Death Defied

by Justin Sloan

  Arlay flinched. “They’re technically still under my command. Or…I don’t know, but I’d rather keep as many alive as possible.”

  “If I had my way,” Valerie noted, “I’d never take a life again, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “Not right now.” Arlay furrowed her brow, cursed, and then said, “Give me another minute to try it my way.”

  “What if I could take them without any deaths?”

  “Injuries?”

  Valerie shrugged. “I’ll keep them to a minimum.”

  “Done. Give it a try.”

  “My name is Valerie,” she said, handing her rifle to Robin and slowly rising. “I was, as you might know, sent by the leader of Tol. I can vouch for the fact that the one known as Talrok was an impersonator, that he has taken over the Aranaught and all weapons systems, and that he intends to kill us all if we get in his way. And we do mean to get in his way, which leaves you stuck in an interesting position.”

  She stepped forward, glad to see none of them were shooting at her yet.

  “Stay back!” one of them shouted. “Why should we believe some Earther?”

  “Do or don’t, but either way you’re going to give up the command center.”

  “The hell we will!” another shouted, letting a few rounds off in her direction.

  No more taking it slow—they didn’t have time for that. Darting around to the back, she came up behind the one and knocked his rifle out of his hands before picking him up and throwing him over the machines so her team could take care of him.

  The last two stared at her and she simply held out a hand. One handed over his rifle, but the other fainted.

  “Was that so difficult?” Valerie asked.

  Arlay darted over, already getting to work on the machinery. “We’ll still need that drone,” she said.

  “Ah, right. I brought it… Left it in one of the gun walls.”

  Arlay took a moment to process that, then turned to Garcia and Flynn. “Would you be a couple of gentlemen and retrieve that for me?”

  “On it, ma’am,” Garcia said, and, after brief directions from Valerie the two ran off to find the drone.

  “Meanwhile,” Valerie said, “we need to find Palnik.”

  “The Skulla?” the bound soldier asked.

  “You saw him?”

  The soldier scrunched his nose. “To be clear, we didn’t know what was going on, who was on the right side, and—”

  “Enough,” Arlay interrupted, moving over to the machinery and starting to fidget with things that made no sense to Valerie. “Where?”

  “The last I heard he was going for the bunker.”

  Arlay groaned. “Of course he was.”

  “The…bunker?” Robin asked. “Explain, please.”

  “A fallback point should the situation get bad. Apparently the coward felt it was that time. Probably took his fighters to guard him and locked himself in there until this is all over. Classic elitist move.”

  “That sounds like them,” Valerie had to admit. “Any defenses down there we should know about?”

  “We have a hanger of single-person fighters and probably other soldiers sent to retrieve those and join the fight, though… I suppose if Talrok was behind this he’d order them to help in the fight, if it came to it. They’re probably not out yet because of a slow response. If you get down there fast you might be able to help stop them from launching, and stop him from getting his hands on one, if that happens to be his intent.”

  “And there’s the mech beta,” the soldier added.

  “But that’s not operational,” Arlay replied, dismissively.

  The soldier’s expression showed he felt otherwise, but nothing more was said on the matter.

  “So this bunker—where is it?” Valerie asked.

  “An easy find,” the commander said, looking up from the screen she was at now and flinching only slightly at the explosions and rocking walls. “Follow this tunnel behind you, take the stairs on your left down, then straight on. You can’t miss it, but you might want to hurry in case… Well, in case this place falls down around us.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Valerie replied, then turned to Robin. “Protect the commander at all costs.”

  “Always the lone wolf, huh?” Robin shook her head.

  “If by ‘lone wolf,’ you mean ‘leader who isn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty,’ then yeah.”

  “Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night. Stop making excuses, and get to it before you’re too late.”

  Shouting came from down the hall and several metallic objects rolled in, unfolding into small robots with a barrel at their center. Robin kicked the first one, then the second and then took down the rest with well-placed shots. As she darted out to help the others, she yelled over her shoulder, “Go on!”

  Valerie nodded to Arlay and wished her luck, then went running down the passage that would lead to Palnik.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tol’s Moon: Willom’s Junkyard

  “One positive about being half-machine is that it really increases your ability to multitask.” Willom kept his gun trained on them as he spoke, moving it back and forth between Kalan, Jilla, Bob, and Daschle. “While I’ve been having this nice conversation with you, most of my processing power has been dedicated to communicating with my robots and running scenarios for how this could play out. You’re not going to win here.”

  Kalan held up a hand, trying to calm the situation. “Let’s talk this out. Nobody do anything rash.”

  He said it as much for Wearl as for the rest of them. Willom was the first Grayhewn he’d encountered on his search, and he didn’t want the Shimmer to kill him before Kalan had the chance to at least try to understand what was happening.

  Bob glared at Willom. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re outnumbered four to one. You might have a lot of shiny bits, but we can fight. I saw Kalan take down a robot earlier today. He’ll do the same to you.”

  “Is that so?” Willom asked with a grin.

  A loud whirring sound filled the air, and the wall to their left opened like a giant door, sliding up and open.

  “Damn, a moving wall,” Bob muttered. “This is the Skulla temple all over again.”

  After a moment the wall was completely up, exposing them to the twelve large robots on the other side of it.

  “You were saying someone was outnumbered?” Willom asked.

  “Kalan, say the word,” Wearl said, “and I’ll pull off his metal arms and shove them up his metal ass.”

  “Everyone stay calm,” Kalan said.

  Wearl sighed. “Fine. Your call, but if he makes a move he’s dead.

  Kalan looked between the Grayhewn cyborg and his robot army. He still held out hope that this could end without bloodshed. Willom had been through a lot. He’d been tortured by an AI for a year, so it was no wonder he was a little messed up. If only Kalan could get through to him.

  “Willom, let’s talk about this. You say you want to turn us over to Aranaught. Why? What would she want with us?”

  The look on the cyborg’s face grew serious. “Sorry, did you think this was a negotiation? Because it’s not. Lay down your weapons right-fucking-now or I’ll shoot you so full of holes I’ll have to give you to Aranaught in a plastic bag.”

  “Just say the word, Kalan,” Wearl said, her voice insistent.

  Kalan took one more good look at Willom’s face; there was no way this guy was backing down. He’d made his decision. As much as it pained Kalan to admit it, this was going to be a fight.

  “The word,” he said softly.

  A booming sound filled the air as Wearl fired, hitting Willom square in the chest. The cyborg flew backwards from the force of the powerful weapon hitting him at such close range and he slammed into the metal wall behind him.

  “Weapons up!” Kalan called to his team. The robots weren’t attacking, and he realized they must have been waiting for an order from their master. “Focus on Willom! Take hi
m before he can—”

  The cyborg struggled to his feet with a furious expression on his face. The flesh had been torn away over his chest where Wearl had shot him, revealing metal underneath.

  Kalan had a moment to wonder how much of his biological body remained before Willom called to his robots, “Leave the Grayhewn alive, but kill the rest of them!”

  Chaos erupted as the robots began firing and Kalan and his friends ducked for cover. Wearl’s rifle boomed and Willom spun, his left shoulder hit. Another boom, and Willom’s left arm was hit again.

  “I’m going to take that arm off if it kills me,” Wearl hollered.

  Kalan crouched behind the metal counter in the small kitchen. He couldn’t see where all his friends were, but Daschle was crouching near the bed. Bob had ducked behind the half-wall that hid the toilet.

  He didn’t see Jilla. Damn it, he hoped she was alive.

  The robots seemed to be using most of their firepower to pin down Kalan and his friends, and he wondered if they had some programming that made them keep the damage to their master’s home to a minimum. If the robots had stormed into the house, they could have taken out Kalan’s crew in no time.

  “Bob, where’s the big gun of yours?” Kalan shouted.

  “On it!” Bob peeked around the wall and fired at Willom.

  The cyborg staggered backwards as the rounds slammed into his chest. Wearl’s rifle boomed again, and his left arm tore free from his body and skidded across the floor.

  “Ha!” Wearl called. “Told you I could get it.”

  “A Shimmer!” Willom said with a scowl. “They have a Shimmer! I need detection robots.”

  Past the line of robots outside the house, Kalan could see two piles of junk beginning to rise. No, not piles of junk, he realized. They were robots covered with scrap metal.

  Were all those piles robots? The thought horrified Kalan. If that were the case, they didn’t stand a chance.

  As Kalan watched one of the robots raised its hand, revealing an absurdly small rifle clutched in its massive fist. It turned to the robot next to it and shoved the barrel of the rifle into a gap in the metal under its chin and fired, and the robot fell backward, smoke rising from its head.

  The robot who had fired turned toward Kalan and, much to his surprise, winked at him.

  He almost laughed. That wasn’t a robot at all, he realized, but Jilla. She’d shapeshifted into a robot-like form. The trick would only work once, though, since all the robots had now swiveled toward her. She quickly reverted to her natural form and sprinted into the house.

  Kalan concentrated his fire on Willom. If they could find a way to take him out, maybe they could shut down the robots. Or, hell, maybe the robots would shut down automatically if their cyborg master was dead.

  “Capture Kalan Grayhewn!” Willom cried. “Priority One!”

  “Shit,” Kalan muttered.

  At the order, the robots began marching forward. Most of their heads bumped against the ceiling and one of them reached up and grabbed it, casually tearing off a huge section of the roof.

  Kalan’s mind reeled as he tried to figure out a way out of this that didn’t result in his team dying. The only thing that had been keeping them alive up to that point was the robots’ hesitation to destroy the home, but now that they’d moved beyond that little quibble, Kalan had to admit they were in serious trouble.

  Willom wanted him alive. He didn’t care about the others, so maybe if he offered himself up, Willom would allow the others to—

  “I’ve got him!” Willom shouted. “Everyone halt.”

  Kalan turned toward the Grayhewn and was shocked to see the cyborg holding a hostage who looked exactly like Kalan and pressing a pistol to his head.

  Damn it, Jilla.

  She’d had the same thought Kalan had—sacrifice herself to save the team—only she’d acted faster than him.

  He stayed low, hidden from Willom’s view as he considered what to do. If Willom realized the person he was holding wasn’t the real deal, Kalan had no doubt he’d shoot Jilla in the head.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” the cyborg said. “Kalan and I are going for a little ride, and we’re going to take your pretty little fighter with us. I won’t be gone more than a few hours. When I return, I’ll give you back your ship and send you on your way.”

  “And we’re supposed to trust you on that?” Daschle asked.

  Willom shrugged. “Trust me or don’t, it makes no difference. But what choice do you have? Option B is I kill you all right now.”

  “Option A is starting to sound all right,” Bob said.

  “Good.” He took a step toward the door, dragging Jilla in Kalan form with him. “It’s up to you how you want to play this. If you want to try to make a move against my robots, that’s perfectly fine with me. This whole place is wired with video cameras, so I’ll be able to watch them tearing you to shreds in high definition if you attempt to escape. Say goodbye to Kalan. You won’t be seeing him again.”

  “No,” Kalan said, standing up and tossing his pistol to the floor. “If you want Kalan Grayhewn, you’ve got the wrong being.”

  Willom looked back and forth between the Kalan whose shoulder he held in his metal grip and the one standing in his kitchen, and a slow realization dawned on his face. “If you think a simple Pallicon trick is going to fool me—”

  “It did fool you,” Kalan pointed out, “but I’m not letting her take my place in whatever sick plot you have in mind for me.”

  “She’s lying,” Jilla said in a perfect imitation of Kalan’s voice. “I’m the real Grayhewn. She’s trying to sacrifice herself.”

  Willom cursed softly. “I don’t have time for everyone to be so damn selfless. Unit D-12, tell me the species of these two beings.”

  A detection robot that looked identical to the one they’d fought stepped forward. It pointed a metal hand at Kalan. “Grayhewn.” It turned to Jilla. “Pallicon.”

  “Nice try,” Willom said. He shoved Jilla hard and she fell forward, landing flat on her face and crying out in pain.

  Kalan clenched his fists and stepped forward, but Willom glared at him.

  “If you want your friends to survive this you need to play nice.”

  Kalan pushed down the anger threatening to spill over inside him. As good as it would feel to punch that bastard in the face, it would only get his friends killed.

  Willom gestured toward the outside of the house. “Let’s get moving, my fellow Grayhewn. We have some traveling ahead of us.”

  Jilla pushed herself up off the floor and looked at Kalan, tears in her eyes. “No. Don’t do this.”

  “It’s okay, Jilla,” Kalan assured her. “I’m going to find a way out of this.” He followed Willom out into the junkyard.

  As they started to walk away, Willom turned back to his robots. “Don’t let anyone else leave this house. Kill anyone who tries.” Then he turned and walked briskly away. “Keep up, Kalan.”

  Kalan took one last look back and gave his friends a forced smile, then followed Willom.

  The cyborg looked a bit strange with one arm missing. Bits of wire and jagged metal jutted from his shoulder, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain.

  They walked silently through the junkyard, the same way they’d come less than an hour ago. When they reached the airlock, Willom nodded toward the helmets sitting on the ground where Kalan’s team had left them.

  “You’re going to want one of those, assuming you like breathing.”

  As Kalan put on his helmet, a clear piece of material rose out of the back of Willom’s neck and encased his head to form a strange helmet. Then Willom led the way out the airlock and to the ship.

  That was the first time Kalan seriously considered making a move. If he could rip off Willom’s helmet, the cyborg would be too busy suffocating to fight back.

  As if sensing Kalan’s thoughts, Willom said, “Don’t even think about trying anything. I may only have one arm, but trust me when I s
ay it will be more than enough.” Apparently he’d managed to hack into Kalan’s communicator, because his words came through Kalan’s helmet.

  Kalan gritted his teeth and decided to bide his time. Once they were aboard the ship, he’d have a better opportunity to make his move.

  “Ah, what a lovely ship.” Willom patted the Nim when they reached it. “One thing about being half-robot is, you develop a true appreciation of a well-crafted machine.”

  They boarded the ship and Willom settled into the pilot’s seat, gesturing for Kalan to take the seat to his right.

  Kalan sat, then removed his helmet. “You know how to fly one of these?”

  Willom shrugged. “No, or at least the Grayhewn part of me doesn’t. Lucky for us it doesn’t need to. The machine parts of me can just ask nicely.”

  At his words, the control panel lit up and the startup sequence began.

  “Damn!” Kalan said. “I guess there are perks to being an ugly metal monstrosity.”

  Willom chuckled. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Aranaught will appreciate the chance to break you herself.”

  Kalan’s eyes flicked to his captor’s metal arm. “So that’s the plan? Sell me to the AI so she can do more of her sick experiments?”

  “Not exactly. She’s past experimenting on living beings. She believes we’re below her physically. Unworthy of her metal gifts, as she puts it. Now she just wants to rule us.”

  “And you’re going to help her, is that it?”

  “Not at all. I told you and your friends the truth—all I want is to live out my life in peace. Your life is going to buy me the chance to do that.” Willom turned to the control panel and smiled. “Ah… The startup sequence is complete, and the ship says we’re ready to depart.”

  “You talk to the ship?”

  He shrugged. “Not exactly, but that’s the easiest way to explain it so you can understand my meaning. Now, in case you get any big ideas about escape, here’s what we’re going to do.” He paused. “What’s this? We’re being hailed.”

  He clicked a button, and a familiar voice came through the speaker.

  “Kalan, if you get this, the Grandeur has been shot down and is in need of repairs. We are on the Tol’s moon still, where we last saw you. I’m not sure where you are, but if you could manage to bring parts we’d be grateful. We have damage to the left wing, maybe more. I’m sending the ship’s diagnostic report. At a minimum, we might need a taxi out of here. Looking forward to fighting at your side again soon. Valerie out.”