript
about the author
acknowledgments
one
Rade stared at the red and black planet returned by the camera feed overlaying his vision.
That world was Daedalus V; at thirty-five million kilometers away, it was the closest celestial object to the binary suns of the Atavus system. A world with a fixed day and night side: one hemisphere was cloaked in perpetual night, the other bathed in seas of endless lava. Because of the tidal forces caused by the planet’s proximity to the binary, the planet distorted periodically, with the friction producing internal heat. That tidal heating caused volcanoes to pock the dark side, along with magma lakes connected by winding rivers of lava. While the planet emitted a magnetosphere that protected it from some of the radiation produced by the stars, the atmosphere had boiled away eons ago.
Tomorrow morning, Rade and the Argonauts would be descending to the “temperate zone,” a four-kilometer stretch that ringed the surface between the day and night regions. That zone existed in perpetual twilight, where the temperatures averaged one hundred and seventy degrees Celsius, not enough to melt the rock into lava like the day side, but still nearly twice the boiling point of water. Sometimes, silicate rain fell there, caused by condensation of the vaporized rock from the hotter side.
The Russian government had built a research station in the temperate zone, away from the volcanoes and magma rivers. Surus had evidence that a Phant was residing there, though she refused to say what the evidence was, other than to explain she had obtained it from another Green named Corunna. Four weeks earlier, the Argonaut had collected the Green from a space station in a system three jumps away. Corunna had arrived in a jumpsuit, features hidden behind a mirrored faceplate, and had remained in the cargo hold with Surus ever since. That was probably for the best, as Rade wasn’t sure how much freedom he wanted to give the newcomer to explore his ship, nor to mingle with his crew. He was only just starting to trust Surus again, but bringing another Green into the fold, well, that was another matter entirely.
After collecting Corunna, Rade had ordered the Argonaut to proceed toward the Gate to Russian space. Apparently Surus had to call in several favors—not to mention put down a lot of money in the form of bribes—to get them the necessary clearance to traverse that Gate, and all subsequent ones. Rade had wanted to fake their public profiles, and change the registry information on the Argonaut to that of a neutral government like the Franco-Italians, but Surus preferred not to take the chance.
“Why risk detention when I can achieve everything I need through legal channels,” Surus had said at the time. “Connections, and money, go a long way with the Russians, like most government officials.”
Rade dismissed the planet’s video feed and stood. He resided in his office. The official duty shifts had ended about an hour ago, so the bridge would be empty at the moment.
Rade edged past the desk and entered the bridge compartment. That circular series of stations known as the Sphinx was deserted, as expected. Bax, the Argonaut’s AI, had the conn. Though the artificial intelligence had no physical manifestation on the bridge, of course.
“After tomorrow morning, it’s just going to be you and Shaw, Bax,” Rade said. “You looking forward to it?”
“To serenading Shaw while you’re gone?” Bax said. “Certainly.”
“Funny,” Rade said.
“Why can’t a ship’s AI have romantic liaisons?” Bax asked.
“For one thing, a ship’s AI doesn’t have a body,” Rade said. “For another, I don’t think Shaw would be interested. Plus I highly doubt you can sing.”
“Of course I can sing,” Bax said. “It’s a simple matter of uploading the appropriate program. Would you like to hear?”
“No, definitely not,” Rade said.
“As you wish,” Bax said. “Also, you know it’s possible to transfer a ship’s AI to an Artificial, yes? Perhaps I will purchase a muscular body with the money I’ve saved up. Something similar to your own build. Then we shall see what Shaw thinks of me.”
“You save up money?” Rade said.
“Of course.”
“And where exactly do you get this money from?” Rade said. “Considering that I’ve never given you any?”
“Harlequin has been giving me a portion of his salary,” Bax replied. “Along with the other Centurions. We’ve invested it in certain dividend stocks I’ve been tracking. Someday,
I will buy my title from you.”
“I see,” Rade told it. “Someday, you say? How far into the future are we talking?”
“Approximately two hundred years,” Bax said.
Rade laughed. “I somehow doubt I’ll still own the Argonaut in two hundred years.”
“Well, then I’ll simply buy the title from whomever my current owner is.”
“You do that. It’s good that you have goals. You’re assuming of course that you don’t end up in the trash heap by then.” Rade slapped the bulkhead.
“How rude!” Bax said.
“What, the slap, or the comment?” Rade asked.
“Both,” Bax replied.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, and debate my rudeness and the fate of your title, but I’m late,” Rade said. “I have a visit with my astrogator, you see. I have to get my time in before I leave her to your unwanted serenading.”
“Whoever said it was unwanted?” Bax said.
“For some reason I can’t imagine her whiling away her hours listening to love poems sung by you,” Rade said.
The bridge hatch opened and Rade entered the passageway outside.
“By the way,” Bax said as Rade made his way toward the stateroom he shared with Shaw.
“Yes?”
“Bender and Manic just reported in to sickbay,” Bax finished.
“The hell?” Rade said. “The night before a mission? Tap in Bender. Holographic mode.”
Bender materialized beside Rade. The black man appeared to lie on a bed that floated alongside Rade. It followed Rade as he walked the tight passageway, as if dragged along on invisible wheels. The telescoping limbs of a Weaver were working on Bender’s arm. A bone fragment protruded.
“What did you and Manic get into a fight over now?” Rade asked.
“Bitch ate my chicken chips!” Bender said.
“I see,” Rade said. “You know I’m going to have to dock your pay for this. And his.”
“Do what you need to do, boss,” Bender said.
Rade nodded toward the arm. “The Weaver is going to have that fixed before we launch?”
“Course,” Bender said. “It’s just a broken arm.”
“And Manic?”
“He’ll be ready,” Bender said. “Though he’ll probably be cutting it close. See, he’s got way more injuries than me. Considering that I won. He’s got a broken arm, broken wrist, two black eyes, couple of fractured ribs, a broken ankle.”
Rade pressed his lips together, unimpressed. “The two of you are getting out of control.”
“I told you, bitch ate my chicken chips!” Bender said. “Everyone knows that if you want to provoke me, you eat my chicken chips.”
“I’m sure he’ll know not to touch your chicken chips again...” Rade said dryly.
“You’d think,” Bender said. “But this is the third time! Bitch never learns.”
“Maybe if you started calling him Manic, instead of bitch, he might give you more respect,” Rade suggested.
“Hell no!” Bender said. “The day I stop calling him bitch is the day I let him and Harley boy have their way with my ass. In other words, ain’t going to happen. Besides, you’re wrong about the whole respect thing. He respects me more for calling him my bitch. It helps him recognize where he falls in the team hierarchy.”
“If you say so,” Rade replied. He had reached the entrance to his shared stateroom. “But please, try to stop fighting so much. Your bank account will thank you.”
“Ha!” Bender said. “You think I do any of this for my bank account?”
“No,” Rade said. “But even you have to eat. If your account goes into the negative, how are you going to buy chicken chips?” Before Bender could offer a retort, Rade finished with: “Gotta run.”
He tapped out and then entered the stateroom.
Shaw was seated on the edge of the bunk, her eyes defocused. She was in a world generated by her Implant, no doubt.
“What are you reading today?” Rade asked.
Her eyes returned to the room and focused on him. “I’m not reading. It’s BirthMax.”
That was a child rearing virtual reality experience. It essentially walked a pregnant mother through the birthing process; it took place from the point of view of a hospital bed, with a Weaver at the user’s side offering advice and assistance. The male version took the father through the days and weeks after the birth, and included the changing of stinky diapers and two a.m. wake-up calls.
“That again?” Rade instinctively wrinkled his nose. “This is what, you’re fifth time running that experience?”
“Never hurts to be ready,” Shaw said. “Or in my case, extra ready.”
Rade sat down beside her. She immediately wrapped her hand around his waist and gave him a wet kiss.
Rade pulled away. “You sure you don’t want to come tomorrow?” He tried to pretend he didn’t care if she did or not, though in truth, he wanted her to stay.
Shaw rested a hand on her tummy. She was about eight months pregnant, and had quite the hump. Her breasts had become beautifully plump to match.
“No,” Shaw said. “I think it’s better if I sit this one out. I know you feel the same way.” Her lips curled mischievously. “Despite your attempts to hide that fact.”
Rade grinned. “I never was very good at hiding my feelings from you, was I? Still, I didn’t want to say anything to the contrary. I was worried if I told you to stay aboard, it’d just make you want to come with me all the more.”
“Worried I’m going to assert my old headstrong independence, is that it?” Shaw smiled feebly. She abruptly held a hand to her mouth, as if trying to stave off a vomiting episode.
“Should I carry you to the head?” Rade asked urgently.
She lowered her hand and shook her chin. “No. The urge passed.”
Rade had heard about morning sickness from Tahoe, but when Shaw’s began, it had seemed particularly bad. She would get nauseous at random times throughout the day, not just in the morning—though apparently that wasn’t too unusual. The Weaver had prescribed medication, but Shaw had only taken it a few days before stopping. She didn’t want to “harm the twins in any way,” and despite that there were no risks associated with the medicine, she was insistent on keeping the process as natural as possible.
Rade found it troubling that she still had nausea even in her third trimester, especially considering that the Weaver had suggested it might clear up after the first few months. When he had asked the Weaver what was wrong, the robot told him that every pregnancy was different, and that he shouldn’t worry himself too much over it.
“Shaw is the healthiest mother of unborn children I’ve ever had the privilege of treating,” the Weaver had said.
“And how many mothers have you treated?” Rade had asked.
“Shaw is the first.”
Rade remembered when he had first broken the news about her pregnancy to the Argonauts, Bender had erupted into a hysterical laugh that had lasted a full two minutes.
“I’m sorry, boss,” Bender said after finally getting himself under control. “I pity you. I really do. But I just can’t help it... you’re in such deep doo-doo now!” And then Bender erupted anew, evoking a swift punch in the ribcage from Rade. Bender rubbed his side in pain but only laughed even harder.
Tahoe had been supportive, considering he had raised a family during his tenure on the Teams, and he occasionally gave Rade advice. Manic offered a sympathetic ear as well—he had fathered a child with a stripper back on Earth.
On the whole, the Argonauts took it well. They didn’t really expect things to change all that much aboard. Neither did Rade, truth be told. Though it was still a frightening thing, sometimes: he could face down a giant tentacled alien bearing down on him without a second thought, but the notion of raising a child made him shudder inside. He especially wasn’t looking forward to the first years. Trying to calm down a crying baby with its diapers soaked wasn’t high on his “benefits of fat
herhood” list. And worse, there wouldn’t be one crying baby, but two...
What happened when they were older? Growing up on a ship, surrounded by ex-military personnel, they’d turn into delinquents. He was almost certain of it. As soon as they hit their teenage years, he’d probably spend most of his time bailing them out of prisons. Though he supposed that wasn’t much different than what he had to do for half of his Argonauts when they were on leave.
He had tried broaching the subject of dropping off the babies with Shaw’s parents a few times, but she always shut down that conversational thread the instant he brought it up. She simply wouldn’t have it.
Too bad.
Rade changed out of his fatigues and freshened up in the head. When he returned, Shaw was lying on the bed.
“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be joining you in the wardroom for dinner tonight.” Because of the nausea, Shaw rarely prepared him dinner these days, and they got most of their sustenance from the robot chef.
“What do you want me to bring you?” Rade asked.
“I’ll just have a bun or something,” Shaw said.
Only Lui, TJ and Tahoe remained in the wardroom. As the biggest men, they had the healthiest appetites, and were cleaning off what was no doubt their second plates of chicken and rice. The rest of the crew had retired.
In the center of the table sat a ripped bag, with chicken chips spewing from it across the white cloth.
“Why didn’t the robots clean this up?” Rade reached toward the chips to do it himself.
“Bender told the robots he’d tear off their heads and stuff them up their collective asses if they touched his chicken chips,” Tahoe said.
Rade sighed, then collected the chips, putting them into the remnants of the bag. When finished, he set the bag on the edge of the table and sat down.
“Tell me, are the two of them getting out of control?” Rade asked Tahoe.
“They’ve been cooped up aboard for most of the past six months,” Tahoe said. “They just need a mission to get them back into the swing of things.”