by Will Crudge
This is a lot for me to digest in one sitting. Marbles sits silently as if to soak it all in. I just try to maintain a stoic disposition. If Michael is only right about a fraction of what he was telling me, then he’d be looking up to me as a protector of humanity. Candidate, or not… I’m a Guild member. I have the genetics and most of the training. He and his crew will look to me for comfort and reassurance. I have to deliver on it. Part of being a warrior is how to carry one’s self in the eyes of the helpless. We are mandated to instill confidence and hope at all times. Especially when we hear the news that makes us want to shit ourselves.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I change the subject. “Will I be meeting your Captain?”
“No, I’m afraid,” Michael says as he shakes his head. “Our last captain was a UAHC Air Force reservist and was called to active duty at our last stop. I’m in command until we reach Tangine Station. That’s where you are free to leave, and our new captain will meet us.”
“I didn’t realize the UAHC even had reservists. They’re only allowed to maintain a recall force of inactive Soldiers, but they don’t have traditional reserve units.” I say.
“You’re absolutely correct,” Michael says as he leans back in his seat. “But the UAHC Air Force isn’t officially a military force unless it’s a time of war. They have traditional reserve forces.”
He’s right. I forgot about that. The UAHC Air Force is basically an atmospheric defense force for terrestrial planets that are outside of traditional UAHC Fleet forces areas of operation. They’re basically law enforcement with fighter jets. But by law, they also maintain a force of dual-purpose Mark 8 fighters and one ancient battle carrier. Most of the personnel in that force are from reserve squadrons, while the carrier remains on active duty with a skeleton crew.
“So, is your last captain a fighter pilot?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah!” Michael says with a chuckle. “A cocky bastard, at that! But he’s the best pilot I’ve ever seen. He earned his call sign by being a close-quarters scrapper.”
“Oh yeah? What’s his call sign?” I ask.
“Turnbuckle”
“Turnbuckle? As in the connector thingy in the corner of a boxing ring?” I ask.
“Yep. That’s it. He got the name because he revels in getting up and close to an enemy, and just when they think they’ve got him in a corner, he bounds out and slams them into a tough spot.” He says.
“Now I get it! He embraces chaos. Feeds off of it, even. He would have made a great War Master if his genetics matched ours.” I say.
“Genetics?” Michael says with a head tilt. “Is that how you become a War Master? I was always told you had to be born into it, but I was never sure where you guys… err people got your legendary skills. I don’t believe in the hocus pokus part of the Guild’s lore, as I’m sure you don’t either.”
I laugh. I don’t blame his skepticism. War Masters have entered pop culture as some kind of freaky superheroes with magic. I suppose most rational humans beings wouldn’t believe we’re anything more than military scholars who can hold their own in a fight. I can’t blame him. I didn’t believe it either when I was young.
“Don’t believe in our magic, huh?” I say with a sly grin. “Try pinging my neural interface, then.”
Michael studies my face for a few seconds and then begins to blink rapidly. “My neural interface is coming up blank. You’re un-augmented, apparently. Seems odd. I would assume the greatest warriors of all time would be heavily modded.”
“We can’t be modded at all. Our genes won’t allow for it. But keep an eye on your internal HUD.” I say.
“Bullshit!” He shouts as he looks around frantically. “Did you’re infantry drone just hack my interface?”
“Nope.” Marbles says as he shakes his head. “Any message I send to a neural interface will have a data tag. If not, then your HUD would have rejected the message. Even an AI can’t hack that well.”
Michael stares at Marbles in shock. I can tell he understands the implications but is still unable to accept it for what it is. Then Michael lurches back. He knocks his chair over as he stumbles on to his feet.
“You just sent me a signature token!” He says with wide eyes. “That’s impossible!”
“Try shooting her with a plasma pistol, and you’ll reassess what you believe to be possible!” Marbles says jokingly.
TANGINE STATION
“I bid you farewell, Katherine!” Michael says with a smile. We exchange customary pleasantries, and we go our separate ways. Marbles and I walk down the corridor that leads to the airlock and then make our way into the cavernous space station terminal.
Freighters don’t have much external hull surfaces that aren’t obscured by hundreds of thousands of shipping containers. It’s our first time seeing the inside of the moon-sized complex. Tens of thousands of ships are either docked or are passing through the hyper gates at any one time. A hyper gate station is basically a spider-shaped complex that has a hyper gate portal at the tip of each leg. A hyper gate is basically a stable wormhole that instantly dumps you off at another hyper gate station somewhere else across the cosmos.
Freighters will stop to transfer containers when necessary, but will often pass on through from station to station without docking. Once they reach the system of their destination, they’ll traverse normal space until they arrive at their port of call. Only the inner star systems have these complexes, and it’s the main reason why their economies are so strong.
The Crimson Alliance only has a few hyper gate stations, but they’re often down for maintenance, and rarely used for anything beyond military applications. That means their collective economies are sluggish and inefficient.
Modern hyper gate tech is largely banned from export to the Alliance as a security measure. For a good reason too. It’s been the main reason why they haven’t invaded in two hundred years. Their massive fleets would have been detected long before they were any threat to the inner stars during normal space flight.
But things have changed. They always do.
Michael advised us that the station was no place for a Crimson infantry drone to be walking around. Even though he’s been heavily modified and has been stripped of all markings, he still has the frame. But in a space station, it’s common to see people walking around in EV suits. Some people are accustomed to radically different gravity levels and atmospheric pressures. The best way to cope with new environments is to wear one of these ugly things.
Marbles has a well-proportioned humanoid shape, so with a full EV suit and a tinted visor, he can pass for human easily. We couldn’t just fly out of the airlock of the freighter on the space donkey and then just go about our merry way. We have no FTL, and the onboard credits require biometrics. Our only solution is the black market. In exchange for a portion of the credits, we can have the biometrics hacked to meet my physiology.
Since we have no credits to dock our small donkey, Michael had it stuffed into an empty shipping container. It’s being off-loaded to one of his company’s corporate docking bays, and then it will be ground transported to the civil sector.
The civil sector is the area on the station where the residents live. They have their own community with a town council, magistrate, and emergency services. Once we get the credit module hacked, we can make it to the civil sector without being scrutinized by security. We’ll make our way to the container, take off, and then pay for gate passage on our way out. Boom! Unum planetoid, here we come!
But you know what they say about best-laid plans…
The shady district is where we’ll find our hacker, but it’s a long walk. We could save time by using a train, but that would raise the risk of security by conducting a random search. The laws that protect sentient entities would prevail in the end, but being encased in an infantry drone’s body, Marbles would be shot on sight. Can’t lose my Marbles.
We take in
the views as we walk. The cavernous terminal stretches for dozens of kilometers ahead of us. We’re walking with the core of the station to our right, and the docks to our left. The ceilings are at least a hundred meters tall, and the interior side is riddled with cargo areas, bars, and dens of iniquity. The space side is a massive wall of windows. We pass by ships at the dock that obscures our view of the shipping lanes just outside. Occasionally there’s a break in the obstruction, and we can see massive ships passing by close to the edge of the station. They skirt the curved equatorial region of the complex and lazily glide along to their designated hyper gate. Some of them are heading to HAL’s.
HAL’s are basically ship launchers that help to accelerate vessels to their cruising speeds in normal space flight. It’s not cheap to pay the fee, but it’s more economical to pay for a launch if you have millions of tons of freight on your ship. The fuel costs to get up to speed are prohibitive for large ships that have to make interplanetary hops. Hyper-gates get ships to other star systems, while the HAL’s launch them to planetary bodies within the system that the station occupies. It’s a wonder of modern logistics and the secret to feeding trillions of hungry humans.
Eventually, we find the place Michael told us about. It’s seedy as shit, but that’s kind of what we’re going for. It’s a pub named Judy’s. The owner of the bar has many spacefarers as patrons that seek to dissolve into obscurity. Work is hard to find when you’re trying to go legit, but it’s even harder when you need to disappear altogether.
Instinctively I track my surroundings. There’s too many stimuli for me to process everything. Especially when I’ve lived in isolation for thirty years. But I have Marbles to help me scan for potential threats, so I trick myself into feeling at ease.
We pass by a dozen tables filled with patrons. It’s another reminder of how isolated my life has been. As a child, I was relatively sheltered, and at the temple, I knew everyone. In exile, I only had Trixie and Marbles. For the last decade, it’s just been my tin-can brother. I’ve never seen people dress like this. Leather jumpsuits, multi-colored hairstyles, cybernetic limbs… It’s a horror show for the uninitiated.
We elbow out a place at the crowded bar. I take care to keep my eyes forward and not stare. A slim woman in a plaid miniskirt and a skin-tight shirt walks up. I can only assume she’s a bartender. She’s behind the bar. I’ve never been in a bar before, so I assume this is how it works.
Her white shirt glows from the black-lighting, and her sandy blonde hair seems just a few shades darker than mine. Her eyes meet mine, and she offers a nod.
“I think she’s asking you what you want to drink.” Marbles says with a muffled whisper.
“I’ll have watermelon cider,” I say. It was what I was told to say. A code of some sort.
“We’re all out. How’s about peach instead?” She replies. It’s the response I was told to listen for.
“As long as it’s in a tall glass,” I say. Once again, it’s all in code.
“Wait here. I’ll check the back for a clean glass.” She says. I wasn’t sure what that meant. That was one step further than I was told it would take. All I can do is wait. I have no clue what will happen next, so I just keep my eyes to myself.
A minute passes by before I get a tap on the shoulder. It’s the bartender. “Come, pick out your glass.” She says.
She doesn’t wait for a response. She turns and walks. I decide to follow her. Absent of a better idea, I decided to go along with the shady shenanigans. Marbles stays closely behind me. We pass another guy wearing an EV suit, and he’s sipping a drink through a straw-like apparatus attached to his helmet. He turns his head at Marbles and gives him a thumbs up. I can only assume there’s some kind of kindred spirit between humans who are adapted to more extreme environments.
Marbles gives the man a nod but doesn’t say a word. The man just stares at him for a moment. I guess he’s hoping that Marbles will talk to him and share where he’s from. But we pass by wordlessly, and my walking dildo just keeps pace behind me.
My eyes divert from watching the awkward exchange of EV suit buddies and go back to the woman in the tight plaid skirt.
Perfect ass. Must be modded.
We’re lead to an indescript looking door in the corner of the pub. The bartender glances around as if to make sure nobody is watching, and then opens the door. She beckons us to follow with a hand gesture, and we comply accordingly.
So far so good.
Space is dark. I can barely see. Something slams into the palm of my hand before I realize I just caught something that was heading for my face. The darkness lit up abruptly, and I find myself grasping the business end of an aluminum club. I have a vague recollection that identifies the club like a baseball bat. Whatever that is.
The handle of the bat is held by the bartender who is standing motionless in shock. She must have thought that she had the drop on me, and so she was now struck with indecision.
I yank the bat out of her grasp which causes her to stumble awkwardly, as I pull her off balance. “What the hell, bitch?” I ask sternly while struggling to keep my volume down.
Before she can answer, I hear the whine of some kind of energy weapon fill up my awareness. I barely get my hand on my sword handle before Marbles releases a pulse blast from his wrist. The normally concussive sound of the pulse blast was muffled since it had to penetrate the EV suit. A burly man drops into a heap several meters away.
As soon as I collect my thoughts, I realize that Marbles illuminated the room with the lights on his helmet. Good thing too. I scan for a power switch and then slap it with my free hand. The lights flicker on, and we’re standing in some kind of stock room. Shelves line the walls, and they’re filled with an assortment of boxes, bottles, and kegs.
The bartender chick scrambles to check the downed man, so I relax my awareness, and casually pull my sword from the scabbard. She doesn’t see the massive blade gleaming in the light. She’s transfixed on the smelly blob of man-meat on the floor.
“Kyle! Kyle!” She keeps shouting as she tries desperately to smack him back into consciousness.
Pulse blasters are classified as “less-than-lethal” in normal operation. Chances are he’s just out cold. But a close-range headshot would certainly be lethal. He took one in the abdomen, so he’ll come around any second.
“He’ll be fine!” Marbles says sternly. “I hit him at sixty percent power. By the time the pulse ripped through my suit, it would have been at less than twenty percent when it hit him.”
“Fuck you!” The teary-eyed bartender shouts back. She’d huddled over the man, and has his head cradled in her arms. At first glance, I took the man as being an ugly thug. Now that the lighting is improved, I can see he’s kind of cute. He’s got sharp features, and his face is very symmetrical. He’s got a nice layer of red stubble on his face. He’s young. He looks to have a physical age of about thirty. Young by modern standards, at least, but he could be closer to fifty actual years.
“Why did you attack me?” I ask calmly.
“You used a code that almost got us killed by those Crimson fuck-heads!” She says.
“Ok, let’s just pretend I’ve been living under a rock for thirty years. I take it that how we approached you was somehow – outdated – or something?” Marbles asks. I take note that he’s keeping his helmet on. I’m grateful. If the recent Crimson presence here was to blame for this assault, then the sight of an infantry drone would certainly muck up this exchange.
She wipes away her tears, and smears of eyeliner smudge all over her cheeks. It’s almost kind of cute. Good thing I have my libido suppressed.
“Yes. Those fuck-sticks tried to infiltrate us. The only thing that saved us was the arrival of some big ass UAHC warship. They were about to kill us until they got some kind of order to stand down or something.” She says.
I’m not totally convinced she’s telling the whole story. She’s definitely trying to be truthful, but I have to be cautious. It’s not like
Crimson Agents to let a loose end get away. I’m wondering why they didn’t shoot them on their way out.
“So, why did they let you live?” I ask with my left eyebrow raised. I can’t let her think I’ll gladly take her story at face value. I point the blade of my sword at her for a moment, and then I draw it back, so the side of the blade rests in my left palm.
Her eyes flare at my gesture. I can’t tell if she’s still crying or authentically scared. So, I just let her collect her thoughts before she replies.
“They wanted information. They knew if they killed us before they got it, that they couldn’t come back later. We were helping smudge the credentials of some of their defecting agents, but they suspected we were just a part of a larger machine.” She says. Finally something more plausible.
“But you were the whole operation, weren’t you?” I surmise as a matter of fact.
“Two-thirds of it.” She says. “We have another man inside station security. He gives us access to the encoder machines. He sneaks them out, let’s us use them, and then smuggles them back into the vault before anyone has the chance to notice they’re gone. That way they never suspect their data has been compromised, and our knock-off encryption chip will remain valid.” She says. I’m pretty taken back at how trusting she is. It seems like quite a bit of sharing for a ‘less-than-legal scheme’ in the presence of two strangers.
“Why are you so forthcoming about this, huh?” Marbles says. He’s keyed into the same train of thought as me.
“Because War Masters can’t be fooled.” The man speaks. His voice is strained, and he fights the urge to cough.
I secretly wish that my kind couldn’t be fooled. I get fooled a lot. But in my defense, I’m about three decades shy of completing my training.
“I guess the sword gave it away?” I say with a forced laugh. “Why didn’t you see this massive thing draped across my back in the first place?” I dart my eyes over at the bartender chic.
“You had it wrapped up. Besides, for all, I knew it could have been riot control staff. They’re pretty common among women on this side of town.” She says. Once again, plausible. But I have to remember that this heifer tried hitting me in the face with an aluminum bat.